“Another beer?” the bartender called out.
Roy shook his head.
“Bring me a shot of whiskey,” Chad told him, and then, looking at Roy, he said, “Never mind. Just bring the bottle.”
Thirty-Five
Mack had always assumed it was the bride who’d be nervous, not the groom. He certainly didn’t expect to be the one pacing back and forth an hour before the wedding. Everything had come together so quickly that his mind was spinning. Once Mary Jo had agreed to marry him—and once they’d told his mother—the wedding seemed to take on a momentum of its own. But the best news was that Ben Rhodes had gotten David to agree to sign relinquishment papers, although he hadn’t told anyone how he’d managed it or what he’d said. It had happened the day of another wedding—Troy and Faith’s. Some people, like his father, thought Ben had offered David an incentive; others, like Jack Griffin, believed he’d used some kind of leverage. All Mack cared about, however, was the fact that he could now adopt Noelle.
Linnette and Pete’s plan to visit Cedar Cove in early August made the choice of a wedding date easier. If his sister and new brother-in-law were going to be in Cedar Cove, he and Mary Jo should take advantage of it.
Once the date was set, the details all seemed to fall into place. A whirlwind of events followed. His mother had arranged the reception and hired a photographer, while Mary Jo and Linc’s wife, Lori, worked on the wedding dress. Lori had designed it and had seen to its completion in record time. According to Mary Jo, Lori was immensely talented, not that Mack knew anything about women’s clothing. Although he hadn’t actually seen this work-of-art wedding creation, he’d certainly heard enough about it from Mary Jo.
In getting all the arrangements made for the wedding, they’d also attended premarriage classes with Pastor Dave Flemming for two weeks. The sessions had seemed like a waste of time and effort when the pastor first mentioned them. Now that they were over, Mack was happy Dave had urged them to attend. Of the many things they’d discussed, the one that stuck in his mind was the way that assumptions could be detrimental to relationships. Assumptions about themselves and each other.
The six hour-long meetings with the pastor had made him aware of various issues between him and Mary Jo. Issues that could lead to contentious problems later on. Like his tendency to be overprotective and Mary Jo’s to withhold her feelings. He was grateful to have had this opportunity to prepare for marriage and felt confident that they had a good chance of making their life together work.
“You okay?” His father stepped into the small vestibule behind the altar where Mack waited. Waited and paced. He’d sit down and then vault to his feet and resume pacing.
“I’m fine.” He heard the hesitation in his own voice.
Roy chuckled and slapped him on the back. “Linc will be here in less than ten minutes, so you can stop worrying.”
Linc Wyse would serve as Mack’s best man, and Lori was standing up as Mary Jo’s matron of honor.
“You mean to say he’s not here yet?” Mack stopped abruptly. He’d been so consumed with his own nervousness that he hadn’t realized his best man hadn’t shown up.
“Everything’s going to be just fine,” Roy assured him, grinning widely.
Mack scowled at his father. “I don’t know why you think this is so funny.”
“Sorry, I can’t help it. This wedding business brings up a lot of memories. I was a nervous wreck before I married your mother, too. In fact, I nearly fainted at the altar.”
Mack could hardly believe that his highly competent, unflappable father had ever been nervous about anything, let alone his own wedding.
“Your mother was so beautiful I couldn’t keep my eyes off her and when it came time to repeat my vows I was so tongue-tied—”
“Dad, stop it,” Mack said. He was already having enough difficulties; he didn’t need his father regaling him with horror stories just before his wedding.
“Sorry, son.” Roy did have the good grace to look guilty.
“Where’s Mom?” Mack asked, hoping a change of subject would settle his mind.
Appearing cool and relaxed, his father sat on the chair so recently vacated by Mack and crossed his legs. “She’s with Charlotte Rhodes, getting everything set up for the reception.”
The church had agreed to let Mack and Mary Jo use the Fellowship Hall following the wedding for their reception. Mack would have liked the waterfront gazebo, but that had been reserved months earlier by another couple, as was nearly every other facility in town. When Pastor Flemming had offered them the Fellowship Hall, it had been a big relief to his mother, who’d been working diligently on the problem.
“Why is Charlotte Rhodes helping Mom with the reception?” he asked.
His father gave him an odd look. “She baked the wedding cakes.”
Mack remembered that now—or at least the part about Charlotte doing the baking. She was justly famous for her culinary skills. “Cakes, as in more than one?” If he distracted himself with details, he might actually get through this wedding without making an idiot of himself.
“Apparently you and Mary Jo are going to have one big cake and three smaller ones.”
“We are?” Mack didn’t recall that. “Why?”
“Don’t know. That’s what your mother told me.”
Mack had only a vague recollection of their long discussions about the flowers and cake and a dozen other matters. Mack had left most of it to his mother, Mary Jo and Lori. He didn’t have the patience for that sort of thing. He guessed few men did.
As it was, he found wearing this tuxedo downright uncomfortable. The last time he’d worn a suit had been for his grandfather’s funeral and that was… He’d lost count of the years.
A tuxedo. Him? Mary Jo and Lori had said he should rent one. He’d gone along with it, thinking he didn’t really have a choice. Only when he and Linc had gone for the fitting had he figured out otherwise. His brother-in-law had complained at great length, but by then it was too late for them to take a stand. In Mack’s opinion, an opinion seconded by Linc, formal wear was an instrument of torture.
“I understand Ben Rhodes is bringing a special guest,” Roy said.
Mack didn’t have a chance to respond or ask who it was before the door flew open and a breathless Linc shot into the room. “Sorry, sorry,” he said. “I got a flat tire. Have you ever tried to change a tire in one of these getups?” he demanded. He straightened his sleeves and exhaled heavily.
Mack leaned against the wall.
Linc stared hard at him. “You’re looking pale. You’re not going to faint on me, are you?”
“I’m not planning on it.” Now that Linc mentioned it, Mack did feel light-headed. His father’s admission of his own wedding-day troubles hadn’t helped. Feeling a sudden need to sit down, Mack sank into a chair and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees.
Roy placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “The wedding will go off without a hitch, don’t you worry. You’ll do fine.”
Mack hoped so. Before he could think of anything else to worry about, Pastor Flemming came in. It was time.
His father left. Then Linc and Mack came through the vestibule door to stand beside the altar. He watched as his parents were seated in the front row next to Linnette and Pete. Gloria sat with them, on his parents’ other side. Noelle slept in her arms.
Ned and Mel Wyse sat in the pew across from them, together with some of Mary Jo’s Seattle friends.
As Mack looked at his family he saw his mother reach for a tissue. Trying not to be obvious, Corrie dabbed at her eyes. The music hadn’t even started and already his mother was getting emotional.
This was supposed to be a happy occasion! Strangely, seeing his mother so affected by this wedding seemed to relax him. He found he was smiling. As he glanced at his father, Roy winked in his direction.
The church was nearly full. Mack and Mary Jo had mailed out invitations; he couldn’t keep track of the number of people his mo
ther had added to the list. His parents’ friends had made a point of attending, along with half the fire station. Their support touched him. He’d become close friends with these men in a short period of time. He wasn’t surprised by the number of guests as much as he was honored.
Then the organ music began. Everyone stood as Mary Jo appeared at the back of the church. Mack straightened his shoulders and turned to face the woman who was about to become his wife.
One glance at her, and his breath caught in his throat. He must have taken a small step forward because Linc placed a restraining hand on his arm.
Mary Jo had never looked more beautiful. The dress, lace and pearls over silk, was everything she’d promised. Their eyes met, happiness radiating from hers. He felt her joy and experienced his own profound sense of rightness. For a moment he forgot to breathe. He stood transfixed, unable to move. Not until Pastor Flemming spoke did Mack realize it was time to stand by Mary Jo’s side and repeat his vows.
The rest of the ceremony was lost in a whirl of words. Somehow he managed to say and do all that was required of him. While he’d been nervous earlier, now he felt calm and confident. Deep in his heart, his soul, he recognized that he’d made the best decision of his life when he’d asked Mary Jo to be his wife.
Organ music soared through the church as they walked down the aisle together as husband and wife. Several guys from the station high-fived him as he walked past. Mack’s smile was so big it hurt his face.
Everyone followed them from the church to the Fellowship Hall, where the tables were set up. The area had been transformed with flowers, decorations and balloons. Mack had no idea who was responsible for all this but he guessed his mother, Linnette and Gloria had played a large role.
Together with his parents, Mack and Mary Jo formed a short reception line and greeted their guests as they came through the door.
“You might remember that I mentioned Ben Rhodes was bringing a special guest,” Roy said to him in a low voice.
“Oh, yeah. Who is it?”
His father pointed at the other side of the room, where Jacob Dennison sat in his wheelchair.
“Mary Jo, look,” he said, and nodded toward Dennison.
“Oh, Mack.”
When their last guest had entered the hall, Mack took Mary Jo by the hand and led her across the room. Dennison smiled up at them. “What a fine young couple you make.”
“It’s such an honor to have you at our wedding,” Mary Jo told the old man in a tremulous voice.
“I wouldn’t want to miss this. You two gave me a priceless gift by returning the letters I wrote Joan. Reading them brought back memories I’d long forgotten, memories I want to pass on to my children and grandchildren. This is a piece of my history—of their history, too. I will be forever grateful to you.”
Mary Jo bent down to kiss Jacob’s cheek.
“Now,” he went on to say, “I wish for you the same happiness Joan and I had together. May your life be filled with love and may you always be as happy as you are this day.”
Mary Jo smiled tearfully and looked at Mack. He tightened his hand on hers.
Dennison glanced at the wedding cakes. “I don’t suppose you’d mind cutting me a piece of cake, would you?”
“I would love to,” Mary Jo told him.
They made their way through the crowd toward the wedding cakes. When they were almost there, Mary Jo paused and placed her hand over her heart. “What Jacob said? I am happy, Mack, so happy.”
“I am, too.” This was no exaggeration. Mack wasn’t even sure how to describe the emotion that suffused every part of him. He felt both calm, supremely calm, and ecstatic, surrounded by his family and friends, surrounded by happiness.
He and his father exchanged a smile. Roy wasn’t a man who smiled often or freely, but he did now. Mack felt his approval, his support. His mother was mingling with guests, completely in her element. His two sisters sat at a table, their heads close together, chatting about heaven knew what. Gloria continued to hold the sleeping Noelle.
Linnette was obviously pregnant now and due in another six weeks. Pete seemed content, talking to one of Mack’s firefighter buddies.
Mary Jo cut the large, tiered cake and after they’d posed for pictures they delivered the first slice to Jacob Dennison. Ben and Charlotte sat with him and had been joined by Olivia and her husband, Jack Griffin. Grace and Cliff Harding were at the same table.
Corrie and Charlotte took over cake duty, much to Mack’s relief, with the assistance of Emily Flemming, the pastor’s wife.
Noelle woke then and wanted to be held, so Mack took the baby in his arms and carried her around the room. Then he and Mary Jo went to sit with her brothers for a few minutes. Mel, Linc and Ned were all enjoying wedding cake, tasting and comparing the different varieties.
“I can hardly believe my baby sister’s married,” Linc said to no one in particular.
“Isn’t it time for us to go?” Mary Jo whispered to Mack. “Before my brothers start crying in their cake?”
“We aren’t crying,” Mel insisted.
“Well, I’m not giving you a chance to get started,” Mary Jo informed them. “Besides,” she said, smiling up at Mack, “we need to leave for our honeymoon.”
Thirty-Six
“I don’t want her here!” Jolene shouted loudly enough to be heard on the opposite side of the house.
“Jolene,” Bruce snapped. He knew Jolene wanted Rachel to hear every word, which she probably had. The tension between them was driving him to the point of madness. He was trapped in a seemingly hopeless situation, and anything he said or did only made matters worse.
“I don’t want her living here,” his daughter continued.
“Rachel is your stepmother and my wife,” he said with barely restrained anger. “That’s not going to change, so you’d better adjust your attitude.” Bruce had tried to let the two of them work this out themselves. Unfortunately, that hadn’t happened. He didn’t understand how all this crazy, competitive jealousy had gotten so out of hand, although he was well aware that Jolene had played the major role.
At one time she’d loved Rachel almost to the point of idol worship. They’d been close from the day they’d met, when he’d taken Jolene to Get Nailed for a haircut. It was through his daughter that Bruce had gotten to know Rachel.
Bruce slumped onto his recliner in the living room and wished this senseless bickering would end. Rachel had told him before they were married that Jolene needed more time. He hadn’t listened. He’d wanted the three of them together as a family, so he’d rushed things and brushed aside Jolene’s doubts and Rachel’s fears. Now they were all paying the price.
No one was happy, least of all Bruce. Since their argument the night of the dinner, he’d been sleeping in the spare bedroom. That was a week ago. A week without Rachel in his bed. He missed her and wanted her back where she belonged. With him. He’d made overtures to that effect, but Rachel had ignored them.
“Dad,” Jolene demanded. “You’ve got to do something.”
Slowly he raised his head. “About what?”
“Rachel.”
“Rachel is my wife.” He wasn’t going to argue with his teenage daughter.
Jolene’s eyes narrowed. “She isn’t even sleeping with you. The two of you hardly talk anymore.”
Bruce couldn’t deny the truth. “Every couple goes through an adjustment period. Rachel and I will sort this out.” He certainly wasn’t prepared to call it quits, and he didn’t think Rachel wanted that, either. They’d come a long way in the past few years. It wasn’t as if they were kids who’d rushed into the relationship. The marriage, yes, you could say that, but not the relationship. When they’d first met, Bruce was determined he’d never fall in love or marry again after Stephanie’s death. Then gradually, through the years, he’d come to appreciate Rachel. More than once he thought he’d lost her. More than once he’d been sure she’d marry Nate Townsend, that navy guy. But she hadn’t. No, Rachel was m
eant to be with him—and with Jolene, too.
“We don’t need her,” Jolene insisted, unwilling to drop the subject.
“But she’s pregnant…”
“So? She doesn’t have to be part of our lives, does she? Everything changed after she moved in with us, and I—” Jolene stopped abruptly when Rachel entered the room.
“I hope you don’t mind if I join this conversation,” his wife said calmly.
Jolene crossed her arms, looking venomously at Rachel.
“Jolene has a point,” Rachel said, again in the same low voice, a voice completely devoid of emotion. “How?”
“She told us she was uneasy about us getting married, remember?”
“I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen,” his daughter accused him, righteous indignation in every word.
“We’d already made the decision,” Bruce countered. “Okay, so we rushed the wedding a bit, but I wanted you with me and you said you felt the same way.”
“I did at the time.”
He frowned at the implications of her remark. “Are you saying you regret it now?”
To his dismay Rachel nodded.
Jolene thrust a triumphant finger at her stepmother. “See? See, she doesn’t want to be here.”
Rachel ignored her. “Jolene has never accepted me as her stepmother.”
Bruce didn’t like the way this conversation—like so many of their conversations—revolved around his daughter’s likes and dislikes. He and Rachel were the adults in the room; he wasn’t about to let a thirteen-year-old girl dictate his life or his marriage. He realized now that stepping aside and leaving his daughter and his wife to work out their differences had contributed to the problem. “Jolene,” he said pointedly, “will learn to accept you.” And if it took a counseling session with some stranger to make that happen, so be it.
“Daddy!” the girl screeched.
“Maybe she will.” Rachel shook her head. “And maybe she won’t.”