The Wedding (25 page)

Jane had by now surely found what I’d left her on the bed upstairs. The album—hand stitched with a carved leather binding—was exquisite, but it was the contents that I hoped would truly move her. This was the gift I’d assembled with the help of so many for our thirtieth anniversary. Like the other gifts she’d received this evening, it had come with a note. It was the letter I had tried but failed to write in the past, the kind that Noah had once suggested, and though I’d once found the very idea impossible, the epiphanies of the past year, and particularly the past week, lent my words an uncharacteristic grace.
 
When I finished writing, I read through it once, then read it again. Even now, the words were as clear in my mind as they were on the pages Jane now held in her hand.

My darling,

It’s late at night, and as I sit at my desk, the house is silent except for the ticking of the grandfather clock. You’re asleep upstairs, and though I long for the warmth of your body against my own, something compels me to write this letter, even though I’m not exactly sure where to begin. Nor, I realize, do I know exactly what to say, but I can’t escape the conclusion that after all these years, it’s something I must do, not only for you, but for myself as well. After thirty years, it’s the least I can do.

Has it really been that long? Though I know it has, the very thought is amazing to me. Some things, after all, have never changed. In the mornings, for instance, my first thoughts after waking are—and always have been—of you. Often, I’ll simply lie on my side and watch you; I see your hair spread across the pillow, one arm above your head, the gentle rise and fall of your chest.
 
Sometimes when you’re dreaming, I’ll move closer to you in the hope that somehow this will allow me to enter your dreams. That, after all, is how I’ve always felt about you. Throughout our marriage, you’ve been my dream, and I’ll never forget how lucky I’ve felt ever since the first day we walked together in the rain.

I often think back on that day. It’s an image that has never left me, and I find myself experiencing a sense of déjà vu whenever lightning streaks across the sky. In those moments, it seems as if we’re starting over once more, and I can feel the hammering of my young man’s heart, a man who’d suddenly glimpsed his future and couldn’t imagine a life without you.

I experience this same sensation with nearly every memory I can summon. If I think of Christmas, I see you sitting beneath the tree, joyfully handing out gifts to our children. When I think of summer nights, I feel the press of your hand against my own as we walked beneath the stars. Even at work, I frequently find myself glancing at the clock and wondering what you’re doing at that exact moment. Simple things—I might imagine a smudge of dirt on your cheek as you work in the garden, or how you look as you lean against the counter, running a hand through your hair while you visit on the phone. I guess what I’m trying to say is that you are there, in everything I am, in everything I’ve ever done, and looking back, I know that I should have told you how much you’ve always meant to me.

I’m sorry for that, just as I’m sorry for all the ways I’ve let you down. I wish I could undo the past, but we both know that’s impossible. Yet I’ve come to believe that while the past is unchangeable, our perceptions of it are malleable, and this is where the album comes in.

In it, you will find many, many photographs. Some are copies from our own albums, but most are not. Instead, I asked our friends and family for any photographs they had of the two of us, and over the past year, the photographs were sent to me from across the country. You’ll find a photo Kate took at Leslie’s christening, still another from a company picnic a quarter of a century ago, taken by Joshua Tundle. Noah contributed a picture of the two of us that he’d taken on a rainy Thanksgiving while you were pregnant with Joseph, and if you look closely, it’s possible to see the place where I first realized that I’d fallen in love with you. Anna, Leslie, and Joseph each contributed pictures as well.

As each photograph came in, I tried to recall the moment in which it was taken.
 
At first, my memory was like the snapshot itself—a brief, self-contained image—but I found that if I closed my eyes and concentrated, time would begin to roll backward. And in each instance, I remembered what I’d been thinking.
 
This, then, is the other part of the album. On the page opposite each picture, I’ve written what I remember about those moments or, more specifically, what I remember about you.

I call this album “The Things I Should Have Said.” I once made a vow to you on the steps outside the courthouse, and as your husband of thirty years, it’s time I finally made another: From this point on, I will become the man I always should have been. I’ll become a more romantic husband, and make the most of the years we have left together. And in each precious moment, my hope is that I’ll do or say something that lets you know that I could never have cherished another as much as I’ve always cherished you.

With all my love,

Wilson

At the sound of Jane’s footsteps, I looked up. She stood at the top of the steps, the hallway light behind her obscuring her features. Her hand reached for the railing as she began moving down the steps.

The light from the candles illuminated her in stages: first her legs, then her waist, then finally her face. Stopping halfway down, she met my eyes, and even from across the room, I could see her tears.

“Happy anniversary,” I said, my voice echoing in the room. Continuing to gaze at me, she finished descending the steps. With a gentle smile, she crossed the room toward me and I suddenly knew exactly what to do.
 
Opening my arms, I drew her close. Her body was warm and soft, her cheek damp against my own. And as we stood in Noah’s house two days before our thirtieth anniversary, I held her against me, wishing with all my heart for time to stop, now and forever.

We stood together for a long time, before Jane finally leaned back. With her arms still around me, she stared up at me. Her cheeks were damp and shiny in the dim light.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

I gave her a gentle squeeze. “Come on. I want to show you something.” I led her through the living room, toward the rear of the house. I pushed open the back door and we stepped out onto the porch.

Despite the moonlight, I could still make out the Milky Way arcing above us like a spray of jewels; Venus had risen in the southern sky. The temperature had cooled slightly, and in the breeze, I caught a scent of Jane’s perfume.
 
“I thought we could eat out here. And besides, I didn’t want to mess up any of the tables inside.”

She looped her arm through mine and surveyed the table before us. “It’s wonderful, Wilson.”

I pulled away reluctantly to light the candles and reached for the champagne.

“Would you like a glass?”

At first, I wasn’t sure she’d heard me. She was staring out over the river, her dress fluttering slightly in the breeze.

“I’d love one.”

I removed the bottle from the wine bucket, held the cork steady, and twisted. It opened with a pop. After pouring two glasses, I waited for the fizz to settle, and then topped them both off. Jane moved closer to me.
 
“How long have you been planning this?” she asked me.

“Since last year. It was the least I could do after forgetting the last one.” She shook her head and turned my face to hers. “I couldn’t have dreamed of anything better than what you did tonight.” She hesitated. “I mean, when I found the album and the letter and all those passages you wrote . . . well, that’s the most remarkable thing you’ve ever done for me.”

I started making more noises about it being the least I could do, but she interrupted me.

“I mean it,” she said quietly. “I can’t even put it into words how much this means to me.” Then, with a sly wink, she fingered my lapel. “You look awfully handsome in that tux, stranger.”

I laughed beneath my breath, feeling the tension break slightly, and put my hand on hers and squeezed it. “On that note, I hate to have to leave you . . .” “But?”

“But I’ve got to check on dinner.”

She nodded, looking sensual, looking beautiful. “Need any help?”

“No. It’s just about done.”

“Would you mind if I stayed outside, then? It’s so peaceful out here.”

“Not at all.”

In the kitchen, I saw that the asparagus I had steamed had cooled, so I turned on the burner to reheat them. The hollandaise had congealed a bit, but after I stirred it, it seemed fine. Then I turned my attention to the sole, opening the oven to test it with a fork. It needed just another couple of minutes.
 
The station I’d tuned the kitchen radio to was playing music from the big band era, and I was reaching for the knob when I heard Jane’s voice behind me.
 
“Leave it on,” she said.

I looked up. “I thought you were going to enjoy the evening.” “I was, but it’s not the same without you,” she said. She leaned against the counter and struck her usual pose. “Did you specifically request this music for tonight, too?” she teased.

“This program has been on for the past couple of hours. I guess it’s their special theme for the night.”

“It sure brings back memories,” she said. “Daddy used to listen to big band all the time.” She ran a hand slowly through her hair, lost in reminiscence. “Did you know that he and Mom used to dance in the kitchen? One minute, they’d be washing dishes, and the next minute, they’d have their arms around each other and be swaying to the music. The first time I saw them, I guess I was around six and didn’t think anything of it. When I got a little older, Kate and I used to giggle when we saw them. We’d point and snicker, but they’d just laugh and keep right on dancing, like they were the only two people in the world.” “I never knew that.”

“The last time I ever saw them do it was about a week before they moved to Creekside. I was coming over to see how they were doing. I saw them through the kitchen window when I was parking, and I just started to cry. I knew it was the last time I’d ever see them do it here, and it felt like my heart broke in two.” She paused, lost in thought. Then she shook her head. “Sorry. That’s kind of a mood spoiler, isn’t it?”

“It’s okay,” I said. “They’re a part of our lives, and this is their house. To be honest, I’d be shocked if you didn’t think about them. Besides, it’s a wonderful way to remember them.”

She seemed to consider my words for a moment. In the silence, I removed the sole from the oven and set it on the stove.

“Wilson?” she asked softly.

I turned.

“When you said in your letter that from this point on, you were going to try to be more romantic, did you mean that?”

“Yes.”

“Does that mean I can expect more nights like tonight?”

“If that’s what you want.”

She brought a finger to her chin. “It’ll be tougher to surprise me, though.

You’ll have to come up with something new.”

“I don’t think it’ll be as hard as you think.”

“No?”

“I could probably come up with something right now, if I had to.”

“Like what?”

I met her appraising stare and was suddenly determined not to fail. After a brief hesitation, I reached over to shut off the burner and set the asparagus to the side. Jane’s gaze followed me with interest. I adjusted my jacket before crossing the kitchen and holding out my hand.

“Would you care to dance?”

Jane blushed as she took my hand, twining her other arm around my back. Pulling her firmly to me, I felt her body press against mine. We began to turn in slow circles as music filled the room around us. I could smell the lavender shampoo she’d used and feel her legs brush against my own.
 
“You’re beautiful,” I whispered, and Jane responded by tracing her thumb against the back of my hand.

When the song ended, we continued to hold each other until the next began, dancing slowly, the subtle movement intoxicating. When Jane pulled back to look at me, her smile was tender, and she brought a hand to my face. Her touch was light, and like an old habit rediscovered, I leaned toward her, our faces drawing nearer.

Her kiss was almost breathlike, and we gave in then to everything we were feeling, everything we wanted. I wrapped my arms around her and kissed her again, sensing her desire and sensing my own. I buried my hand in her hair and she moaned slightly, the sound both familiar and electric, new and old, a miracle in the way all miracles should be.

Without a word, I pulled back and simply stared at her before leading her from the kitchen. I felt her thumb tracing the back of my hand as we moved among the tables, blowing out one candle after the next.

In the welcoming darkness, I escorted her upstairs. In her old bedroom, moonlight streamed through the window, and we held each other, bathed in milky light and shadow. We kissed again and again, and Jane ran her hands over my chest as I reached for the zipper on the back of her dress. She sighed softly when I began to slide it open.

My lips slid over her cheek and neck, and I tasted the curve of her shoulder.
 
She tugged at my jacket and it slipped to the floor, along with the dress she was wearing. Her skin was hot to the touch as we collapsed on the bed.
 
We made love slowly and tenderly, and the passion we felt for each other was a dizzying rediscovery, tantalizing in its newness. I wanted it to last forever, and I kissed her again and again while whispering words of love. Afterward, we lay in each other’s arms, exhausted. I traced her skin with my fingertips as she fell asleep by my side, trying to hold on to the still perfection of the moment.
 
Just after midnight, Jane woke and noticed me watching her. In the darkness, I could just make out her mischievous expression, as if she were simultaneously scandalized and thrilled by what had happened.