Twisting the scented handkerchief that Maiya had insisted I carry, I stared ahead as thoughts of a radio soap opera my mother listened to religiously, swirled through my mind. "The Romance of Helen Trent". I remembered the theme was, if a woman over 35 could find romance. Shaking my head, fluffing off those errant thoughts, I raised myself to a standing position, as strains of the bridal march resounding throughout the flower and candle decked church, announced the arrival of my granddaughter, Emily.
I turned towards the aisle, cautiously moving my head toward, hoping I could prevent arthritis pains from searing the back of my neck. I audibly gasped as my eyes filled with the glorious sight of Emily wearing my wedding gown. The pearl studded bodice clung to her breasts, narrowed her waist, as the ivory lace slipped along her slender hips, pooling gently on the floor.
Her hand clutched her father's arm, my son David. He looked so handsome in the elegant tux, most likely an Armani, if I knew Maiya, my daughter in law. She had exquisite taste. David was the image of his father, the man I loved for half my life. The man I loved, but never married.
Emily's face was radiant as she took each slow step down the rose petal strewn aisle. She smiled beautifully at friends and family on both sides of the aisle. David nodded to friends and business associates
I felt tears sting my eyes. Were they tears of joy? Tears of sorrow? Tears of loss? Was watching her in my wedding gown, the one I had bought to wear when I thought I would marry David's father, forcing memories to create tears? No, they are tears of joy for Emily. I dabbed at the tears with the handkerchief, glad Maiya had enclosed it in my hands just before I was escorted down the aisle.
I knew the tears were not only for Emily, now approaching Bryce, the handsome young man she was about to wed. There were memories plunging at my mind, forcing the tears to fall onto my cheeks, as I recalled a wedding gown never worn, a wedding that never took place. It was the gown I never wore to marry the father of my son. Oh, I married, but someone else. A simple wedding, no gown, no church, no flowers, but that was a long time ago.
I moved my head, the pain shooting down my neck onto my back. I winced. Maiya put her arm around me, her eyes staring at my profile. "I'm okay, I whispered," my attention riveted on the beautiful couple about to become husband and wife.
I stopped the tears. I willed them to stop, just as I willed the memory of that long lost love to stop. I used a trick I'd learned when I was younger. I called it 'the Scarlet O'hara trick'. I'll think about it tomorrow. It was how I survived all these years. It is how I will survive the years that are left. I put my arm around Maiya as she cried softly, her only daughter about to wed. Her tears were joy filled.
I smiled, erasing the ache in my heart as we sat for the ceremony. The priest's clearly spoken words caught my attention. I looked at the young couple. Why did they have the families seated this way? I could see the groom's face, not Emily's. His parents could see hers. The seating should be reversed. The bride's family should be able to see their daughter's face as she makes her vows. All one could see from the 'bride's side' was her back.
Robert and I had planned a simple wedding, my gown the only extravagance. It wasn't customary for a pregnant woman to wear a white gown, but only Robert and I knew about the baby. We planned to leave immediately after the wedding. He was still in college and I was going back to the University with him. We planned to be married during spring break.
"Do you, Bryce Michael Armstrong take Emily to be your lawfully wedded wife...," I caught the beginning of the priest's question, then my mind slipped away again. It has been doing that often lately. Has it always been so slippery, swishing from one thought to another?
Maiya squeezed my hand, bringing me back to the moment, as Emily repeated the vows. Such a sweet voice. I loved my granddaughter more than words could ever describe. She too was a part of Robert, only she would never know that he is her grandfather.
Oh yes, Robert is still alive. Very much so. I knew he was most likely sitting in a pew a few rows behind me. I wondered if he was feeling grandfatherly. I thanked God that he never revealed to anyone, at least not to my knowledge, that David is his son. He would be sitting alone. His wife, Andrea passed away a few months ago. Strange, she and my husband Arthur died within three months of each other. It would be the first time I would see Robert in over forty years. I shuddered, thinking of the moment.
I was startled as Maiya tucked her hand under my arm and helped me to my feet. The ceremony was over, the bride and groom beaming at an applauding congregation. They began their descent down the aisle. David stood beside the pew reaching for Maiya's arm, putting her on his left side, guiding me to his right. My eyes stared straight ahead. I was not ready to see Robert. Would I recognize him after all these years?
"She looked gorgeous, didn't she Mom?" David whispered in my ear. I nodded, my eyes raised toward the choir loft. I wasn't ready to see him. I was becoming ill. I felt faint.
"Mom! What's wrong?" David stopped, looking down at me with concern in his eyes.
"Nothing. I'm fine." I stammered, walking faster. Damn it was a long aisle. I needed to get outside. I had to breathe. I had to get away. I had fooled myself into thinking I could face him after all these years, by telling myself he meant nothing to me. Now, excruciatingly aware that he meant everything to me, always has, always would, I ached to run away.
"Not this time," I heard the words rushing through my mind. "You're not going to run away this time." I forced myself not to look at the crowd throwing rose petals at Emily and Bryce. I stood just inside the circle of well wishers as Emily and Bryce raced to the limo.
"You have a beautiful granddaughter," the deep voice spoke softly behind me. I stiffened. I would know that voice anywhere. I refused to turn, as I felt his breath on my neck. He was so close. "Megan, would you be offended if I said we have a beautiful granddaughter?" he whispered, and I felt him position himself beside me.
Still, I couldn't turn my eyes to look at him. I wanted so desperately to see the thick black hair that curled so slightly; teasing brown eyes that had filled with looks of love and longing all those years ago. I didn't want to see the white hair, or the bald head or, or, damn, I didn't want him to see me. That's what it was. He wouldn't see the girl I used to be, the girl I still am inside. He would see an old woman with gray hair, no longer smooth soft skin or or _ _ _,
"Mom," the car's waiting. Are you coming?" David looked directly at me, glanced at Robert, then introduced himself, as I stood like a statue, afraid to move.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, David. I'm Robert Callan," he paused briefly, shaking David's hand, "it was a lovely wedding."
David took my arm, "Will you excuse us Mr. Callan? Do you need a ride to the reception?" he added, always so thoughtful.
"That would be nice thank you, but I have my car. I'll see you there, Megan," he spoke to my back as I hurried towards the waiting limo.
"Are you all right, Mother?" Maiya asked as I settled myself stiffly in the seat opposite her.
Yes dear, Im fine, thank you. Did they hear the tremor in voice or see my hands shaking? I was sure they could hear my heart beating wildly.
"Too bad Dad wasn't here to see this," David relaxes against the plush cushions, taking Maiya's hand. "He would have been bursting at the seams with pride seeing his only grandchild walking down that aisle." David's smile was melancholic. His father's death, or at least the man he thought was his father, had wounded him deeply. They had a special relationship all their lives together. David was never a rebellious child. His love and respect for Arthur was beyond compare.
I was glad I had never told him the truth. Arthur said it was okay for me to tell him, but I couldn't do it. Not just because I didn't want my son to know I had become pregnant with him without being married, but because of the bond between him and Arthur. I couldn't take a chance of breaking that bond.
"David, it was the wedding of my dreams. Emily looked beautiful, the church was more elegant than I've ever seen it, and everything was perfect. I just hope the reception goes as well." Maiya was beaming. She had planned every detail.
"Who was that man you were talking to, Mom? I didn't recognize him. Was he a friend of ours or of theirs?" David grinned.
"I'm not sure," David, "I stared out the window. "I think possibly theirs."
"You knew him, didn't you? I mean the way he was looking down at you seemed mighty familiar."
"Yes, I knew him a long time ago."
Maiya looked back and forth at both of us. "And who is, he? The man you're talking about?"
I sighed. "Robert Callan. He lived here with his family. They owned the mill, and the department store, and the drugstore, and just about everything else in town." I remembered what it was like being the girlfriend of the richest kid in town. It wasn't easy knowing his parents resented him having anything to do with me. I wasn't from the poorest section of town, but my mom was a waitress in the coffee shop at the drugstore, and my father was an over the road truck driver. We weren't poor, but we sure didn't belong to the country club where Mr. Callan was president, and Mrs. Callan was chairwoman of the Ladies Guild.
"My goodness," Maiya pulled a compact from the small clutch bag she carried, reached back inside for a lipstick, and flipped open the compact. She careful applied the brilliant red lip gloss, snapped the compact shut, and looked over at me. "How come he hasn't been around town. I mean, I never even knew the Callan's had a son." She glanced at David, "did you?"
Before he could respond, the limo pulled up in front of the country club. The very same club that now accepted me as a member and David, like his great grandfather, Robert's father, was now president. How times do change.
I'm writing this now, almost two years after that wedding. The memory of each moment is as clear as if it had happened only yesterday. I can almost smell the fragrance of the brilliantly blossoming flowers outside the massive doors. I can remember the shades of crimson streaking the sky as the sun began it's slow descent in the horizon. I can remember the sound of the orchestra inside the club, the clink of glasses as we entered, the applause as we were announced by Dick Santos, the orchestra leader.
As I followed David and Maiya to the table my eyes locked onto Robert's. I thought my heart stopped beating. I know my breath escaped me, my knees became weak, then my heart began beating again, thumping, pounding as our eyes held. They were my Robert's eyes, just as I always remembered them.
"Mom!" David led me towards the table, pulled out the chair, and guided me to sit. I dropped the pearl evening bag. David picked it up, put it on my lap, and unexpectedly kissed my cheek. "By the way lady, did I tell you that you look gorgeous?"
I smiled at him. He didn't know how much I needed to hear those words, maybe not from him, but yes, from him. I needed to believe them, yet I couldn't believe them. I knew I was attractive, for a woman of my age, but I certainly wasn't gorgeous. I never had been what one would call gorgeous. Not bad looking, but never a beauty. "Thank you sweetheart," I patted his hand as he moved towards his chair.
There was a drum roll. "Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present the newly married Mr. and Mrs. Bryce O'Donnell!" The band played a melody I'd never heard before as chairs nosily scraped the floor. We all stood, applauding the young couple as they made their way to the head table. Camera lights flashed, and Bryce kissed Emily as someone clanged a spoon against a glass.
Everyone sat as the servers came around taking drink orders. I glanced around the area in my vision. He was staring at me. He tilted his head, smiled, then raised his water filled glass as if in a toast. "My God, he's still handsome," I spoke softly to myself.
"Did you say something, Mother?" Maiya leaned across the table.
I shook my head, closed my eyes, listening to what the young people now called music. It was deafening. Guitars, more guitars, drums, a keyboard. Where the hell are the saxes and trombones, and a piano and Peter Duchin or or. . .
"Stop it Megan Rae O'Brien! Stop it this instant!" I mentally ordered myself. "It isn't 1955." Oh God, was it ever 1955? Wasn't that only yesterday? Where had the years gone?
"I see you have the white flag, madam," a server stood to my right. "that's the swordfish. Is it what you requested?"
I nodded as a voice sounded over the microphone. "Emily and Bryce, family and friends, Father Stephen Grayson would like to offer a prayer of thanksgiving for our food, and a special prayer for joy and happiness for our loving bride and groom."
Applause, applause, applause. I hear it echoing in the elegantly appointed dining room. As I recall the evening, I can close my eyes and see the gleaming chandeliers, buffed silver candelabra, Limoges china, Waterford crystal goblets, and elegant champagne fluted glasses. It was so classy, so Maiya, so very grand.
But I digress. My fingers ache. They haven't forecast rain, but it's on the way. My fingers always tell me, as do my knees, my wrists, and various bones in my body. Back to that day, the beautiful wedding, the elegant reception, and Robert.
"May I have this dance?" He stood tall, handsome in his fashionably tailored suit. My trained eye traced it to Bond Street, London. It wasn't hard to guess, after all he'd been living in England for nearly five years. He was 'one of our country's foremost diplomats', I read in the Washington Post when he was assigned there by the president.
I stood, pulling myself achingly to my highest position, throwing back my shoulders, not looking up at him. I spoke not a word as we walked to the dance floor. He remained silent as we moved about, as best we could to what I suppose was considered a sedate melody.
"You still wear Chanel!" I was taken aback. Had he remembered after all these years? I nodded, my eyes staring at the pocket of his suit jacket. The handkerchief was hand embroidered with his initials. It was beautifully crafted. I should know, I had been in the fashion industry for 18 years after Arthur and I married. I had taken numerous trips to New York, Paris and London, always hoping I would bump into him, always afraid I might.
"Whenever I am around that scent, I think of you."
"Do you really, Robert?" I was still unable to look up at him.
"I've thought of you often over the years, Megan."
The music, or what was supposed to be music stopped. I turned, my shoulders held back until I thought they would break, walking carefully to my chair.
"Megan. We need to talk." He touched my shoulder.
I turned, finally looking up into his eyes, fighting tears that suddenly filled my eyes. "No, Robert. It's too late to talk. I don't know how you got an invitation to the wedding, but when I saw your name of the list, I, I,..." Words escaped me as David came and took me by the hand.
"Seems I'm always pulling her away from you," he smiled at Robert. "It's our turn to dance. If you'll excuse us." We headed to the dance floor.
"Mom, I think you're holding back on me," David twirled me around, cautiously, I might add. "What's going on with you and that guy?"
"Nothing, David. We knew each other a long time ago. Your grandmother worked for his father. We dated a few times, nothing serious," I lied.
We did our obligatory, traditional dance, then the group playing went into a racous piece, shaking the rafters. David grinned at me. "I'll take you back to the table, okay?" My always thoughtful son.
"I think I'll go to the Ladies Room," I touched his cheek, steadied my footing, and walked among the gyrating bodies to the nearest restroom. It, thankfully was empty. I sat on one of the high backed, winged chairs, avoiding the oversized gold gilt mirrors. I didn't want to look at my image. I wanted it to be the way I saw myself in my mind's eye. Who was I kidding? I hadn't looked like that in years. For a long time I had my hair colored a champagne gold. Then one day I decided to let it be natural. Now I wished it was champagne again. I wished I had brought my glass of champagne with me into the Ladies Room. Damn, I wished I had something stronger than champagne. A good quality scotch would be ideal. I have never been much of a drinker but under duress, scotch is best.
Oh lord, I had to go back out there. I had to face him. God, I wished he'd gone home. I wished he'd never come. Why did he come? To see his son? His granddaughter. Suddenly my heart began pounding. Oh migod, what if he planned on telling David who he was? Was that why he was there, to tell David and Emily? Oh no, not on her wedding day. He couldn't do something like that.
I bolted from the chair, forgetting the pains, unaware of the stiffness. I darted out of the room, made my way quickly into the reception area. I scanned the room, then I saw him on the dance floor, dancing with Emily. Something inside me nearly screamed. I had to stop him. I couldn't let him tell them. As I rushed forward, a blinding pain sluiced down my arm. My breath halted, only this time I was gasping for air as pain engulfed me. I felt myself falling to the floor. Then nothing, until I opened my eyes. I knew I was in an ambulance. The siren screeched as two IV bottles swayed back and forth. An attendant was looking down at me.
"Are you in pain?"
I shook my head.
"We gave you a pretty heavy dose of nitro. We're almost at the hospital. Just hang in there."
I closed my eyes, felt his fingers on my wrist, the cuff of a blood pressure monitor squeezing my arm. I wondered if I was about to die. Somehow I didn't care. I was weak. I wasn't in pain, I was feeling so very weak.
I don't remember much more about that night, arriving at the hospital, seeing David and Maiya rushing to my side, hearing Emily somewhere in the distance crying. Emily. What was she doing here? She was supposed to be at her reception.
"Grandma," she grabbed my hand, "grandma, don't leave me, please, not now. I need you to be here."
Her love felt good. David was crying. I wanted to tell him it was okay. I wouldn't go far. If I crossed over I'd stay near them until I was sure they were all okay.
A nurse swooshed them out. "The Dr. needs to check her. Please wait outside in the waiting room." Her voice was distant as a young man came quickly to my side. He had a chart in his slender hand, his eyes scanning the pages quickly. "Well my dear, I think you've had a coronary. Let's get an ekg and a few tests, and see what's happening."
He mumbled instructions as the severe weakness overtook all my thoughts and I felt myself slipping away. I heard someone call Robert. I heard it again. Who was calling him? The voice was so far away. Why was someone calling Robert? I couldn't hear anything. The world had become silent.
I had to stop writing for a few moments. I'm sitting on the patio by the pool. It's getting cooler. Fall will be on us before long. My joints are telling me the cooler weather is on it's way.
The hospital stay was not long. It's amazing what they can do with faulty hearts. It was determined by-pass surgery would be best for me, and I agreed. David and Maiya stayed by my side as much as they were allowed. We had all convinced Emily to go on her honeymoon. I had assured her I would be fine, but it wasn't until Dr. Mannion actually put it in writing for her, that she agreed to go. "Europe isn't as far as it used to be," I patted her hand as she stood by the bedside. "You can always take the Concorde home if it's necessary but I assure you, I'm going to be fine."
And I was fine. The surgery was a success. My life was extended. I am, writing this and waiting for Robert. Yes, Robert is back in my life. He had stayed at the hospital every day, rarely leaving my side, except when my family was there. They began to expect him to be there. He gradually became part of the scene.
I remember waking up after the surgery. David and Maiya were on either side of the bed. "Mom, don't ever scare us like that again," David's eyes were moist. "Oh Mother," Maiya always formally called me Mother, "we were so worried." After we visited for a bit, and I assured them I wasn't too tired, David told me Robert had been at the hospital throughout the entire time. "He wouldn't leave. I think the guy has a crush on you, Mom."
I was warmed by the thought. A crush. How sweet. How I wished it were true, but I knew better. He was probably feeling guilty. Probably knew his appearance at the wedding brought on the attack. No, he didn't know. What made me think that? Even I didn't know I was a potential coronary victim.
When David motioned for him to come into the room, our eyes locked, just as they had when I saw him at the reception. "You scared me," he walked slowly to the bedside. David and Maiya slipped out of the room. "I was so afraid I'd lost you again." He took my hand, held it tightly in his. "I couldn't bear losing you again," he whispered, his voice husky, his eyes filling. "Promise me you won't leave me this time."
I shook my head, tears streaming down my face. All these years. He still loved me, just as I had never stopped loving him. I thought of Arthur. I had loved him, in a different way though. He had been my dear friend from childhood. He knew I was pregnant, he had followed me to New York, insisted we be married after I told him about Robert's father's threat. He had cared for me for years. Gradually we fell in love and had a good and loving marriage, but there were always moments when I thought of Robert.
Over the next few days Robert told me that after I ran away, as he put it, he went back to college. When he graduated, he tried to find me. My mother refused to tell him anything. He'd heard from someone that I had gone to New York, nothing more. After searching for me there, he went to Yale, got a master's degree in Foreign Affairs, and became a political attaché. There had been a time when he had considered running for political office, but his wife begged him not to enter the public arena. He never had children, at least he and Amanda never had children.
He waited until after I was out of the hospital, safely and securely at home, before he asked me why I had left him all those years ago. Why I had refused to marry him and let him be David's father. At first I couldn't tell him the truth. It was difficult, even after all the years I had to think about it. Finally, one evening as we sat on the terrace above the pool area, I asked him to pour me a scotch. He raised an eyebrow, then winked at me. "Scotch? I didn't know my beautiful gal was a drinker."
"Only under duress," I assured him, "only under duress."
He went into the house as I gathered my thoughts. Reaching back into my memory, I could vividly recall his father standing over me. His face contorted in rage. "You did this deliberately. You tricked my son into getting you pregnant so you could do to him what your mother was unable to do to me."
I had gasped, shocked. What was he talking about?
"Your mother, tramp that she was, lured me to her bed. She was always flirting around the coffee shop, throwing herself at me. Just like I'm sure you have done to my son."
I began to protest, but he shouted me down. "You cannot marry my son. He's your brother, damn it, your own flesh and blood."
I had come about as close to fainting that moment as I ever had, before the wedding reception that is. I became dizzy, weak. It was a good thing I was sitting down.
"It would be incest. A sin. A crime." He shouted at me, then lowered his voice, the anger replaced by a pleading look in his eyes. "Please, don't do this. Don't have the baby. It will be deformed. You will cause everyone grief. Have an abortion. I'll pay for it. I know someone in New York who can help you."
I had regained my strength, just as I had jumped from the chair that afternoon in the Ladies Room, so I had jumped from the chair and ran from his office. I couldn't bear to be near him. I ran home and confronted my mother. She denied it, but something in her eyes told me she wasn't sure.
"Honey, I don't know. Oh baby, I'm so sorry. Please don't tell your daddy. Please honey, promise me you won't tell your daddy."
Later that night I was sobbing in my room. Daddy was on the road and momma answered the door. I heard muffled voices, but paid very little attention. My thoughts were muddled. What if it were true, what if Robert was my brother? The baby could be deformed. Oh God, what was I going to do?"
Momma tapped on my door. "Sugar! May I come in?"
I didn't answer. She opened the door, came slowly into the room. "Honey, that was Robert's father. He, well, he came by with a check. He said he would pay all expenses."
"Get out of my room." I screamed at her.
"Megan. It's the best thing for everyone," she came towards me and I jumped up, pushed her to the door.
"Get out of here," I screamed.
Before dawn, after a fitful night of sobbing, I came to the conclusion that I couldn't tell Robert. It was hard enough on me. I couldn't hurt him too. I called my best friend Arthur, from the train station. He met me there, tried to talk me out of going, but in the end, he loaned me the money to go to New York.
I didn't get an abortion. I got a job in the garment district, assisting fashion models. Arthur came and we married. I learned more and more about the fashion industry, and managed one of the finest designer shops in the country. After Arthur's father died, he asked me to come back with him. He needed to look after his mother. It was the least I could do after what he had done for me.
I finished sipping the scotch as I told Robert what had happened. Both our parents were gone, it would hurt no one to know. David was fine, he wasn't deformed. Robert couldn't believe I had not told him about it back then. I couldn't explain to him what my thoughts were. When I looked back to that time, I often wondered why I hadn't told him.
After I finished telling him, Robert pulled me from the chair . "Sweetheart, I thought you just didn't love me. That you didn't want to marry me. You don't know how I anguished all those years. I'd come back here, hoping you'd be home or that I could find you in New York. I even looked for Arthur's name in the phone directory, when I heard you had married him. I wanted to see my child." He held me, the years seeming to melt away. "I love you Megan. I always have."
I never did figure out why I had been thinking about my mother's soap opera, "The Romance of Helen Trent", unless at that time romance was on my mind, as it is now.
Oh, by the way, Robert and I were married this morning. It was a simple wedding. Emily was my matron of honor, of course David walked me down the aisle, then stood beside Robert as his best man. No, we never told him. Maybe someday we will, but we don't know if it's necessary. Arthur was his father in every way. Oh, and, Robert and I had DNA tests. We aren't brother and sister, just lovers.
The End
M. Bradley McCauley
Copyright - 2002
All Rights Reserved
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