One Fool At Least (2 page)

“Did you eat breakfast?” asked my husband-to-be under his breath.

“Sort of,” I murmured, meaning no.

Just as Father Riley got revved up again we heard the unlikely strains of ‘Livin’ La Vida Loca’ chirping through the echo chamber that was our church. Someone’s cell phone was ringing. I looked in disbelief at Arcelia Perez, who had the grace to look mortified as she dug her tiny phone out of her dress, turning it off with an apologetic smile. I made a mental note never to invite a cop to stand up at future weddings, and turned tremulously back to the priest.

“These things happen in threes,” I whispered to Jack, and for once I was proven right.

“We are gathered here,” intoned Father Riley, as a child’s voice, piping louder than anyone could believe, cried, “Mommy, I thought they were already married! Don’t they live in the same house?”

It was Veronica, my traitorous flower girl, looking cute as could be in pink taffeta. She had just turned four. I stole a glance at my mother, whose face seemed to have turned to ice.

I grinned and gave her a thumbs up, and she flashed a beautiful smile back at me, and after that things were all right. Of course my mother could never hold a grudge against Veronica, her first beloved almost-grandchild, (Veronica’s mother was engaged to my brother) but I noticed some cool glances at Arcelia, the poor cell-phone totin’ cop bridesmaid.

When the priest told Jack he could kiss me, Jack did, and then he hugged me, sighing with relief into my ear. “I didn’t think I’d ever get you to marry me, Maddy,” he said. I’d had some commitment issues, a while back. His words humbled me; I pulled him into another kiss, and the people clapped. They’d enjoyed the show from start to finish, and ours would be the wedding they compared to all others for sheer entertainment value.

In the limo Jack told me I was gorgeous. “So are you,” I said. “I’ve been able to see your dimple all day. Usually I have to work to make it appear.”

He grinned. “Nothing can get me down today. I married my Madeline, and all’s right with the world.”

I brushed some rice out of his hair. “I love you,” I said. “Let’s skip the reception and go straight to the hotel.”

He laughed, squeezing me hard. I’d never seen Jack so happy. “We have to meet and greet. There’s plenty of time for making love,” he said. “All our lives, in fact.” We grinned like fools, which we were, for thinking that nothing could go wrong from there.

* * *

We ate a delicious dinner. We danced our first dance to a medley: It began with “I Will,” for reasons only Jack and I understood, and then segued into “Sister Golden Hair Surprise,” which had become “our song” ever since Jack had sung it to me at a concert he gave in town. We went from slow dancing to jitterbugging through the doo-wops of the America song. The crowd was loving it.

Later, after the three-layer cake, which Jack did NOT try to smear on my face, as I’d sternly stipulated beforehand, Jack took a garter off of my leg while the D.J. played striptease music. My husband looked at me so suggestively I got hot all over. He flung the garter, and my brother Fritz caught it automatically, then promptly gave Jack the finger.

I threw the bouquet, which was caught by Arcelia Perez. I laughed and waved at her. Arcelia was a Michigan cop who had saved my life once, and I felt a special bond with her. It was nice to see her here, her hair down and her gun safely put away for the evening, just enjoying herself.

She and Fritz, as the lucky recipients, had to pose for the photographer, and now Fritz wasn’t feeling so bad about catching the garter. He ogled Arcelia and looked pointedly at the neckline of her gown until the photographer yelled at him. Arcelia laughed and mussed Fritz’s red hair. He blushed like a girl.

I danced with my father to “Daddy’s Little Girl,” while my mother waltzed tipsily past with Gerhard, giggling and looking relieved to have delivered me from a life of sin. My father looked into my eyes and told me that he loved me. We didn’t cry, but we came close. We were almost in danger of crossing the Mann emotional barrier, with which we’d lived for all of my twenty-seven years. My family was loving, but reserved. It was the German in us, my brothers insisted, although my parents took that as an insult. I hugged Dad extra tight before I went back to my husband and danced to Die Ententans–the chicken dance.

Jack and I flapped our arms and wiggled our hips, and he said, “You even look sexy when you’re pretending to be a chicken.”

“Really?” I said. “Because you look like a chicken in a tuxedo.” He grabbed me, perhaps with the intention of strangling me, but ended up kissing me instead. Half the time I think Jack is at a loss for what to do with me. I can be a frustrating person.

We kissed all through the rest of the chicken dance, which earned us more applause. I was ready for the honeymoon phase to begin.

Later I spoke with Jack’s parents, who seemed thrilled to have me in the family. That might have been the whiskey sours talking, but I thought they liked me. His brothers, too, had been very welcoming. “We’re so glad you’re coming back to Montana,” his mother said. “We’ll get to see a little more of you.”

His niece Molly Shea approached me at one point, staring with a certain fascination. “Hi, Madeline,” she said shyly. We’d only met the day before, at the rehearsal dinner.

“Hi, Molly.” I saw a face over her shoulder, someone I didn’t recognize, but it was just a glimpse, and then I focused back on the girl in front of me.

“You look really pretty,” she said.

“Well, thank you. So do you. I always wanted curly hair like yours.” Molly was blessed with an abundance of auburn curls and lovely green eyes. At sixteen I’d had zits and lots of complexes. This girl was lovely enough to be a fashion model and confident enough to be the president.

“Oh, thanks. I hate my hair,” she said absently, proving herself true to the code of womanhood. No woman on earth, as far as I knew, was happy with the hair God had given her. “Listen, I wanted to ask you—” she started.

Someone pulled me away and I never heard the rest of it. I waved to her, indicating that I’d be back, but she didn’t get a chance to finish.

Later I burst through a crowd to see Mike Shea sitting in his wheelchair and gamely clapping to “Shout” while the people on the dance floor made fools of themselves. Without any thought, I ran to his chair, put my hands on both hand rests, and sang the song while I pushed him backward, then ran backwards myself to return to our original position. It made both of us laugh, and when I finally paused, exhausted, and squatted in front of him, his freckled face was creased by a huge grin.

“Hasn’t anyone else danced with you?” I asked over the crowd noise. “You’re the handsomest guy here, after my husband.”

“It’s the wheelchair,” he said, pointing at his lap. “It freaks people out.”

“Not me,” I said. This was true and not true. I’m often intimidated by people in wheelchairs. Mike didn’t make me feel uncomfortable, but I think it was because he was that rarest of things, a pleasant teenager, and I’d realized at the rehearsal dinner that I liked being around him.

“You’re cool,” he said. “Jack has good taste.”

“Thanks for coming to my wedding,” I told him. “I’m so glad I finally got to meet you.” At that point his mother, Libby, came to get him. She was a pretty brunette with librarian glasses and a slim figure. She certainly didn’t look old enough to have sixteen-year-old twins. She and I exchanged a few pleasantries, and then she said she was taking the children back to the hotel. Molly came to join us.

“You’ll be on our plane tomorrow, right, Aunt Maddy?” she asked.

“Yes.” I wished she hadn’t reminded me.

Molly and Mike exchanged a furtive glance, to which I might have paid more attention if I weren’t feeling suddenly claustrophobic.

I took a moment to breathe in the foyer, then Jack and I eventually met at the door. “We’ll be busy when we get back from the honeymoon,” I said loudly over the music that could still be heard in the hall. “I’ve filled our social calendar for the month of July. Mr. and Mrs. Shea, out on the town.”

“Say that again,” Jack said.

I knew what he meant. I moved closer, cuddling against him. “Mr. and Mrs. Shea.”

His eyes darkened with a look I knew well, and my knees turned to jelly. “It’s time for Mrs. Shea to join Mr. Shea in bed,” he said close against my ear, so he’d be heard over the strains of “Simply Irresistible.”

“Okay,” I said.

The car seemed silent after the crazy volume of the reception. Jack drove to our little escape for the evening, the bridal suite of the Webley Arms. We didn’t talk much on the way there. I stared out the window at the trees that blew in a cool summer wind, green leaves clinging thickly to their branches.

Jack pulled into the parking lot and looked at me. “You still look beautiful. Even after all the dancing and craziness. You look fresh.”

“I
feel
pretty,” I joked.

“I love you so much—” He looked away, out the windshield, as if searching for a way to express all that he felt.

My heart throbbed in response. I crawled toward him, climbed right into his lap. “Come upstairs and show me how much,” I said.

We were holding hands when we entered the lobby, and some people hanging around the reception desk saw our wedding attire and started clapping. I blushed, enjoying myself in an embarrassed way. When Jack went to the registration desk, a tall man came toward me, unfolding himself from the wall where he’d been standing, chewing on a toothpick. “Congratulations, Madeline,” he said, holding out a hand that had 402 written on it in ink.

“Thank you,” I told him, shaking it automatically, feeling slightly confused. Did I know him? I didn’t think so. Yet I thought I might have seen him at the reception—that face in the crowd I’d noted when I was talking to Molly. Was he from Montana, with the rest of Jack’s family? “How—” I said, and Jack called me, holding out his hand. I excused myself and went to my husband.

Jack led me to the door of our suite; true to tradition, he carried me across the threshold, only swaying a bit as he maneuvered my dress through the door.

The room was beautiful. I sat on the bed, fluffed my hair, and sighed. “This dress is so magical, I really hate to take it off.”

Jack came to stand in front of me, handing me a glass of champagne, which I sipped. I stared at his white cummerbund and he laced his fingers through my hair. “I can help you with that,” he said in a tone that made me feel hollow of everything but desire. He pulled my hair so that my head tilted back, and he kissed my lips possessively. “What are husbands for?”

I took another gulp of champagne and then reached down to set the glass on the floor. I laughed as Jack pushed me backward, rubbed the red rose across my cheek before he threw it aside, unzipped my wedding dress and pulled it gently over my head.

“Jack,” I said.

I moaned softly as his lips met mine, then moved to my throat. Jack knew a special spot there that quickly turned me from a solid to a liquid. “Oooh,” I said as his tongue found that very place.

“Maddy,” he said brokenly as his clever hands released my bra and found my breasts. I arched my back, suddenly dizzy from desire and champagne.

“My lover,” I said softly. Jack’s mouth toured my body while his hands pushed my white hose and frilly undies downward. I grabbed a handful of his wonderful hair and pressed him against me. “Jack,” I said. “Remember the first time? It feels like that again, our first time.”

His face appeared above mine, but his hands were still busy, and I was getting foggy, having trouble focusing on him as he brought me into a place of pleasure. “I love you even more now,” he said, as I pulled at his buttons and stroked the chest beneath his shirt. “We’ve been through so much together, haven’t we, babe?”

“Mmmm,” I said, removing his belt with great concentration. Soon I had done away with the hindrance of Jack’s clothes, and I felt the relief of his warm skin on mine. A few more minutes of kissing and touching, and I was saying, “Now, Jack, now.”

He protested. “Maddy, I’m trying to make this last. I want to make you feel—”

I wrapped my legs around him. “That’s what the second time is for. And the third. And the fourth,” I whispered.

With a groan, he gave in; I smiled against his jaw as he moved above me, within me. Jack had been my only lover, and I had never wished for another. I cried out as he moved more swiftly; I sank my teeth gently into his neck and clutched him tightly, suddenly believing I could fly away, lightened by champagne bubbles and pleasure. When Jack stiffened above me I was already soaring. We fell limply backward together, and I opened my eyes long enough to smile at him. “You’re beautiful,” Jack whispered. One minute later he was asleep.

I smiled at him. “Poor baby,” I whispered, stroking his hair. He hadn’t slept much, I knew, in the days before the wedding. So much going on, so many visitors, so much to talk about. I, though, having delegated so many of the preparations for this day, had stocked up on my beauty sleep. Now I was wide awake.

I lay next to Jack, appreciating his warmth, reliving our lovemaking and our wedding. I put my face against his skin, liking the male smell of him. I stroked his hair and he murmured in his sleep, turning toward me.

I closed my eyes, ready to go to sleep beside my new husband, and an image assaulted me: the number 402. It had been written on the hand of that man who had known my name. Why had he known my name? If he had known Jack, why hadn’t Jack come over to greet him? And why had that number been written there, as if to trigger memory? What was it about that number? Why did it sound familiar?

And then I sat bolt upright. Because it was a room number. Maybe a room number that I knew.

I got out of bed and dug into our pile of bags until I located my purse; inside was our itinerary, as well as a list of the room arrangements we’d made for Jack’s family. I moved my finger down the list and felt a sudden chill of recognition: room 402 was assigned to Molly. She had begged to have a room of her own and her parents had given in, thinking that it was a once in a lifetime event. Mike and his parents were sharing a room with two double beds.