Sunsets (10 page)

A
lissa froze in mid-entrance to her car. She couldn’t get in until she settled the question that had arisen in her mind. Brad started his engine and was pulling away from the curb when she ran back and flagged him down. He stopped, and she went over to his rolled down window.

“This is really a ridiculous question.” She caught a whiff of his aftershave and knew that he must be going to a wedding with a date. She couldn’t imagine a guy like Brad cleaning up so nicely unless it was for a woman. Plus it was June. Lots of afternoon weddings were going on today.

“What?” Brad asked.

“By any chance is the wedding at Descanso Gardens?”

“Yeah. You want a ride somewhere?”

Alissa closed her eyes and breathed in slowly. “It’s not Chet and Rosie’s wedding, is it?”

“Yeah!” Brad lifted his sunglasses and looked her in the eye. “How did you know?”

“Because that’s where I’m going.”

“How do you know them?” Brad asked.

“I’m their travel agent. They’re going to Italy for their honeymoon.”

“That’s right,” Brad said. “You can thank me for that little bonus in your paycheck. I sent them to you.”

Alissa put her hand on her hip. “You did not.”

“Yes, I did. I met Chet at the dentist a couple of weeks ago. See? I had this filling replaced back here.” He opened his mouth and pointed to a lower molar.

“I’m not interested in your dental history!”

“That’s where I met him. He asked me where I thought he should go on his honeymoon. I told him Italy. Then I told him about Clawson Travel.”

“Wait a minute. You told Chet to go to Italy at the dentist’s office, and he made his honeymoon decision based on your opinion?”

“You find that so hard to believe? That someone actually valued my opinion?”

“Well …”

“Boy, you never let up, do you? Come on, get in. We’re going to be late. No use both driving to the same place.”

“All right, but I’ll drive. My car’s cleaner.”

“Your car’s cleaner? Who’s going to see your car? Your car is not going to the wedding. It has to wait for you in the parking lot.”

“My gift for them is in the car.”

“So? Go get it. I’ve already started my engine. Not to mention I’ve wasted a gallon of gas sitting here talking to you.”

“Well, excuse me!” Alissa said. “Drive yourself over. I don’t need a ride from you.”

“Fine,” Brad called as she walked away. “I was going to tell
you the story, but never mind.”

Alissa stopped in her tracks. She decided it would be worth enduring a ride to the wedding with Brad to hear the rest of Rosie and Chet’s love story.

“Okay! Okay! Just a minute,” she yelled. She grabbed her sunglasses from the visor and the wrapped gift from the front seat, then hurried over to the passenger side of Brad’s truck. He was revving the engine as she approached the door.

“Very funny. You’re wasting gas, you know,” she said, trying to slide gracefully across the seat. The floor was one big mound of used fast food bags. The distinct scent of French fry grease rose from the abyss. “Gross! Can’t we take my car? Where am I supposed to put my feet?”

“Buckle up, baby. Brad’s at the wheel.” He squealed the tires as he rammed down the street, burning rubber at the stop sign.

“Now do you feel important and in control?” Alissa chided. She carefully planted her heels on top of a crumpled Burger King bag. “You know what it is with your kind? You never grow up. You think power is synonymous with maturity. If you can show you’re in control of something or someone, that must make you an adult.” She crossed her arms across her middle as Brad peeled through the intersection. “You need constant affirmation. You’re an eternal adolescent, trying to prove something.”

“That’s pretty good,” Brad said. “Did you get that from psychotherapeutic systems? I took that class last semester.”

Alissa could not believe this guy. “That’s all you’re going to say?”

“I think you’re right,” Brad added. “You’re very insightful. Anything else you want to add to your conclusions?”

“Yes, would you mind rolling up the window and turning on the air conditioning?”

“Sure.”

She was surprised he was so agreeable. But her goal was to return to the topic that had motivated her to come with him in the first place. “So, tell me their story. I just heard up to the part where Meg sent Chet the letter telling him Rosie was in Houston.”

Brad looked over at her. “What are you talking about?”

“Chet and Rosie’s love story.”

“Their love story? I meant the story of how I convinced him to go to Italy. As in the immortal words of Indiana Jones, ‘Ah, Venice.’ ”

Alissa stared at him in disbelief.

“Did you ever see that old movie about the couple who went to Venice on their honeymoon? I was telling Chet about it at lunch.”

“Wait a minute. I thought you met in the dentist’s office.”

“We did. Then I took him to lunch. McDonald’s for chocolate shakes. That’s all we could eat after our dental work. I told him he needed to take Rosie on a gondola ride. That’s about as romantic as it gets. Either that, or I told him to take her to St. Mark’s Square with all the pigeons. That was at the end of the movie. They ran into each other’s arms, and all the pigeons fluttered up around them. It was awesome.”

Alissa slowly turned her head, peering at Brad over the rim of her sunglasses.

“What?” he said returning her gaze, then looking back at the road.

“That’s your idea of romantic? These people are seventy years old, okay? They are not going to run into each other’s arms through a plaza of pigeon goo.”

“Pigeon goo?”

Alissa ignored him and plunged forward. “And just how romantic is it to sit in a gondola with some fat guy in a striped
shirt wearing a bow on his hat looking over your shoulder?”

“Obviously you’ve never been on a gondola,” Brad said.

“And you have?”

“Not yet.”

“Not yet, huh?”

“It’s one of my goals.”

Alissa shook her head and stared out the side window again. Her idea of the romance of Venice would be whispers in a private corner of a candlelit café. Or a walk across one of the bridges, stopping in the middle for a long, lingering kiss.

Pigeons! I can just see Rosie trying to shoo a flock of pigeons out of her hair
.

“So you don’t know how Chet and Rosie got together?”

“Sure I do. They met in high school.”

“I mean recently. How did they end up together recently?”

“I don’t know.” Brad drove into the Descanso Gardens parking lot. He pulled an embossed invitation from his pocket to check the wording. “Rose Garden,” he said. “Which way? Does it say on your invitation?”

“No.”

“Did you bring your invitation?”

“I didn’t get one.”

“Oh, really? Are you sure you’re invited?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Let’s go find this place. We’re probably late.”

“And whose fault would that be?” Brad asked, leading the way.

“I didn’t say it was your fault. It’s nobody’s fault. Look, I think the wedding’s over there.”

They followed a winding path down to an archway covered in ivy, red roses, and baby’s breath. A minister in a black suit stood behind the arch, and several dozen chairs were set up on either side of the white runner. Beyond the arch stretched a lovely garden of roses.

Chet stood to the side, looking handsome in his black tux and deep red rose boutonniere. The photographer was snapping shots of Chet as the guests shifted in their seats.

“See?” Brad said. “They wouldn’t start without us.”

Brad and Alissa slipped into two open seats in the second row behind an older woman in a big hat covered with silk flowers. Alissa had to adjust to the side to see around her. Right after they sat down, a string quartet began to play. Chet approached the pastor solemnly, his hands folded in front and a grin the size of Miami on his face.

The music switched tempo slightly, and the thirty or so guests stood to observe the eighth wonder of the world—a woman clothed in white, coming down the wedding aisle.

Rosie looked stunning. Her hair was brushed out full in a halo of white. Crowning the top of her head was a wreath of gardenias, red rose buds, lavender statice, and delicate baby’s breath.

Her dress had lace and pearls across the bodice and down the long sheer sleeves. It gathered at her waist and flowed in delicate, airy layers to the ground. She seemed to float past them.

In her hands she held a cascading bouquet of red roses woven with white ribbons; large, white gardenias; and baby’s breath.

The instant Alissa looked at Rosie’s face, tears welled up in her eyes. She turned so Brad wouldn’t see and tease her. Never had she seen a woman look so beautiful. Rosie’s firecracker red lips were pursed together, trembling as an endless stream of tears flowed down her cheeks. She had eyes only for Chet. Nothing could stop this woman, who was so powerfully, deeply, painfully in love, from reaching that altar.

Alissa felt a gentle tap on her shoulder and glanced down to see Brad’s fingers offering her his handkerchief. She took it
without looking at him. The guests were seated, and Alissa noticed the handkerchief was already wet. With a glance over at Brad, she knew why. Tears still clung to his lower lids.

They watched the couple join hands before God and the witnesses. Alissa still felt choked up, knowing how this woman had endured and how she had promised herself to Chet so many years ago. Now they were finally being married. Their true love had weathered it all.

The words the minister spoke only convinced her further of that truth. He read Scripture of how real love comes from God alone. The couple prayed aloud, holding hands and thanking God for his mercy, his grace, and his goodness to them.

The minister asked the couple to repeat after him, Chet first. “I, Chester Andrew Michaels, take thee, Roseanna Marie, to be my lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, to cherish from this day forward. For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, as long as we both shall live.”

Rosie repeated the vows, her voice quavering but strong.

The minister then explained how a ring is an endless circle and as such is a perfect symbol of their love.

Chet slipped a ring on Rosie’s left hand that appeared to be limp and useless. He worked with her gently, coaxing the fingers to uncramp enough for him to place the ring on her finger. Mission accomplished, he held the bouquet for her so she could place a ring on his finger.

“As a pledge,” Rosie said, repeating the words Chet had said while putting the ring on her finger, “and in token of the vows between us made, with this ring, I thee wed.”

They both wept now. Unashamedly, with unveiled faces. Their joy seemed to know no bounds.

The minister then served the couple communion, something Alissa had never seen before at a wedding. It seemed like
a fitting, sacred seal on their union before God. Turning the couple to face their guests, the minister said, “By the power vested in me by God and the State of California, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” He paused slightly with a grin on his face before saying, “You may kiss the bride.”

Chet looked deep into the eyes of his wife. He reached his wrinkled hands up to her tear-streaked cheeks and took her face in his hands. Then tenderly drawing her to himself, he laid a full, one-minute smacker on her that made even the minister blush. The guests were beginning to look at each other and chuckle under their breath.

Chet and Rosie victoriously marched down the aisle, as the guests rose and filed in line to follow them to the reception area. They gathered nearby in a lovely garden alcove with chairs forming small groups to encourage conversation. In a gazebo, a table full of silver trays and crystal serving bowls was laden with a sumptuous feast fit for a king and queen. The string quartet had relocated in the south corner of the garden area and was playing lilting, celebratory music.

“Looks good,” Brad mumbled in Alissa’s ear. She knew he meant the food, although she was drinking in the beauty of the plethora of yellow, red, white, and peach roses that encircled the gazebo.

On impulse, Alissa grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the food area back to where she stood in line. In a low voice she instructed him, “You’re supposed to greet the couple first. Didn’t your mother teach you anything?”

Brad shrugged and gave her a little boy smile. “She taught me to beware of single women who try to grab me at weddings.”

Alissa rolled her eyes and turned away. Over her shoulder she said, “Don’t worry. You’re not my type.”

“Then how about that guy?” Brad nodded toward a suave,
black-haired man in an expensive dark suit who was at the front of the receiving line kissing Rosie. A petite brunette in front of him took his arm. She was holding the hand of a little girl in a fairy princess dress. The girl turned to the man, held up her arms, and asked her daddy to pick her up.

“He’s married,” she muttered between clenched teeth.

“Good to see you at least have some scruples. Leave those married men alone,” Brad said.

His words stung. Of course he didn’t know about Thomas. But the truth was, she hadn’t left a married man alone. Not that she had ever intended for it to go the way it did. But she should have stayed far away from him.

Don’t do this to yourself
. Alissa drew in a deep breath. It was as if all the forces of destruction were raining down on her, trying to destroy this wonderful experience. She wouldn’t give in to remorse, not even one pinch.

“There’s one,” Brad said, tapping her shoulder and pointing to an older Hispanic man with streaks of gray hair starting at his widow’s peak and blending into his thick, dark coiffure.

Alissa turned to Brad and said, “Do you mind finding some other fanciful little game to keep you amused while you wait to congratulate the happy couple? You’re really bugging me.”

“Have you figured out why?” Brad asked.

“Why what?”

“Why you and I seem to bug each other.”

“You mean you don’t have this affect on all the women you meet?”

“Not that I ever noticed. Except maybe Wren.”