I stomped back onto the porch. “I like him and now he thinks he’s my third choice.”
“Seems like a decent guy,” Simon said. “And not like he’d be that far away. Assuming you’re coming back to San Francisco.”
“Not now, Simon,” I said.
“You like Cameron?” Beck asked.
My stomach flipped, and not because it was empty. Yes! I liked Cameron. I hadn’t been just flirting and it wasn’t just fun to hang around him. I really liked him. And now I didn’t know if I’d see him again.
“I do like him,” I said aloud. “Is it okay that I like him?”
Beck and Simon stared at me, but neither man said anything.
Josie to the rescue. “There is only one person on this porch who should answer that question.”
*
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Josie asked.
“I’m sure. But will you wait right here in case I change my mind?”
I knew she would. I stepped out of Josie’s car and walked through the open gates of West End Cemetery. I watched the ground as I walked up the main path. As sunset neared, I walked faster. My heart pounded—not from fear, but from resolve. The headstone loomed large and I stared. I closed my eyes to saturate my memory with the image, to remember the swirl in my stomach, the lump in my throat, and the unexpected grateful tug on my heart. Eyes open, I reached into a canvas bag I’d slung across my body. I removed my bag full of stones and one by one I placed them on the ground close to the front of the headstone, lined up like the tulip bulbs Celia and I had planted in our hand-dug trench in my mother’s garden. I’d placed the words facedown, as if tempting them to seep into the soil, as if urging them to grow. Pictures bubbled to the surface of my thoughts and faded away. I didn’t philosophize, or pray, or apologize. Words failed to come, except for three.
I was here.
Chapter 22
A STRING QUARTET PLAYED as wedding guests filled the roped-off lawn around the gazebo in Chance Square. The temperature and humidity had dropped throughout the day, and the sky was a bright Carolina blue even though we were in the middle of Ohio.
I kept myself off to the side of the crowd, half out of sight behind meticulously placed flowers atop decorative columns. I snapped candid photos of unknowing guests with my long-range lens. When it was time, I took my stance next to the beginning of the aisle where I’d take all the ceremony photos. And I waited, sweeping not only the ground with my foot but the memory of Celia and Miles’s wedding off to the side. Celia would be happy for Miles. I was happy for Miles. Miles was happy. Shay was adjusting. That was what mattered.
Soon, the seats were filled and a flutist replaced the string musicians. First, the rabbi walked toward me, turned, and walked up the aisle toward the chuppah, the hand-embroidered wedding canopy that had been in Violet’s family for generations. Miles approached the aisle with a parent on each side, traditionally linking arms with him. He smiled and looked my way long enough to allow for a proper photograph, but that was all. Then, the groomsmen walked toward me—Violet’s brother and one of Miles’s cousins, dressed in taupe linen pants and a matching vest pinned with a double white-rose boutonniere, each wearing a Tiffany-blue tie to match Violet’s color scheme. When they were halfway up the aisle, Beck stepped into view. He winked at me and my breath caught, but my pulse remained steady. I held my camera to my face and he stepped closer, leaned into the lens and then toward my ear. I shivered.
“Go for it,” he said, and then he kissed my cheek.
As Shayna stepped toward me, I inched back to take it all in, to take in all of her. Celia’s daughter, with her Tiffany-blue floating tulle skirt that skimmed the top of her knees and swayed as if starring in its own secret ballet. Shay’s hair hung loosely curled down her back, the sides lifted and accented with sprigs of baby’s breath. I glanced at her dyed shoes and smiled. They were perfect. Shay swung her ribbon-wrapped roses by her side and walked up to me. It was then I noticed a shiny heart around her neck, perhaps a gift from her father and her new stepmom.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Aunt Tee. Thank you for this.” She touched the necklace. It wasn’t new. It was the half heart I’d given her at the mall, the half that had belonged to Celia and had marked our friendship, and now marked my relationship with Shay. The charm glistened as it dangled from a delicate chain that sparkled in the sunlight. “Vi had this cleaned and bought me the chain,” Shay said. “She said she’d be honored if I wore it today so that a little bit of Mom is here with me.”
I swallowed. “Your mom is with you even without the necklace. You know that, right?”
Shay nodded, lifted her bouquet into place at her waist, turned, and disappeared into a haze of my watery eyes.
I blinked hard as Violet and her parents came into view. She wore a delicate wreath of baby’s breath and tiny white roses. Her face sparkled. The ivory lace sheath wedding gown looked both antique and brand new. When her parents kissed her on her cheeks I snapped a picture. The light was perfect. Here, in Chance, without glimmering seas or majestic mountains or crystal chandeliers. No one here needed that. Or wanted it.
Violet stepped toward me and whispered. “I saw it.”
“What?” I whispered back.
“Gretchen Halliday tweeted best wishes for my wedding day. Can you believe it? That had to be you, Teddi. That was so thoughtful. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Thank you, Simon.
As the ceremony ended, I captured a wide shot of Miles breaking the glass, and then a few of Miles and Violet running back down the aisle holding hands as the crowd roared with “Mazel tov.” When they ran past me, I walked backward on the grass and then onto a small patch of gravel, jarred by the uncertain footing.
I picked up a handful of the ragged white stones. The past, the present, the future, the people, the places, the joy, the sorrow, the possibilities. It all slipped through my fingers into the pocket of the periwinkle dress I’d chosen instead of my waiter uniform. With one hand I swept the surface of the fabric. The bumps and edges tickled and pricked. Then, as I turned to face the crowd gathering for cocktails, I smiled. The stones were safe and sound, and there was room for more.
*
I settled into my bed for my last night in Chance. Beck was upstairs in his room and Simon was in the room down the hall. It was just about ten o’clock Pacific time on a Sunday night. I called Annie anyway.
“I’m so sorry!” Annie said, instead of hello.
“Don’t be. It all worked out for the best.”
“If you say so. But that’s not why you’re calling.”
“No. I just wanted to tell you that I changed my flight, so I need you to reschedule the Horton/Brady meeting until next Monday. They’re in the city; it should be fine if you do it first thing in the morning.”
“But—”