The Wedding Party

“I do,” she said. In truth, Gwen was one of Charlene’s biggest fans, but that wasn’t really the issue here. The issue was her brother, who was morose on the day he announced his formal engagement. Despite his insistence to the contrary, the bold and passionate way he had loved when he loved Sarah had been buried with her. While Gwen was mostly concerned with her brother right now, it did cross her mind that Charlene might be getting shortchanged.

Gwen had been eighteen when her twenty-eight-year-old brother met and fell helplessly in love with Sarah Brown, a slender beauty with dark hair and vivid eyes. Dennis had described his first true love to his sister as kind, patient, good-natured and possessing a dry humor.

They met while Dennis was teaching high-school chemistry. Sarah was the photography and audiovisual teacher at the school and there was such chemistry between them—an intended pun they overused—that the principal asked them to stop looking at each other during school hours. They got married the second school was out—a sweet little ceremony in the park—and spent the summer in Europe.

What they had together was so obvious, so intense, so devoted and delicious, it became the benchmark for what Gwen wanted for herself. Perfect love.

And then Sarah died, a slow and miserable death from ovarian cancer.

“I don’t know if I ever told you this, Denny, but one of the things that I have always most admired about you was…is…your ability to take the pain and disappointment in life and turn it into something positive and beautiful. Like letting the experience of Sarah’s illness and death turn the chemistry teacher into a physician’s assistant who can help people daily. I love that about you.”

He looked wistful, his eyes cloudy. “She was so amazing,” he said.

“Dennis, look at me,” she said.

He obliged. “You’ve told me that a number of times, Gwen. I appreciate it.”

“Denny, is this some kind of red flag? Maybe you and Charlene shouldn’t be getting married….”

“I was so lonely by the time I met Charlene,” he said. “Dating never did do it for me, you know? I was so grateful to finally find someone who liked the same things. Someone I could talk to. I suggested we get married or at least move in together six months after we met.”

“I didn’t know that,” she said.

“She told me she’d never been happier, more in tune with a person…and she didn’t want to screw it up by changing everything so soon after we’d fallen into such a lovely little routine.”

Routine, Gwen thought. Yes, that would describe it.

“The day I met Charlene was one of the best days of my life. The past five years have been some of my most contented.”

Gwen couldn’t bear the flat expression on his face, the murky look in his eyes. Sarah’s death had been a painful loss for Gwen, too, and for everyone even remotely related to them. They had been a beautiful, joyful young couple, without so much as an argument between them, and were now scarred by the utter tragedy of a life cut short. And almost overnight Dennis became a young widower locked in a powerful grief that lasted years. It was almost too much to bear remembering. She was afraid she might cry just thinking about it.

Now he was getting married…. and he sounded perfectly miserable.

In utter frustration she tore open the box of cookies and stuffed one into her mouth. She went for a second, then a third, chewing slowly and with much difficulty. Her cheeks puffed out and her teeth were smeared with chocolate. It took a long time to make room for two more, which she had to break into chunks to push into her mouth. Dennis watched this display in frowning confusion, but she didn’t see him. She had closed her eyes as she struggled with the clump of chocolate. When she was finally done, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, looked at her brother and said, “Just don’t bubble over with happiness, okay?”

“That was disgusting,” he observed.

“Thank you.”

When Charlene arrived at the law offices of Bradley & Howe, Sherry Omagi was waiting in the foyer, looking as nervous as a cat. Charlene pasted that smile of confidence on her face. She hadn’t spent as much time as she should have preparing for tonight, for she’d had only one meeting with Sherry, but it should be cutand-dried. Sherry was willing to discuss visitation, as long as she maintained custody, and would not ask for support payments. She was a self-supporting accountant who worked mostly at home and the child was young, circumstances that all heavily favored the mother.

“He’s already here,” Sherry said, wringing her hands. “I saw him go in.”

“Sherry, I want you to calm down and let me do the talking.”

“I’m so afraid,” she said. “Frankie means everything to me.”

Charlene pulled her client along with her to the elevators. She pushed the button for the third floor. “Now, we’ve talked about this, Sherry. Your ex-husband is entitled to some quality time with Frankie, and the same is good for Frankie, but that’s no reason you can’t retain primary custodial care. You should rethink the issue of compensatory support as well.”

“I don’t need support,” she said. “Kim isn’t as attached to Frankie as I am. He only wants him because I want him. He’s even said that having him is stupid.”

“People say things in the heat of the moment.”

“He said he’s sick of Frankie shitting all over the place. Really, Charlene, I worry about Frankie in Kim’s care. I don’t know that he’d be…safe.”

“Well, there are definite messes involved when you have little ones running around. This is the first time you’ve indicated Kim could be abusive. Are you serious about this?”

“I just don’t know. I suppose that’s just my temper talking, but still. Charlene, I just want custody. That’s all.”

“Compromise will get you a lot further, Sherry. Especially since it’s the best thing for the entire family.”

“But it hardly costs anything to keep Frankie. Really.”

“But it will, believe me. Wait till he wants to drive. Wait till college. We have to settle these things now, make it part of the divorce settlement.”

The elevator arrived on the third floor and Charlene got off. When she realized that Sherry wasn’t beside her, she turned around. Her client stood in the elevator, paralyzed. “You’re kidding, right?” Sherry asked.

“About what?”

“About driving. About college.”

Charlene laughed. “I have a twenty-five-year-old daughter—it’s nothing to kid about.”

“Charlene, Frankie is a goose.”

Charlene’s expression was frozen, her mouth hanging open slightly. She did a memory check of all the times Sherry had said things like, “Frankie is such a precious goose,” and “I don’t know what I’d do without my little goose.” She couldn’t remember one time she’d actually been informed that this was not a minor child.

“A goose…with tail feathers?”

“Beautiful tail feathers.”

“The kind of animal down comforters are made of?”

Sherry gasped. “God forbid!”

“Oh my Lord,” Charlene prayed.

That night Jake entered Coppers. The bar, once named Toppers, had been rechristened when the owner realized a large percentage of the clientele was from the police department. Jake stopped first at the bar, procured a beer, said hello to a couple of guys he knew, and finally migrated to a booth near the back. A woman waited there, nursing a cola.

“Hiya, Merrie, honey.” He slid in across from her. “You’re all set. You have an appointment with Charlene next Tuesday—10:00 a.m. Can you do that?”

“I reckon so…. But does she know I ain’t got nomoney?”

“She understands about that. Charlene is good, Merrie. You’re going to need someone good to get ahead of this guy.”

“Jake, I just don’t get it,” she said, shaking her head. “He didn’t want nothing to do with us. Only saw Josie one time, that’s all. Never gave me any money, let the apartment lease run out with me sitting there with no place to go. And now? He wants his daughter so she can have a good life? What does he think she’s been having the last eleven years up till now?”

Meredith was a thin, washed-out blonde, all of twenty-seven years old. She was just a little bitty thing, about five foot two, a hundred and ten pounds maybe, soaking wet. If it hadn’t been for her little tiny breasts, she’d look like a kid. A tired and worn-out kid. She had hardly any fat on her, and her eyes were big and blue and innocent…but she was not. She’d had a hard life. Even before this. She’d been only fifteen when she’d gotten pregnant with the child in the custody dispute. Her ex, Rick, had been thirty, and quite possibly agreed to marriage as a means of escaping any charge of statutory rape.

Meredith was broke, not terribly bright and didn’t live the most wholesome of lifestyles. She also had a daughter at home, aged eight, fathered by another man who was not her husband. Rick, on the other hand, was forty-one, stable and married with a second child. He made a good living, lived in a decent house and went to church on Sunday.

Jake saw a dark shadow on her cheek. “Merrie?” he asked, leaning across the booth and squinting. “Merrie, you got a bruise?”

Self-conscious, she touched the exact place. Then she reached into her purse to retrieve her compact and studied her reflection. She powdered the spot. “It ain’t no big deal. Not really.”

Jake took a long pull at his beer, pursed his lips and looked away, trying to mentally gather restraint. “He’s really starting to piss me off, Merrie.”

“You?” She laughed.

“When did this happen?”

“He came over this morning when I was getting ready for work. He found out where’d I moved to and that you were helping me out, helping me get a better job. He wanted to talk to Josie and I wouldn’t let him past the door. He found out about the whatchamacallit…order of protection.” She laughed hollowly. “It made him mad.”

“Jesus Christ. You call the police?”

She looked into her cola, defeated. “I just took the kids over to the neighbor’s, told her to be sure he didn’t bother them and then came on t’work.” She looked up. “I know I should’ve called the police like you said, but I’m just so tired of him. Of everything. And I didn’t want to be late for work again.”

“You gotta do this by the book, Merrie. Follow through. Or you’re gonna be real late for work, you know what I mean?”

“Oh, I don’t think he’d actually kill me,” she said quietly. “So, how’d you talk your ex-wife into helping me out? You don’t have to pay her for this, do you?”

“No, nothing like that. She likes having me owe her. It makes her feel powerful.” He grinned.

“You must have a pretty good relationship with her, even after the divorce.”

“We were married one twenty-sixth of the total time we’ve known each other, and we’ve gotten along better in the last twenty-five years than we got along in that one. Most of the time I irritate the shit outta her.” He grinned, as if it was an achievement. “But, like I said, she relishes opportunities to remind me that I am a lowly cop and she is a big fucking attorney.” Merrie lit a cigarette. “Hey, I thought you quit.”

She exhaled away from him, trying to spare him the secondhand smoke. She touched her purplish cheekbone. “I’m under a lot of stress.”

“Soon as this is over, you gotta try to quit again. That stuff isn’t good for the kids. Y’know?”

She shook her head. “How’d you end up single? Good-looking guy like you, with such a big heart? Seems like some woman’d have you locked up tight.”

“They do that regular, Merrie, honey. Regular.”

“Well, listen, I gotta git,” she said, stubbing out the barely smoked cigarette. “Get the kids home and in their own beds before my neighbor has a fit. Jake, I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t such a good guy.”

“Hey, no problem. C’mon, let’s go.”

“You think I’m going to get through this, keep my Josie?”

“I’m telling you, Charlene is the absolute best lawyer in family law in this city. Judges pick her to arbitrate all the time. She’s so good she even took a case to the Supreme Court. And she’s a nice person. You’ll like her. She’s got a lot of…What’s the word I’m looking for? She’s got a lot of spunk, that’s for sure, but that’s not it. She’s got class, but that’s not it either…. Dignity. She’s got dignity. You spend a little time with her, you feel all cleaned up.”

They exited the bar and stood outside in the wet, early-spring night. “You never should’ a divorced her,” Merrie said.

“Ha. That was not one of my options.”

Four

The sun came out on Saturday morning and Charlene took it as an omen. She was preparing the brunch for her mother and daughter over which she would give them the good news.

“Let’s not overcook that quiche,” Dennis said.

They were making brunch. They would convey the news. She mentally lectured herself to start thinking and acting as a couple. This should not be a challenge; they’d been together for years.

Dennis put a sprig of mint in the festive-looking bowl of multicolored melon balls and poured four mimosas. He snapped open and refolded the linen napkins, peeked in the chafing dish at the ham and bacon and turned on the coffeepot. Charlene brought the warm croissants to the table, unfolded the napkins and put them in decorative rings, checked the meat in the chafing dish and turned down the temperature, then drank one mimosa. Rather quickly.

Dennis noticed. “There isn’t any reason to be tense,” he said. “I’m sure they approve of me.”

“It’s silly, isn’t it? But I am tense. Why is that?”

“Are you afraid to get married?”

“No. In fact, since we made the decision, I’ve never felt more relaxed. Secure. Pam says I glow.”

“You didn’t like the way I folded the napkins?” he asked. And if she wasn’t mistaken, asked rather testily.

“I wanted to use the napkin rings—I just bought them. If you don’t like them, take them off.” She took a breath. “Dennis, there are a couple of things we haven’t talked about yet.”

“Like?” He left the napkin rings alone.

“Insurance? Joint accounts? Prenup?”

“Those things don’t matter to me,” he said. He’d already told her that he had set aside some money for his niece and nephew, for college, and he naturally assumed Stephanie would remain her beneficiary. “Anything you want is fine with me.”

“Well, here’s something we haven’t discussed. Where are we going to live? I assumed we’d be living here.”

He stared at her for a moment as she fussed with the napkins, then he picked up a mimosa and drained the glass. “You did?”

“It seems like we spend more time here,” she said.

“That’s because of your schedule. You don’t exactly keep regular hours.”

“I don’t punch a clock, no.”

“Exactly! And when we have plans and you can’t get away until the last possible minute, I come for you here. Then I bring you back here.”

“I thought you liked it here,” she said.

“I like being with you,” he countered. “And coming here rather than asking you to drive back into the city is the gentlemanly thing to do.”

“Oh. You’re being a gentleman? You don’t like it here?”

“I like if fine,” he said snappishly. “But it’s for your convenience that we spend more time here. My house is actually closer to your office and the courthouse. If your clothes were in my closet, it would work out even better for us to meet there.”

“Your place would make a nice rental,” she said.

“You don’t like my house?”

“I love your house, but this house has a larger master bedroom and bath. Plus, I just bought it.”

“It would make a nice rental,” he said, a little edge in his voice.

“I don’t want it to be a rental!”

“Really?” he asked. “Why not?”

“It’s my house! I don’t want to rent it out!”

“And you think I’d like to rent mine out because…?”

“It’s older, larger and there are more rentals in your neighborhood.”

“It’s an historic district!”

“You don’t seem as attached to your house as I am to mine.”

“It’s a restored home! I restored it!”

The doorbell rang. They stared each other down.

“We’re going to have to put this discussion on the back burner,” she said.

“Where it will stay good and hot,” he added testily.

They went to the door together, plastered smiles on their faces and swung the portal open to greet Stephanie and Lois. They welcomed with hugs and cheek presses, pulling the guests inside. Dennis quickly replenished the mimosas that had been guzzled while the brunch guests shed their wraps. He presented full, fresh glasses to Lois, Stephanie and Charlene, then he put an arm around his fiancée’s shoulders and said, completely sweet-natured, “Let’s not make them wait. Let’s have a toast.”

Dennis and Charlene were both professionally trained in the ability to act contrary to emotions when necessary. Dennis couldn’t let his stress or fear or even anger show in the emergency room, especially around the patients and their families. As for Charlene, she was a gifted litigator; no one knew by her expression what she was thinking…and at that moment she was thinking she had just met a side of Dennis she had never before known.

“What are we toasting? New car? Vacation? Raise? Bonus?” Stephanie asked, taking a preliminary sip.

“At long last, Dennis and I have decided to make it official. We’re getting married.”

Stephanie stopped in mid gulp. She and Lois exchanged shocked looks and then said in unison, “Why?”

As toasts go, it wasn’t all Charlene had dreamed of. She much preferred the reaction she had gotten from Pam. Happy tears seemed more apropos.

“We felt it was time,” she said somewhat wearily.

They relented. “Oh. Well then, congratulations!”

“Yes, of course. How wonderful.”

Dennis raised a glass. “To new family ties,” he proposed.

“Hear, hear,” they intoned.

“Now, what have you made for brunch?” Lois wanted to know.

“Well, don’t fall over in excitement,” Charlene said.

Stephanie whispered to her grandmother, “I think she’s in need of a little more bride-to-be attention, Peaches.”

“But they always serve such lovely meals,” Lois protested.

“Come ahead, then,” Dennis said. “Come and sit—you’ll love this.”

It was true—Dennis and Charlene had gotten quite good at this sort of thing. It was not entirely insensitive of Lois to concern herself first with brunch and second with the upcoming nuptials. In their five years together, Charlene and Dennis had established a reputation for giving the best parties, with the most exquisite ambience and the most delectable food. They had a keen eye for putting the right guest list together, and whether the affair was large or small, elegant or casual, it was always polished. Perfect.

They sat Lois and Stephanie down and served them a wonderful brunch. Once their appetites were sated, they turned their attention to the prospect of a wedding. Charlene gave them the standard line, that it would be small, simple and soon, possibly in a few weeks.

“What do you mean, small wedding? What do you mean by small?” Stephanie wanted to know.

“Well, we’ve talked about a quick trip to Lake Tahoe,” Charlene said.

“Or, we could throw caution to the wind and go all the way to Las Vegas,” Dennis threw out.

Charlene looked askance at him. She thought his tone was a little edgy and suspected he was still miffed about the house issue.

“Most likely, we’ll go down to the courthouse, get it done and spend our time and money on a vacation later,” Charlene clarified.

“And deprive yourselves of guests?” Lois asked. “How completely unlike either one of you.”

“I have to admit, I’m pretty surprised,” Stephanie agreed. “I would have expected a rather lavish affair.”

“As in big, white wedding?” Charlene asked, frankly shocked.

“Oh, not as in big, white, virginal wedding,” she clarified. “Something that would fit your personal style more—which is almost never simple, small and soon. I’ve seen you plan a Christmas party for months, a Fourth of July barbecue for weeks. It’s so unlike you to just throw something together.”

“Well, that’s just the point!” Charlene said in frustration. “We want to get married and don’t have time for a big deal. It’s a little more complicated than a dinner party, you know.”

“Hardly. You can take as much or as little control as you like,” Lois declared.

“Peaches is right, Mom. These days you get a wedding planner.”

Charlene was a little slow to respond because she was watching her mother. It didn’t escape her notice that Lois seemed positively sharp as a tack today…and this pleased Charlene greatly. This was the mother she knew and, as it happened, took for granted.

“I can’t believe a planner eliminates all the work. Surely there’s still copious shopping, ordering, listing, planning…”

“As much as you want.” Stephanie shrugged. “Remember Jennifer Johnson, my sorority sister? She’s in med school and said all the time she could spare was a two-hour meeting every couple of weeks. Her mom and dad live in another state, so they couldn’t help. The solution? She had a meeting with the planner to talk about what she liked, made final selections that were brought to her and showed up to say ‘I do.”’ Stephanie popped a melon ball into her mouth.

“That couldn’t be done in a month.”

“Maybe not, but if all you want is a nice party, something you wouldn’t have to have a hall reserved for months in advance, you could have a very nice wedding with good food, music, flowers and lots of fun planned in two or three months. You could be a June bride.” She leaned over the small round table. “You’re not, you know, in the family way?” she whispered. Then giggled.

“She’s afraid I won’t make it,” Lois said.

“Mother! What an awful thing to say!”

“Aren’t you?”

“Peaches, that’s a little melodramatic, isn’t it?” Stephanie wanted to know.

“It’s true. She’s completely freaked out because I got a little turned around at the grocery store.”

Annoying though the direction of conversation was to Charlene, it was also endearing. That was her mom; she rarely spoke as you’d expect an eighty-year-old woman would. Freaked out, indeed!

“I heard it was very turned around,” Stephanie said, giving her grandmother a sidelong glance.

“It could have been very. Whatever. She’s afraid if she doesn’t get married quickly, I won’t even know I went to the wedding.”

“You are so irritating,” Charlene said to them both, but she managed a smile. At least Peaches had a sense of humor.

“I wouldn’t mind having guests,” Dennis said.

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