On This Day (3 page)

“Right.” Phil’s brow creases, and maybe it’s my women’s intuition, but it seems the tables have turned, as if he’s feeling sorry for me now. It’s as if he thinks something is going on with my husband, something I don’t know about, and almost as if he wants to keep it that way. Like part of some boys’ club. And then that look of pity. If there’s anything I can’t stand, it’s pity. I straighten up in my chair and hold my head up high, and then, like my knight in shining armor, Jim arrives, looking very suave in his cream-colored polo shirt and khakis.

“Hello, darling,” he says as he bends down to peck me on the cheek. “Sorry to be late.”

“Oh, it’s all right. I’ve just been chatting with the Andersons here. This is Elizabeth, Jenny’s aunt. And, of course, you probably already know Phil.”

Jim shakes Phil’s hand. “No, we haven’t met.”

“But he was at the bachelor—” I stop myself, wondering if perhaps Jim hadn’t gone to the party last night. And when I see the knowing expression in Phil’s eyes, I’m sure I’m right. But I cannot bear for this other couple to observe my confusion or embarrassment over this trifle. We must, after all, maintain appearances. The waiter sets a fresh glass of wine before me.

Just then we hear the dinging of a knife on a water glass, and it looks as if Alex Fairbanks is getting ready to give a speech. I sneak
a sideways glance at my husband and wonder what he was doing until three o’clock this morning. As I’m watching Jim, I notice his eyes flicker toward the entrance, then quickly dart away. I turn to see what caught his attention, but it’s only his secretary coming in late. With the grace of youth, she slides into an empty chair at a table across the way from us.

“Welcome, everyone!” Alex has to speak loudly since there doesn’t seem to be any sort of sound system available in this backwoods place. But it really doesn’t matter, because I, for one, am not listening anyway. All I can focus on is Jim’s young and pretty secretary, Nicole—I can’t remember her last name—as she flicks a lock of dark hair from her tanned brow, then glances over to where we are seated and just as quickly looks away. I am certain it’s because she noticed me watching her. And something in her guilty expression gives the whole thing away.

That’s when I know exactly what’s happening. Okay, to be honest I’ve had my doubts in the past. But then things blow over, or so I tell myself, as I pretend that all is well, that I didn’t notice the sideways glance, a late-night meeting, an unexplained hang-up phone call. But here it is, the old story happening all over again. History repeats itself. Only this time I get to play the role of the betrayed wife, and someone else gets to play the cheating secretary.

S
uch a lovely, lovely day, and, oh my, what a beautiful place! The mountains with their snowy capes, the pretty lake the color of rare topaz, and all this lovely pine-scented air. Well, it almost takes my breath away. I must say that this promises to be quite a memorable wedding day indeed. A real event that will “go on until evening,” my granddaughter has informed me. So different from the way things were done back when I was wed. Back when a serious war was raging, and people were getting married at the drop of a hat, or a tear, or even a bomb.

I am so thankful to be here. So thankful I’ve lived long enough to see this wonderful day. And I’m infinitely happy for my sweet granddaughter, Jennifer. She is such a darling. Always has been. There’s no denying that this angel is the apple of her grandma’s eye. I still remember the tea parties we used to have, she and I. We’d
arrange her dolls and stuffed animals as our guests around the little table I’d saved from when my children were small, and we’d pour “tea” into tiny porcelain cups. Oh, it seems like only last week.

Now here we are, in what looks like a white circus tent, with all these fine-looking people gathered around the linen-covered tables as Jennifer’s wedding guests. Hers and Michael’s, of course. Can’t very well leave the groom out of the picture. Oh, I do hope and pray he’s the right one for her. She is so sweet and down-to-earth. And seemingly unaffected by the Fairbankses’ wealth and influence. Just a good and simple girl at heart.

“Of course, I still plan to teach kindergarten next year,” I overheard her telling one of Michael’s relatives earlier today. “I absolutely love children and teaching. It’s what I always dreamed of doing.”

And it’s true. When we had those tea parties with her stuffed toys and dolls, she would also line them up and pretend they were her pupils as she stood and taught school with her little blackboard. So adorable.

Alex Fairbanks, Michael’s father, has just finished a rather eloquent speech to welcome us to the events of the day, primarily this “intimate” luncheon, then some leisure time, and finally the evening wedding down by the lake, followed by a dinner. Goodness knows how much something like this must cost—although Jeannette has assured me that the Fairbankses are covering the bulk of the expense, and I suppose they can well afford it.

“It was actually Michael’s idea to get married up here,” she told
me in private. “We explained that while it sounded wonderful, it was a bit rich for our blood, but he assured us that his parents would cover any additional costs.”

Of course, she could simply be saying that to keep me from worrying over their financial state. Goodness, everyone has been so careful of my feelings since my most recent heart attack last March, you’d think I was made of spun glass now. But I keep telling them I feel perfectly fine, better than I’ve felt in months. And I do believe it’s true. In some ways I haven’t felt this spry since my Calvin was alive. Just the same, I haven’t really been myself since losing him. And now that it’s my Jennifer’s big day, I’m just very grateful the good Lord saw fit to keep me on the earth this long. After this, it’s up to him to decide when it’s time for me to go.

Now it’s my son’s turn to say a few words, and knowing my Eric and his general discomfort about public speaking and intimidation over the bigwigs in the crowd, I’m sure it
will
be only a few words. Even so, I can’t help but smile as I see him standing up. His lanky awkwardness, all elbows and knees, as if he never quite grew into his six-foot-five frame. Oh, he’s so like his father! The way his dark blue eyes have faded to a soft sky blue, the way his hairline gets a bit higher each year, even the way he thoughtfully rubs his chin just before he speaks—so much like my dear Calvin. Oh my, how I miss him.

Calvin’s been gone nearly a year now. Some days it seems like a lifetime since I’ve felt the warmth of his hand wrapped around mine, and some days it’s as if he just stepped out for a carton of
milk. We’d been married almost sixty years when he passed away last summer. I was so surprised that he didn’t make it to our September anniversary. Even more surprised that he was called away before I was, since he’d always been fit as a fiddle and I’m the one who’s had the heart condition these past few years.

“Ahem,” my son is saying, trying to get his bearings, I’m sure. “Thank you all for sharing this—uh—this most amazing day with us. We are so pleased to have you here, and we hope by making this wedding into an all-day event, well, maybe we’ll get a chance to visit with everyone. Anyway, welcome! We hope you have a most pleasant day. Thank you.”

And that’s it. People turn their attention back to their own tables and companions, and I notice that servers are beginning to bring plates of food. A relief to me, for I am feeling rather hungry after my morning walk, which was a bit longer than usual. But then, how often do I get a chance to stroll by a pretty mountain lake these days?

“How are you doing, Mrs. Simpson?”

I look up from stirring my tea to see that Elizabeth Anderson is speaking to me from across the table. Elizabeth is Jennifer’s aunt (her favorite aunt, I’ve been told more than once by my granddaughter), and yet my opportunities to get acquainted with this woman have been relatively few—just once in a while at holiday gatherings and whatnot.

“I’m doing quite well, thank you,” I tell her. “I enjoyed a lovely walk this morning. I think this mountain air agrees with me.”

“Oh, good for you. Jeannette was worried that it might be a rather long day for you, especially after your recent health problems.”

I smile and wave my hand. “Oh, fiddlesticks. I’m as healthy as a horse.”

“I know you’ve met my husband, Phil, before,” she tells me without even glancing at the handsome man at her side. How these young people take their spouses for granted these days. “But have you met Suzette and Jim Burke?” She nods to the couple on her other side. “Jim is Michael’s boss.”

“Oh yes, at the law firm,” I say. “Jennifer has told me about you.

“Mrs. Simpson is Jennifer’s paternal grandmother,” explains Elizabeth.

“Pleasure to meet you.” Jim nods and smiles pleasantly. “Your granddaughter is marrying a fine young man, Mrs. Simpson.”

“And Michael Fairbanks is marrying a fine young woman.” I return his smile. “But then I might be just the slightest bit biased.”

They all laugh. Well, everyone except for Jim’s wife. Suzette, I believe her name was, and she looks decidedly unhappy. Or perhaps she’s sitting on a thumbtack.

“Sorry I’m late,” Ingrid says as she slips into the chair next to mine. I’ve known Ingrid since she was in grade school. “There were some last-minute fires I had to put out.”

“This is Jennifer’s best friend, Ingrid Campbell,” I announce to the rest of our table, just in case someone doesn’t know her. “Ingrid is the maid of honor in the festivities today.”

“A worn-out maid of honor.” Ingrid shoves a lock of bright red hair behind an ear. “I’ll be so glad when this whole thing is over.”

I laugh and pat her hand. “Don’t be in such a hurry, dear. Why not just enjoy the day for what it is? The splendid weather, the beautiful lake. Goodness, we couldn’t be in a prettier place.”

Ingrid sighs and seems to relax. “You know, you’re totally right, Mrs. Simpson. I don’t know why I keep freaking over every little detail. I just want everything to be perfect, though. Jenny’s such a good friend.” Then she gets a sly grin. “Besides, she’s supposed to do all this for me before long.”

“That’s right. When’s the big date?”

“New Year’s Eve,” she says in a cheerful voice though her eyes seem to betray her. “Jason’s idea. I think he just wants the tax break.”

“New Year’s Eve,” I repeat. “How romantic. You’ll always have a special anniversary date that way.”

“I guess.”

Now our food is being set before us, a good excuse for a break from my feeble attempts at light conversation. Calvin always told me I had the gift of gab. Oh, he meant it in the best possible way since he always depended on me to get the ball rolling in social situations. And perhaps I was better at it back then—back when he was around to encourage me along those lines. I’m not so sure anymore. As I look around the table at all the young people surrounding me, I think perhaps I’ve failed completely.

Because the sorry truth is, no one looks entirely happy to be
here. Goodness, I hope it’s not anything I’ve said or done. And if I’m not mistaken, Suzette Burke is on the verge of tears. Dear me, I would think they all have so much to be thankful for too. Their youth, their health, their spouses. I wonder how it could be that they’re not.

O Lord, please help these young people see that they have so much. Help them not to take their loved ones for granted. Help them realize that marriage is a precious gift, a gift that will not last forever. Amen
.

I suppose it might seem strange to some folks, but I pray like that all the time—silently, in my head with my eyes wide open—even if people are all around me. I don’t fold my hands or bow my head or anything else that would give me away. In a way it’s like having my own invisible prayer closet. I just silently pray the words in my mind and my heart, and I’m certain the good Lord always listens.

But I’m not so sure he’s heard me right, because things seem to be getting even worse now. Elizabeth looks as if she’s bitten into a lemon, and Suzette is actually starting to cry. I’m not sure why this is or whether I missed something. But that woman is definitely upset as she gets to her feet, a bit clumsily I notice, perhaps due to those high-heeled shoes, which aren’t really suitable for this outdoor luncheon, or perhaps it’s the effect of the wine, although it looks barely touched. But she tosses down her cloth napkin right on top of her untouched food and then storms, a bit unsteadily, right out of here.

Her husband looks perfectly stunned, as if he hasn’t the slightest
clue about what’s undone his pretty wife. Perhaps it’s simply a case of hormones. I can remember falling apart over the silliest little things sometimes. Then later I would look at the calendar and realize it was simply my monthly cycle playing havoc with me again. Oh, we didn’t have a special name for it back then or even those initials; we just took it all in stride. Fortunately, everything changed for the better after menopause. Thank God for menopause! Maybe that’s what poor Suzette needs—a good case of the menopause.