The Wedding Chapel (27 page)

“That’s
my
girl. The winner of the dance-off!” Jimmy’s voice powered across the gymnasium as he stood on top of the bleachers.

The bandleader awarded them pint-sized trophies, inviting the kids to applaud one more time. Then just like that it was off to the next song. “Here’s a song made popular by the great Doris Day.”

Spice tried to help Colette off the stage, but she brushed past him and ran up the bleachers into Jimmy’s waiting arms. “You showed ’em, Lettie.”

“I did it for you.”

“Good, ’cause you know I couldn’t help you win the dance-off.” He led her back onto the dance floor, spinning her around under a shower of sparkling stardust.

“Would you be mad if I said I think I love you?”

Colette peered at him through the lights, through her own vision of love. “It’s not just the night? The music, the mirror ball?”

“No, it’s not. It’s you.” He brushed his finger along the curve of
her jaw. “I have a confession. Before you moved here, Clem showed me a picture of you and Peg.”

“What picture?”

“You were with a bride by a stone chapel.”

“Ah, the wedding of our friend in the village. It was such a happy time in the middle of war.”

“You looked so happy and, well, I think I fell in love with you that day.”

“Jimmy, you can’t really mean it.” But when he stepped toward her, she knew his intention. “No one falls in love with a girl in a photo.”

“I knew you’d be swell, Colette. And I was right. I love you.”

“Well . . . I mean . . .” His confession burned away her fears, her walls. “Y-you’re only seventeen. We’re kids.”

“I don’t care.” He lowered his face to hers. “When I’m eighty-three, I’ll love you. What I need to know is if you think you could love me someday. D-do you think you could? Someday?”

So vulnerable. So sweet. “Yes.” She smoothed her hands over his stiff blue suit jacket. “Perhaps someday. Perhaps today.”

He touched her chin, lifting her face to his, looking at her in a way that inspired all sorts of delicious, romantic feelings. Then lowered his lips to hers, kissing her so sweetly that it sealed everything that was right and lovely about this night in her heart.

Chapter Twenty

TAYLOR

S
eriously, Taylor, what are you going to do with this place?” Emma came into the bum room carrying a box and dropped it to the dull, thirsty hardwood.

“You keep asking and I keep saying ‘I don’t know.’ ” Taylor turned from the record shelf, a stack of vinyl LPs in her arms. “Do you want to buy it?”

“No, I like my house. It’s new, modern . . .”

Emma took off work Wednesday to spend time with Taylor going through the bum room. The one room she’d not really cleared out. And the attic.

“I wanted to wait for you.”

Otherwise, Emma had taken care of her duty, ridding the house of furniture and clothes, cleaning out the cupboards, stacking the remaining dishes in the dining room, contacting estate sale agents.

“Why don’t you and Jack keep it?”

“He says he never wants to live here. Doesn’t want to see his father. So, what about the attic?” Taylor flipped through the albums. Jack might like some of these. He bought a turntable on a whim a few months ago but had nothing to
turn
on it.

“I went up there, but it’s hot and dusty so I’ve been putting it off.”

“Yeah, well, if I sell, you know the attic goes with it.” Taylor didn’t like the attic either. Emma turned it into a haunted house one Halloween when they were kids and Taylor hadn’t been up there since. “And by the way, you need to clean out Granny’s kitchen drawer by the fridge.” Taylor opened it last night to find it full of nothing but sauce packets from every restaurant in town. There had to be a thousand of them.

“I know, I saw it.” Emma brushed dust from the book in her hand. “I sort of hate to throw them away. They remind me of Granny more than just about anything.”

Taylor laughed. “She was a hoarder.”

“Either that or forgetful.”

Taylor set the albums in the box, then faced Emma. “I’m hungry. I’m going to get last night’s leftover sub.”

“Hungry?” Emma made a face. “We just ate lunch two hours ago.”

“I know, but we’ve been working like dogs. You’re not hungry?” Taylor jogged downstairs and retrieved last night’s leftovers from the fridge, then grabbed the bag of chips Emma brought over this morning.

Sitting at the kitchen table, she glanced up at her sister, sinking her teeth into the delicious London broil on wheat. “You should keep this table.” She knocked on the Formica table trimmed in fifties chrome. “It’s vintage.”

“I might. Mama had her eye on it last time she came by.” Emma sat in the chair opposite Taylor. “So, you’re feeling better, I take it.”

“Much.” Taylor shoved the sandwich at her sister. “Want a bite?”

“No thanks.” She got up for a bottle of water. “I’m single again. Have to watch my figure.”

Taylor motioned for Em to grab her a water too. “Hey, one of the benefits of being married. I can eat whatever I want.”

“Ha! That’s what I said when I was pregnant,” Emma said, passing Taylor a water. “Then I had a heck of a time dropping sixty extra pounds.”

“I’m not gaining sixty pounds. Besides, I didn’t have breakfast so two lunches is allowed.” Taylor twisted the cap from her water and took a long swig. “Hey, do you want to go to Taco-Taco tonight? Bring it back here and watch
Frozen
with the girls in the bum room?” She’d been craving tacos, like, all day.

“How are you thinking of tacos with half a sub stuck in your mouth?”

“You know me, I plan ahead.”

“Said the girl who eloped.” Emma weakened and snuck a handful of chips. “So, did you find the box belonging to the key? I wonder why Granny didn’t write me a letter.”

Taylor shrugged. She’d keep Granny’s “idiot” remark to herself. “Not yet. I haven’t looked that hard. If it’s in the attic then I’ll never find it.”

Emma sighed. “Okay, fine, I’ll look when I go up there next.”

So far this week Taylor had learned
AQ
loved her shots of the chapel. Addison had deposited checks from the weddings she’d shot and from Melinda House. She’d also texted with Jack, who said Colette had agreed to do the FRESH job.

W
OO HOO
.

W
OO HOO
? Taylor smiled. Jack never said woo hoo. He must be excited.

“Seriously, Taylor, what are you and Jack going to do with this place?”

Taylor swallowed her bite, reaching for her water. “It’s not his decision.”

“In part it is. You’re married now, Tay. Not a lone sailor at sea.”

She frowned. “Sailor? Sea?”

“You need to start thinking like a married woman. You still have a single gal’s mind-set. I may be divorced, but I know what it takes to be married.”

“He still thinks like a single man, so consider my side of things self-preservation.” Taylor took a final bite of her sandwich. After this, she definitely wanted something sweet. “Hey, you want to go get ice cream?”

“Are you serious?”

“Is Del’s still open? I’d love one of their blizzard things.”

Emma patted the tabletop. “Yeah, let’s go get ice cream. I’ll drive.” She snatched the Lincoln car keys from the hook before Taylor could get up.

“Hey, that’s my car.” Taylor wiped the mayo from her lips, running after her sister, shutting the back door behind her.

“Granny left it to both of us.” Emma slipped behind the wheel, firing up the old classic before Taylor could protest further. She jumped in the passenger seat and shot her hands over her head.

“Let’s go.”

It was a textbook fall afternoon, the sun brilliant in a blue sky. The breeze was gentle and thin, with an edge of cool between sun-warmed layers.

Switching on the radio, Taylor tuned to 101.7 for some oldies.

“Wonder what’s in here.” She popped open the glove box.

“Probably more sauce packets,” Emma said, laughing, the wind whipping her short auburn hair back from her face.

“Yep, you’re right.” Taylor held up several packets of ketchup. “Granny, what love affair did you have with ketchup and soy sauce?”

But underneath the fast-food packets and stacks of napkins she found a buttery-soft pair of Aigner leather gloves. “These are
nice
.” She slipped them on, peeking at Emma. “They fit. Are we going to fight over them?”

“Nope. Take them. Wear them in good health.”

Taylor made a face. “Why? What did you find? Something better?”

Emma winced. “Gucci gloves. In her room.”

Taylor gasped. “Cheater . . .”

“Hey, she left the contents to me.” Emma barreled toward the light, braking hard when it clicked red.

But the
real
treasure came last, when Taylor burrowed to the bottom of the compartment and removed an old black-and-white three-by-five photograph.

“What is it?” Emma said, leaning to see, pushing Taylor’s arm down for a better look.

“Looks like Granny when she was a teenager.” Taylor flipped it over.

April 1950. Me, Spice, Jimmy, Colette.

“She was what? Nineteen.” The light flashed green and Emma hit the gas, surging the big Lincoln forward, slowly picking up speed. “Looks like they’re sitting down in the dip below the grassy knoll. River Road Park. We had our senior pictures taken there.”

“Yeah, I remember. It rained my year. My hair was like . . . frizz city.” But Taylor’s attention was captured by the image of the four sitting in the basket of the knoll. “When’d she marry Granddad? Nineteen fifty-one?”

“Yeah, in the spring. They eloped.”

“And you wonder where I got the idea.”

“Sure, and look how they turned out.”

“Divorce runs in our family. Should I just cut to the chase?”

“No, good grief, Taylor. Have some faith. I hate being divorced.”

Taylor grimaced. “Sorry,” she muttered, staring at the image, sinking into the scene, mystically searching for the third dimension below the flat, two-dimension image. Granny and Colette together? A sight she’d never seen in her twenty-nine years.

In this scene the sisters, with their beautiful forties hairstyles, neat, crisp dresses, and saddle oxfords, appeared to be friends.

Spice and Coach were young, good looking, kind of brawny and masculine. “What do you suppose they were doing? Saying?”

Peg, Spice, Colette, and Jimmy.

“Picnic. Hanging out. Saying and doing what young adults do.” Emma slowed, turning the car.

Taylor glanced up to see Walgreens instead of Del’s Ice Cream. “What are we doing here?”

“I need a favor.”

“What kind of favor?”

Emma slipped the picture from Taylor’s hand. “Bring me a Diet Coke. A cold one. Get one from the back of the cooler and—”

“Excuse me? Why am I running your errand?”

“—a pregnancy test.”

“What?” Taylor regarded Emma for a long moment. “Please don’t tell me you’re sleeping with your ex-husband. That’s
reaallly
bad for the divorce.”

“I am not. And the test is not for me.”

Taylor made a face. “Then for who?”

“You.”

Taylor laughed, slapping her hand over her heart, shaking her head. “It’s happened. You’ve lost your mind.”

“Yeah, well, you’re in denial.”

“How can I be in denial over something that isn’t true? I’m not pregnant.”

“Then get the test. Prove me wrong.”

“I’m not falling for that trick,” Taylor scoffed. But the conversation bugged her. Was she? Pregnant? “We’ve only been married six months.”

“Oh, right—”
Snap-snap.
“The six-months rule,” Emma said. “What is that, exactly?”

“It’s too soon to be pregnant.”

“Maybe? But have you two been, you know,
dancing
?” Emma raised her voice and wiggled her eyebrows.

Taylor snatched the photograph from her. “Yes, we’ve been dancing. That’s one of the best parts about being married.”

“And you’ve been using birth control?”

“Y-yes . . .” Taylor squirmed. Most of the time, but not always.

“Well, nothing is a guarantee. Seems the piper has come for his pay.”

“Well, he’s getting
nothing
from me.” Taylor squeezed her hands together. “This can’t be . . .”

“You’ve been queasy all weekend.” Emma held up one finger.

“So was Alena. Did you buy her a pregnancy test?”

“She’s four. Don’t be daft.” She popped up a second finger. “You’ve been skipping breakfast every day but eating like a horse at night. How many helpings of spaghetti did you have at Mama’s?”

“One . . . two.”

“Three. I counted.” Emma held up a third finger. “Taylor, that’s exactly how I was with both girls.”

“Emma, this is typical when I’m on a deadline.”

“Your deadline was finished this weekend.”

“Or stressed.”

“What stress? You’re on vacation. When was your last period?”

“Emma, good grief—”

“Tell me. When?”

“I don’t owe you an answer. Man, you’re the bossiest sister ever.”

But when was her last? Taylor couldn’t remember. She and Jack were pretty careful. They’d married so quickly, they didn’t have
time for ironclad preventions, but they found a method that worked for them.

“When, Taylor?”

“I don’t know, I’m not a freak list-maker like you. I don’t keep a chart.”

“Six, seven weeks ago?”

Taylor shoved open the door and stepped out. “If we’re not getting ice cream, I’m going in for Milk Duds.” Stress made her crave chocolate. And Emma was definitely stressing her out.

“Don’t forget my Diet Coke and
your
pregnancy test!” Bigmouthed Emma.

“Shout it to the parking lot, will you?” Taylor moved through the automatic doors.

What did Emma know? Pregnancy? Impossible. Babies weren’t even a germ of a dream. She and Jack were still figuring out marriage. Jack’s obsession over Doug Voss created an awkward wedge between them.

Their communication skills earned an F minus.

At the candy aisle, Taylor stared at the rack of Milk Duds and slowly pressed her hand over her abdomen.

They’d talked about kids. Once. When they sat next to a noisy family at dinner one night.