The Wedding

While I finished preparing dinner, Jane continued filling me in on the rest of her day, going into detail about the cake (two layers, vanilla flavoring, sour cream frosting) and the photographs (Cayton fixes any imperfections on the computer). In the warm light of the kitchen, I could just make out the soft creases around the corners of her eyes, the feathery markings of our life together.

“I’m glad it went well,” I said. “And considering it was your first day, you actually got quite a bit done.”

The smell of melted butter filled the kitchen, and the veal began to sizzle slightly.

“I know. And I am happy, believe me,” she said. “But we still don’t know where we should have the ceremony, and until then, I don’t know how to make the rest of the arrangements. I’d told Anna that we could have it here if she wanted, but she wasn’t too keen on the idea.”

“What does she want?”

“She isn’t sure yet. She thinks she might want to have a garden wedding of some sort. Someplace not too formal.”

“It shouldn’t be too hard to find a place.”

“You’d be surprised. The only place I could think of was the Tryon Palace, but I don’t think we’ll be able to do that on such short notice. I don’t even know if they allow weddings there.”

“Mmm . . .” I added salt, pepper, and garlic powder to the pan.

“The Orton Plantation is nice, too. Remember? That’s where we went to the Brattons’ wedding last year.”

I remembered; it was in between Wilmington and Southport, almost two hours from New Bern. “It is sort of out of the way, isn’t it?” I asked. “Considering most of the guests are from around here?”

“I know. It was just an idea. I’m sure it’s booked anyway.”

“How about someplace downtown? At one of the bed-and-breakfasts?”

She shook her head. “I think most of them might be too small—and I don’t know how many have gardens—but I suppose I can look into it. And if that doesn’t work . . . well, we’ll find someplace. At least I hope we can.”

Jane frowned, lost in thought. She leaned against the counter and propped her stockinged foot against the cabinet behind her, for all the world the same young girl who talked me into walking her to her car. The second time I walked her to her car, I assumed she would simply get in her car and drive away, as she had the first time. Instead she’d struck just the same pose against the driver’s-side door, and we had what I consider to be our first conversation. I remember marveling at her animated features as she recounted the details of her life growing up in New Bern, and it was the first time I sensed the attributes I would always cherish: her intelligence and passion, her charm, the carefree way she seemed to view the world. Years later, she showed the same traits when raising our children, and I know it’s one of the reasons they’ve become the kind and responsible adults they are today.

Breaking into Jane’s distracted reverie, I cleared my throat. “I went to visit Noah today,” I said.

At my words, Jane resurfaced. “How’s he doing?”

“Okay. He looked tired, but he was in good spirits.”

“Was he at the pond again?”

“Yes,” I said. Anticipating her next question, I added: “The swan was there, too.”

She pressed her lips together, but not wanting to ruin her mood, I quickly went on.

“I told him about the wedding,” I said.

“Was he excited?”

“Very.” I nodded. “He told me he’s looking forward to being there.”

Jane brought her hands together. “I’m bringing Anna by tomorrow. She didn’t have a chance to see him last week, and I know she’s going to want to tell him about it.” She smiled appreciatively. “And by the way, thanks for going out to see him today. I know how much he enjoys that.”

“You know I like to spend time with him, too.”

“I know. But thank you anyway.”

The meat was ready, and I added the rest of the ingredients: marsala wine, lemon juice, mushrooms, beef broth, minced shallot, diced green onions. I added another dab of butter for good measure, rewarding myself for the twenty pounds I’d lost in the last year.

“Have you talked to Joseph or Leslie yet?” I asked.

For a moment, Jane watched me as I stirred. Then, after retrieving a spoon from the drawer, she dipped the tip into the sauce and tasted it. “This is good,” she commented, raising her eyebrows.

“You sound surprised.”

“No, I’m really not. You’re actually quite the chef these days. At least compared to where you started.”

“What? You didn’t always love my cooking?”

She brought a finger to her chin. “Let’s just say burned mashed potatoes and crunchy gravy are an acquired taste.”

I smiled, knowing what she said was true. My first few experiences in the kitchen had been less than an earth-shattering success.

Jane took another taste before setting the spoon on the counter.

“Wilson? About the wedding . . . ,” she began.

I glanced at her. “Yes?”

“You do know it’s going to be expensive to get a ticket for Joseph at the last minute, right?”

“Yes,” I said.

“And the photographer isn’t cheap, even if there was a cancellation.”

I nodded. “I figured that.”

“And the cake is kind of pricey, too. For a cake, I mean.”

“No problem. It’s for a lot of people, right?”

She looked at me curiously, clearly stumped by my answers. “Well . . . I just wanted to warn you in advance so you won’t get upset.”

“How could I get upset?”

“Oh, you know. Sometimes you get upset when things start getting expensive.”

“I do?”

Jane cocked a brow. “Don’t bother pretending. Don’t you remember how you were with all the renovations? Or when the heat pump kept breaking? You even shine your own shoes. . . .”

I raised my hands in playful surrender. “Okay, you made your point,” I said. “But don’t worry. This is different.” I looked up, knowing I had her attention. “Even if we spend everything we have, it’ll still be worth it.”