A Bride After All (10 page)

“Not this time, champ,” Nick said, passing over the bag.

“Oh, wow,
mille-feuille.
” He grinned at his father. “
J’irai nous obtiens quelques fourchettes
.”

“
Très bon, et arrêt montrant au loin devant la dame
,” Nick responded, rubbing his son’s head before watching him head for the counter and the containers of plastic utensils.

“He knows French? And you taught him, I’m sure. I’m so impressed. What did you two say to each other?”

Nick picked up his first slice of pizza. “Well, it probably sounds better in French, but he said he’d go get us some forks, and I told him to stop showing off in front of the lady. I’ve spoken French to him ever since he was born, because that’s how my mother did it with my sister and me.”

“I’m so jealous. The only other language I know, and only thanks to memorization, is Latin. You know,
musculus latissimus dorsi, rigor mortis, placebo
. Not a lot of call for any of that at parties.”

“The
rigor mortis
especially, I’d imagine,” Nick teased as Sean came back to the table with three forks, a plastic knife and some paper plates. “Thanks, Champ.”

“I’ve got my test Thursday after class, Dad. Me and Jacob.”

“Jacob and I,” Nick corrected automatically. “You think you’re ready?”

Sean spoke around a mouthful of creamy pastry. “Sensei says I am.” He turned to Claire. “Will you come and watch me, Ms. Ayers? I’m really good.”

Nick and Claire exchanged glances, and he nodded.

“Why, thank you, Sean. I’d love to. Will you be breaking boards on Thursday night?”

Sean launched into a description of what he and Jacob would and would not be doing in order to qualify for the next level of training, answering
Claire’s questions as their dessert disappeared, the subject having changed to that of the movie father and son were going to see that weekend, and would Ms. Ayers want to maybe come with them?

Nick just sat back and listened. It was as if he wasn’t even there. He hadn’t realized how starved his son must be for the attention of a female, a softer presence in his life.

Then, unbidden, he thought about his ex-wife. How would Sean feel about seeing Sandy, having Sandy possibly back in his life?

And why was he less apprehensive about introducing Claire into Sean’s life than he was about allowing him to see his birth mother?

“Claire, there you are. I need you to come with me for a moment, please.”

“Something wrong, Marylou?” Nick asked, looking up at her as she approached the table.

She leaned down, speaking softly. “Claire, I think there’s something wrong with Stefano. But I want you to look at him before I say anything to Salvatore or Evelina.”

Claire immediately put her hand down, grabbed her purse and briefcase, but then hesitated. “Uh-uh, Marylou. One of them has to ask me to look at Stefano. That’s the only way. What’s the problem? I only saw him for a few moments, but he certainly looked healthy to me.”

Marylou looked across the table at Sean. “
Pas en face de l’enfant.
”

Nick pulled his wallet from his pocket and extracted a few bills. “Here you go, Sean. Let me treat you and the boys to hot pretzels, or something. Stay here with them. We’ll be right back.”

But Sean dug in his heels. “Not in front of the child. That’s me. What can’t she say in front of me? You always said that was rude, Dad. Speaking another language in company if everyone else didn’t speak the same language.”

Marylou’s eyes widened. “He speaks French? Somebody could have warned me, you know. But you’re right, Sean. I was being rude, and I apologize most sincerely. Now, take the money your father is holding, and then take a hike back to your buddies.”

Nick laughed, shaking his head. “You’re one of a kind, Marylou, I’ll give you that,” he said as Sean ran off to his buddies. “Let’s go.”

“Chessie’s got him in your classroom, Claire, stalling for us with Salvatore and Evelina, so that they don’t take him home,” Marylou told them as they made their way down the corridor. “She’s pretty good at stalling, but it could come down to a tug-of-war if we don’t rescue her.”

“Marylou, do you want to tell me what you think is wrong with Stefano?” Claire asked her as they picked up their pace.

The older woman stopped, looked at Nick. “It’s pretty personal,” she warned him. “Maybe you want to wait here.”

“He’s a baby. What the hell could be pretty
personal about a—oh,” Nick said, frowning. “You want to get a little more specific?”

Marylou shrugged. “He doesn’t look right, Claire,” she said, wringing her hands. “I mean, I was changing his diaper—Chessie drew a line in the sand on that one—and when I pulled down his little diaper? Now, I may not have the equipment myself, but I’ve seen my share—stop laughing, Nick!” She turned pleading eyes to Claire. “Can’t you just take a look?”

“If the parents agree,” Claire said again.

They entered the classroom to see Chessie holding on to Stefano, rather like Grim Death, Nick thought, and Evelina gesturing that she wanted her baby.

“Oh, thank God,” Chessie said when she spied them. “I feel like a kidnapper. Here, take him. The things you get me into, Marylou.”

Stefano was all but shoved into Claire’s arms, and she smiled rather weakly before appealing to Nick to explain to the parents that Marylou had wanted her to examine the child.

It took some time, and some tears from the worried mother, but at last Claire was allowed to lay Stefano on the changing table that was part of the equipment in her classroom. Evelina unwrapped the baby while Claire pulled on exam gloves she’d taken from her briefcase, asking Salvatore to instruct Evelina to take down the baby’s diaper.

Nick stood behind Clare as everyone else crowded around the changing table, all of them
hovering close, rather like passersby rubbernecking to see a fender bender on the thruway.

“You see it, Claire?” Marylou asked anxiously. “I see it.”

“So do I. Good catch, Marylou,” Claire said, taping the diaper back into place without physically examining the child. “Salvatore? Evelina? Your baby is fine,” she said in a competent and yet soothing voice. “What you’re seeing? It’s called a hydrocele. A sort of fluid-filled sac located along the spermatic cord and visible in the scrotum. It’s fairly common in infants, and we only do something about it if we think it’s going to cause a problem. Then it’s a simple repair, usually performed at an in-and-out surgical center.”

Salvatore nodded furiously, and then quickly translated for Evelina. The young woman’s bottom lip quivered, but then she picked up her son and thanked Claire. “You will do this for our Stefano?”

“No, I’m not a surgeon, Evelina. I’d like you to bring Stefano to our offices tomorrow so that my brother, who is a pediatrician, can examine him, check his general health and then recommend a surgeon if he feels a repair necessary. Which, remember, it might not be.”

“We must take Stefano to the clinic,” Salvatore told her sadly. “We don’t have the money for you or your brother.”

“Yes they do,” Marylou stated firmly. “Just start a tab for me, Claire, all right?” She pressed a kiss on
the top of the sleeping Stefano’s head. “Auntie Marylou is going to take care of everything.”

Chessie sidled up next to Nick and Claire. “She means it, too. Glenda the Good Witch, in designer clothes.”

Nick and Claire returned to the cafeteria to collect Sean, who had a million questions for her, all of which she answered very matter-of-factly.

“Okay,” Sean said, nodding solemnly, as if he approved. “Thanks.” Then he ran ahead with his friend Jacob, saying he’d meet his dad at the car.

“He took that well,” Nick remarked in some surprise.

“You don’t mind that I was so frank with him? I’ve found it better not to fib to children. For one thing, they can always tell.”

“No, I think he appreciated it. And you were great with Stefano’s parents. You’ve got a terrific bedside manner, Ms. Ayers. I enjoyed watching you.”

“Why, thank you, Mr. Barrington,” she said, reaching into her purse for her keys. “If we ever have Take Your Boyfriend To Work Day, I’ll be sure to invite you.”

Nick looked across the now nearly empty parking lot to see that Sean was already in the car, his back to him. He maneuvered Claire so that her back was against her car door and moved close, brought his face to within inches of hers in the near-dark.

“Does that also make you my girlfriend?” he
asked, half-teasingly. “Will you wear my class ring around your neck on a chain?”

“And write your name on all my notebooks, sure,” she answered, stroking his cheek. “You’d better go. Sean’s waiting for you.”

Nick’s full attention was now trained on her smiling mouth. “He can wait another minute…”

Nick opened his own car door five minutes later, and slid onto the front seat. “Sorry, Champ. Ms. Ayers and I were talking.”

“How do you do that, Dad, when you’re kissing each other?”

Nick’s hand stilled in the act of inserting the key into the ignition, and he turned to look at his son. He remembered Claire’s statement that it was better not to fib to children—mostly because they usually knew when someone was lying to them.

“And how do you feel about that, Sean?” he asked his son.

Sean shrugged.

“Come on,” Nick urged, “you can talk to me about anything. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Sean said at last, so quietly Nick had to lean closer to hear him. “I think…I think it would be neat to have a mom. I mean, Mom doesn’t count, because she’s not here, so I think it would be good if we found someone else, who would be here. You know?”

Sean was looking at him now, his eyes so young, so vulnerable.

“Yeah, Champ. I know. Let’s just…see how this works out, okay? But I have your approval?”

Sean turned back to the handheld video game in his lap. “Sure. But thanks for asking.”

Nick smiled all the way home.

C
laire pulled up in front of Second Chance Bridal and stepped out of her car, smiling at the sight of the huge Victorian house Chessie Burton had converted into her place of business.

The building had Old World charm in massive doses, along with a hint of whimsy in the soft violet painted clapboard and dark green trim on the fretwork. As she walked up the path to the door, she could see that there were gowns displayed in the first-floor windows that were framed by delicate white lace curtains.

It was all so sweet, and charming, and welcoming.

Places like this were dangerous. They made you believe in the fantasy.

Claire climbed the broad wooden steps and noticed the Closed sign on the door, but before she could wonder if she should knock, the door opened and Chessie poked her head outside.

“Hi, you’re right on time. I was just coming to take the sign off the door, realizing you might wonder if I’d forgotten. But I didn’t. Come on, come in.”

“I don’t know, Chessie. Last time I was in one of these places I was on my way to making a big mistake.”

“You, too?” Chessie called back over her shoulder as she walked away from the open door, obviously confident Claire was going to follow her. “The very first gown in my inventory was the one I was going to wear for my wedding. Of course, that was before Rick ditched me for my maid of honor the night before the wedding. Sounds like a soap opera, doesn’t it?”

“You don’t sound too heartbroken,” Claire pointed out as she looked around the large room, admiring the contents of the glass-topped cases, the cozy arrangement of chairs around a large fireplace, the tall vase of fresh flowers on the table between them. “Oh, this is lovely.”

“Thank you, and no, I’m not. I was, and I thought my life was over at the time, but now I know I was lucky. Imagine if we’d gone through with the wedding? I mean, then I would have had to kill him, wouldn’t I?”

Chessie turned her full one-hundred-watt smile on Claire. “Kidding. Just kidding. And it was all a long time ago. Over five years. And look at me now—I’ve got my own business.”

“Did you ever sell your gown?”

“I did. I don’t believe in bad-luck dresses or anything like that. I simply said yes to the wrong man. It wasn’t the gown’s fault. Marylou’s in the back, checking out some new stock that came in today. She seems to think I need her seal of approval. Soda?”

“Uh, no, thank you.” Claire looked at the gowns in the window. One was a waltz-length peach-blush creation with a lace overlay, and the other a more traditional gown, with a trumpet skirt. “So this is what the well-dressed second-chance bride is wearing these days?”

“Sometimes. It’s different for every bride. Do you want to see Barb’s? Nick’s cousin. Marylou said you’re going to the wedding with him.”

“How would she know that I’m—never mind. I probably don’t want to know. But, yes, I would like to see it, as long as we’ve got time?”

“Plenty. Follow me,” Chessie said, heading toward a door at the back of the room. “Would I be nosy if I asked about your marriage? I’m getting the idea it wasn’t a lot of laughs?”

“You could say that. Along with having the shelf life of a cantaloupe. We simply weren’t on the same page as to how our marriage should work. He’s
getting married again, and I wish both of them all the luck in the world.” How freeing it was to say those words, and really mean them. And then she stopped dead, and simply stared. “Oh, isn’t that
gorgeous
.”

Claire touched the skirt of the gown that was hanging prominently in a room lined with racks of gowns, all the others safely zipped up inside clear plastic garment bags.

Not that Claire noticed. She just couldn’t look away from this one gown. This one perfect gown.

“Don’t you just love it?” Chessie said, smiling brightly. “It’s a showstopper. I love a dropped waist, and how do you say no to a ball-gown skirt like that, the chapel train? It’s silk over satin, and the draping is—that seed pearl clip on the left hip, the folds all falling from it? Elegant is the only word I can find. There’s no bling with this gown, just quiet, understated elegance. Classy and classic, and slightly European.”

Claire touched the strapless bodice, all of it covered in a swirling vine-like design of fine embroidery and seed pearls that matched the color of the gown. “What color is this?”

“In the olden days, I think it was considered to be tea-stained. I’ve dipped more than one veil in tea to get this color, myself. Not really beige, darker than ivory, almost ecru, but not exactly that, either. Now we call it champagne. Perfect for a second wedding, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know about that. I just think it’s perfect, period. What a fun job you have, Chessie. It must be
like playing dress-up every day when you come to work.”

Chessie’s expression went all soft, and Claire liked her even more. “I do get a huge kick out of making people happy. And when a bride puts on the right gown—when I’ve picked the right gown for her—you can just
tell
. I mean, I may not be curing some terrible disease or making the world safe for democracy or anything like that, but I’ll take it. Oh, Marylou, there you are. The new stock is out here. What were you doing in the back room?”

Marylou closed the door to the back room and smiled brightly at the two of them. “Just looking at Barb’s gown, now that it’s all pressed and ready to go. Do you want to see it, Claire?”

Claire shook her head. “Now that I think about it, I believe I’d rather first see Nick’s cousin in it when she comes down the aisle. Looking at it now seems sort of…intrusive.”

“Good point. Okay,” Chessie said, rubbing her hands together. “Is everybody ready to go? Oh, and how could I forget? Does little Stefano need surgery? Please say he doesn’t.”

“It’s too soon for a definitive answer,” Claire told both women, “but, so far, no. We’ll keep watching him. Marylou, that was really nice of you, to offer to pay for Stefano’s visits. You’re something else.”

“Yes, I get that a lot. But it isn’t always a compliment.” Marylou picked up her purse, but then
stopped to fluff out the skirt of the ball gown. “You know, I’ve been
dying
to see this one on somebody.”

“Me, too,” Chessie agreed. “I haven’t put it on anyone yet, and that’s unusual, since I’ve had it here for over a month. I haven’t even tried it on myself. But not just anyone can wear something so dramatic. It has to be the right person, or the bride would disappear and nobody would see anything but the gown.”

“You’re right. I would have tried it on, but I’m not tall enough to carry it off. It takes a special person to wear this one. Tall, definitely, but also quietly elegant. I’m a little too flamboyant for a stunner like this. Not to mention bony.” Then she turned and smiled at Claire. “You know what? I’ll bet you could do it. You’re exactly the right type for a gown like this. Come on, let’s do it. You’ll have a ball. It’s such fun to play dress-up.”

Claire laughed and rolled her eyes. No wonder the gown had been hanging in plain sight when she’d entered the back room. Marylou had put it there on purpose. “Marylou, I’ve seen two-year-olds with more guile. No, I am not going to try on that gown for you. Seriously, I’m not.”

Marylou shrugged and smiled. “Too obvious, huh?”

“As a big red clown nose in the middle of your face,” Chessie said, laughing. “I had a feeling it wouldn’t work. But I’ll hand it to you, buddy, you’re always thinking.”

“Oh, all right. Party poopers, that’s what you two
are, you know. But never let it be said I don’t know when I’m licked. Come on, let’s all go together in my car. That way we won’t lose each other in traffic.”

Several hours of friendly conversation often punctuated by laughter later, and with three glasses of wine and a plate of spaghetti bolognaise under her belt, Claire was standing in a dressing room at Second Chance Bridal, looking at herself in the gown, wondering if she really looked as good as she thought she might, or if the wine was playing tricks on her.

This was all Marylou’s fault. Or, Claire admitted to herself, all Marylou’s devious plan. The gown hanging in plain sight. The seed, well planted. The off-hand suggestion that they all go to the restaurant in her car. The two expensive bottles of wine she’d ordered—one red, one white—and then pushed on Chessie and Claire, saying she’d forgotten she’d taken a decongestant, and couldn’t drink any of it herself. “Can’t let it go to waste, now can we?”

Oh, the woman was a menace. Brilliant, but a menace. And maybe Claire had been more willing than she’d wanted to admit.

“Okay, that was fun,” Claire said, annoyed that her voice seemed a little shaky. “Now get me out of this thing and let’s find some coffee somewhere.”

“I’ve already got a pot brewing upstairs,” Chessie told her. Claire had already learned that Chessie lived above the shop. “But first, since you’re already in the gown, let me see if I can recreate the look a bit from
the catalog. Can you take down your hair? Yeah, like that. Now fluff it out, still keeping it away from your forehead and—yes, that’s it. Perfect. Now for the earrings. These aren’t exactly the same as in the photograph, but they’re close enough.”

Claire eyed the large earrings with some trepidation. They were at least two inches long, diamond-shaped, all constructed out of a sort of dull gold filigree in an open basket-weave design, and touched with tiny rhinestones. She expected them to be very heavy, but she barely felt them as Chessie clipped them to her ears.

“Yes, exactly the right touch of bling. I’m going to put them away, not sell them to anyone but whoever buys the gown,” Chessie said as she stepped back, nodding her head. “These guys definitely know what they’re doing. No necklace, no gloves, no veil. And yet every inch a bride. Perfect for a second wedding—I’d say formal, no matter if it’s small or large, and absolutely a candlelight ceremony. This is definitely going to take a special bride. Thanks so much for doing this for me, Claire. How do you feel in it? It’s a lot of material, but the design should have the weight of the skirt cleverly distributed over the hips thanks to the dropped waist. You shouldn’t feel the weight.”

Claire pressed her lips together, slowly shook her head. Words simply wouldn’t come to her. She didn’t recognize this sophisticated-looking woman reflected in the mirror.

But she liked her. She liked her very, very much.

She’d liked her wedding gown, although she’d always felt she’d…settled. But she’d been so busy with her last classes, with finding an apartment, interviewing for positions. The gown had just been another chore to check off before moving on to the next thing. And there’d been that slowly growing unease about Steven, and his not always amusing jokes about how maybe she didn’t want to find a better job, but would rather stay home and be a real wife.

If Claire felt any “weight” now, it was from the mistakes of the past. Mistakes she didn’t plan to repeat. Because it wasn’t the ring, it wasn’t the gown, it wasn’t the shower and the just-right wedding favors, or even the ceremony itself. It was the man. If you didn’t get that right, nothing else mattered.

“I…I want to take this off now.”

“Are you sure?” Marylou asked her, bending to fluff out the train. “If I looked that good in something, I’d never take it off. How about we see how it would bustle for the reception? That’s always tricky, and it’s good to know how to do it before trying it on the client, right, Chessie?”

“No, I mean it. I need to get out of this gown. Now.”

Chessie hurried over to her, undoing the back of the gown and then instructing her to bend her knees so that she could lift the heavy creation up and over her head.

Crossing her arms over the ridiculously risqué bustier she wore, Claire bent forward and took several deep breaths, trying to get her emotions under control.

“You and your bright ideas, Marylou,” Chessie
grumbled, leading Claire to a chair and all but pushing her into it.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Marylou said, going down on her knees in front of the chair and taking Claire’s hands in hers. “I just can’t seem to help myself. But I shouldn’t have done it. I know I was wrong.”

Claire took another breath as she shook her head, unwanted tears stinging at the back of her eyes. “No, Marylou,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. Was it the wine? No. Not the wine. “You weren’t wrong. I…I just don’t know what I’m going to do. I love him. I know it’s too soon, I know it’s not logical. But I love him. If I’m crying, it has nothing to do with the gown. It’s Nick.”

“What about Nick?” Marylou asked, squeezing her hands. “Don’t tell me he isn’t crazy about you, because I may not always be right, but I know I’m not wrong this time. It’s like each of you was just waiting for the other one to come into your lives. Fate. Kismet. All that good stuff. And he goes all gooey-eyed every time he looks at you.”

Claire smiled wanly as she accepted the tissue Chessie held out to her, and wiped at her eyes. “Nick couldn’t go gooey-eyed if he tried.”

“You know what I mean. And you love him. I’m looking for the downside in all of this, sweetheart, and I’m not seeing it.”

“His ex-wife is coming back to town on Friday,” Claire said quietly, between tears. “To…to see Sean and be a mother to him again, or so she says. Nick
and Sandy didn’t just divorce. She left him—just took off. He might have unresolved issues with her he doesn’t think he has. And then there’s Sean. He and I have hit it off really well, but now his mother…it’s just all so complicated. And definitely happening too fast.”

“I agree that the timing could have been better,” Chessie said as she motioned for Claire to stand up, so she could step out of the net half-slip.

“I know. And I don’t cry. I
never
cry. This is all that wine you kept pushing on me, Marylou. I shouldn’t have told you about Sandy. I didn’t even realize how much it bothers me that she’s coming back here, upsetting everyone. And it’s really…it’s really none of my business.”

“Of course it’s your business,” Marylou protested, handing over more tissues she’d pulled from the box Chessie was holding. “If you love him, it’s your business. Or are you thinking you’ll just walk away now that the ex is showing up, never even telling Nick how you feel about him?”