Snow Angels (25 page)

I gave myself three months to find another place. Randy didn’t push me. He didn’t even bother to check in to see where I was in the process. I took an inventory of what I wanted from our life together. I didn’t particularly want the country kitchen set or a recliner, so I quickly realized I didn’t have that much to move. I decided that maybe a condo would be a good thing for me, but the condos in Asheville were pricier than I’d anticipated and I spent months trying to find a place I could afford. Even the real estate agent got frustrated with me. Bax wasn’t at all helpful and one night when we were making dinner at his house I asked him if he had any suggestions.

“I mean, you know so much more about Asheville than I do. Don’t you have any ideas for me?”

“Yeah,” he said popping an olive in his mouth. “I have an idea. Why don’t you just move in here with me?”

I could barely force my own food down I was so surprised. I just stared at him.

He went on talking around his olive in a casual way. “I mean, I’ve been thinking on this and you’re having a hard time finding a place and…well…it’s not like I’m intending on seeing anybody else. Are you?”

“No,” I choked out around my mouthful of bread.

“So, anyway. What I mean to say is that I would very much like it if you moved in here with me.”

He still hadn’t told me that he loved me, even after my forced admission at the river that day. And now he was asking me to shack up with him. That was not the order in which I had hoped things would go.

“So,” I said. “Are you saying that we’re, you know, together?”

He laughed slightly. “We’ve been seeing each other for nearly a year. I think that’s long enough to know.”

To know what? Say it
.

I wondered if I would regret it, but I said, “Okay.” I nodded and tried to sound as casual as he had.

“So you’ll move in with me?”

“Sure. Why not? I mean, if it doesn’t work out then I can just keep on looking.”

“Why wouldn’t it work out?” He looked perturbed.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m just saying. It’ll be a big transition for you is all. You’re so used to being by yourself.”

“I don’t like being by myself. I never have.”

So I moved into Bax’s perfect home, knowing that nothing I had would make an improvement. I would only be dragging my imperfections in, showing how much less taste and style I had than he did. I knew it was dangerous, showing myself to him in a way where I could no longer mask my flaws and bad habits. I also knew that I might be ruining a perfect romance for myself as well. Maybe I wouldn’t be so enamored of him if I was with him all the time. If I heard him in the bathroom in the mornings clearing his head and I smelled his dirty laundry. But I figured this was as close as I could ever expect to get to Baxter Brown. He and I both knew that I wasn’t marrying material for him. I wasn’t naive. I knew the day would come when I’d be on the condo search again, but until then, I could enjoy sharing his life.

So it was August when I finally got all my things moved in and set up the way I wanted. I had been careful not to bring too much, not to impose too quickly. But Bax had cleared out shelves and the medicine cabinet and linen closet. The house was so large that my things seemed to be absorbed and they didn’t stand out at all in the eclectic nature of his home.

Bax kept his clothes neatly aligned and evenly spaced in his walk-in closet. He moved his clothes all to one side and gave me the other side. We got into the habit of standing in the closet talking as we picked out what we were going to wear. We were getting ready to go to the Southern Highlands Artists Guild opening night gala when Bax reached over and pulled my black wrap dress from a hanger.

“Wear this,” he said. “I’ve always liked that dress and you never wear it.”

“Oh sure,” I said, happy for the attention.

Later at the show, Bax stood beside me as the director and curator read the winners. There were a number of purchase awards, which Bax explained to me meant that companies or collectors agreed in advance to pay a certain amount, say ten thousand dollars, for a piece of art from the show. After viewing the entire exhibition, these folks then selected a piece for their collection and the artist received the sale and a purchase prize ribbon.

Then there were the top awards for excellence and the last and most prestigious award was Best in Show. Bax didn’t seem all that surprised when his name was called for the top award. He stepped forward and received his check and ribbon and was informed that a large bank in town had purchased his wall sculpture for their lobby, so he received a purchase prize too. Overall, it was a spectacular night for him.

We milled around the crowd for a while, many people congratulating Bax and slapping him on the back. He was his usual affable public self, the compliments rolling off of him without effect.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said and pulled me toward the exit.

We rode silently through the streets of downtown Asheville and then east up the mountain. I gasped as we turned in at a sign that read
GROVE PARK INN
.

“Oh, are we going to Grove Park?”

“I made us dinner reservations.”

“Really? Oh, I’ve always wanted to go here. Did you know that F. Scott Fitzgerald lived here?”

“Seems I remember hearing that.”

“He was apparently not the best boarder. Sort of a lush was what I read.”

Grove Park Inn rose against the blue mountains. The main building’s exterior was a mottled patchwork of large random granite stones. The entrance was surrounded by wide columns of the same smooth stones that gave the main building its rustic, irregular look. Bax told me that the Grove Park Inn was nearing its one-hundredth year.

“I love it here. You know how much I admire the Arts and Crafts style,” he said.

We stepped into the expansive lobby, a mountain lodge, but the furthest thing from rustic. Enormous granite fireplaces flanked the Great Hall and fires blazed even though it was the end of summer. Comfortable overstuffed chairs and leather sofas were grouped for conversation. Through the Great Hall we walked out to the Sunset Terrace where rocking chairs looked west upon the sunset and Asheville’s glimmering skyline was tucked between the Blue Ridge and Smoky mountain ranges.

“We have reservations in the Sunset Terrace Restaurant,” Bax said. Inside, each white tablecloth was topped with silver candleholders and more utensils than I had ever had to figure out before. Bax laughed when he saw my expression.

The maître d eased my chair up behind me, then unfolded my napkin and placed it on my lap. Our water glasses were filled by a waiter and the sommelier came around to ask if we would be having wine with our meal.

“Can I order?” Bax asked.

I nodded and he made a selection from the wine list. The sommelier said, “Very good, sir,” then zipped away.

The pianist in the corner played “Moonlight Sonata,” its sonorous sounds clearly recognizable in the quiet dining room. Other diners leaned forward around their own candle glow, whispering to each other, smiling, sipping wine.

“The view is just spectacular,” I said as the last of the day’s color faded from the sky. I glanced back at Bax and he was staring at me in such an odd way that I blushed. The sommelier returned with a waiter trailing behind carrying a silver bucket on a stand. The sommelier presented the wine. Bax read the label and nodded.

I was startled when the bottle popped. The sommelier told us a little about the wine, relaying that it was indeed a champagne, from the Champagne region of France.

“Thank you, but I’ll pour,” Bax said.

“Very good, sir,” the sommelier said and backed away.

Bax said to me, “It’s one of my favorites.”

The wine bubbled to the tops of our glasses and came precariously close to running over. When the bubbles had settled, Bax filled them again and this time he raised his glass and said, “A toast.”

I raised my glass.

“To new beginnings,” he said.

I smiled. “What a wonderful thought. To new beginnings.”

We clinked our glasses and drank. The champagne tickled my nose with its fizzy sweetness.

“Now,” Bax said and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small box wrapped in golden foil. A delicate red ribbon bound the cube. I couldn’t help but let out a little gasp. This was the first real present Bax had given me.

“Go on. Open it,” he said.

I gingerly unwrapped the red ribbon and removed the gold foil. Inside was a sturdy black box and inside that box was a black velvet jewelry box. I lifted the lid and gasped a second time.

Inside was the most wonderful gold ring I had ever seen. Six medium-size diamonds sprinkled around a hammered dome that wrapped into a ring. It was sculpture for your finger.

“Oh, my God. This is beautiful. Did you make this?”

He smiled. “It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever made. Your finger is so small.”

I wanted to slide the ring onto my hand, but I hesitated. What did this mean? If I put it on my ring finger then I would be assuming that he was proposing. Was he?

“Here, let me,” he said and I sighed with relief.

He took the ring out and held it up. “I hope it fits,” he said and took my left hand in his.

“Michelle,” he said, his firey hazel eyes searching inside me. “Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

I didn’t know how to respond. I had never allowed myself the opportunity even to consider this option.

“Bax,” I whispered. “Oh, Bax. Are you sure?”

He laughed. “Of course I’m sure. I love you. I don’t ever want to be without you.”

I couldn’t believe it.

“So, what do you say?” He held the ring poised to slide onto my finger.

“I say yes! Yes! Of course, I’ll marry you!”

He slid the ring on. A perfect fit.

The restaurant broke into applause and I dabbed at my eyes, my mascara smearing on the pristine linen napkin.

He grinned that sly Baxter grin as I tried to contain my happiness. Everyone in the restaurant was watching us and finally, when Bax could see that I was overcome by emotion he stood and gathered me in his arms and we walked out onto the terrace until I could get myself under control.

“If you liked this just wait until tonight,” he said.

“What? Don’t tell me you have another surprise. I don’t think I can take any more surprises.”

“I booked us a room. Just for tonight. You’ll love it.”

Feeling calmer and a little playful I quipped, “Well, you were pretty sure of yourself. What if I’d said no? Then you’d be stuck staying in that expensive room all by yourself.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “I had a pretty good idea how things would turn out.”

As the limousine threaded its way through the countryside, my heart ached with the sweetest longing. I had found a true love, not one that was convenient, not one that happened to be easy, but one that was chosen and one that was hard. We were different in so many ways, but we were both wounded. He had lost his first love. I had never had a child to love. He’d spent years lonely. I’d spent years in the wrong relationship.

My driver pulled up to the guard at the gate and we were allowed to enter. Across the expansive lawn, Biltmore burned with holiday lights. Christmas trees winked from the long windows, giant wreaths were heavy on the doors, poinsettias burst from the urns fronting the entrance. The car glided to a stop at the Grand Entrance and the driver came around to open my door. I touched my mother’s hand.

“Mom, are you ready?”

She nodded.

A slight smile touched her lips as she took in the spectacular site.

“You go first,” I said and gently helped my mother step out to the driver. The driver handed her on to Bax’s father and they started up the steps. Miriam fluttered down the stairs in her silver bridesmaid’s dress with the wide red sash.

She climbed into the limo beside me. “You look beautiful. Let’s give your mother a chance to get in there and get seated and then we’ll go in.”

She held my hand in anticipation as we waited for the call.

Her mobile beeped and I heard one of Bax’s brothers. “We’re all ready,” the tiny voice said.

Miriam clicked her phone and chirped, “Okay. We’re coming in.”

She turned to me with pink cheeks, her eyes so wide she seemed like the one getting married. She had organized the entire event and was determined to see it went off smoothly. “Ready?” she asked.

I nodded. “I’m ready.”

A crowd had gathered at the front entrance and a smattering of applause met me when I emerged from the limousine. As I ascended the stairs, I heard a woman exclaim, “What a beautiful dress!”

I hadn’t wanted the traditional white, flowing gown. After-all, I had been married before. But Bax had insisted that I find a dress that made me feel like a princess. Miriam had scoured local stores, shopped online, and culled through a hundred magazines to find the perfect dress. And she had.

My gown was pale golden raw silk with seed pearls sprinkled along its sweetheart neckline. It had an empire waist and fell straight with just enough material to make a short train that trailed behind me. Miriam had pulled my unruly hair into a loose bun and attached white roses and strands of pearls. My bouquet of white roses and greenery cascaded to my knees. Miriam and I looked like Christmas decorations in our gold and silver dresses.

I glided into the Grand Entrance Hall and walked past the Winter Garden. My heels made a delightful click-click on the marble floor and the few visitors left on this holiday tour night stopped to watch me. I made a left at the Tapestry Gallery and walked along the archways that lead out to the dark loggia beyond. A night wedding had been Bax’s idea and I had loved it. The doors to the library were closed, the only time I had ever seen them this way. There was a stanchion swagged with red velvet ropes outside and a gilded sign that read
TEMPORARILY CLOSED FOR PRIVATE FUNCTION
.

Miriam clicked her phone again and said, “We’re here.” Behind the door I heard a shuffling. A violin and cello began.

Miriam turned to me and held my hands. “You’re my sister now.”

“Thank you,” I said and leaned to kiss her lightly on the cheek. “For everything.”

She smiled and I saw her push back tears. She turned in front of me, straightened her shoulders and opened the heavy wooden doors wide. She turned to wink at me and then she step-paused, step-paused away.

I was there by myself only moments, but it truly seemed like hours. My mind went in a dozen directions all at once and then I knew I had to move. I hesitated. I could stand there a moment. Be unmarried for a minute more. And I did.

And then I went into that library of ten thousand beautiful books. Bax stood waiting in a black tux, an expectant smile across his handsome face. And that day, in front of a blazing Christmas tree, in a mansion in the hills of North Carolina, I married the love of my life.

And that, my friend, is extraordinary.