CHAPTER TWELVE
What fills the eyes fills the heart.
—OLD IRISH PROVERB
The lights strung around the room twinkled like stars hung for Kara and Jack, for this moment. Although Charlotte knew they’d been hung for Christmas, tonight it felt as if everything was there for love’s final promise. The restaurant was full with families and patrons while the small Larson-Sullivan wedding party gathered at one long table in the back of the restaurant.
Charlotte stood and lifted her champagne glass. “Okay, as the maid of honor, I get to make the toast.”
Everyone raised their Waterford flutes, and Charlotte looked over at Kara and Jack. “Here’s to Maeve Mahoney and her story, to the story that brought you together.”
“Hear! Hear!” echoed across the table.
“And to Kara for recognizing the truth inside the story,” Charlotte said and blew a kiss down the table.
This was the place and space where the best man would make his toast—that kind of silence echoed. Finally, Brian stood. “My turn.” He looked to Charlotte and smiled and then turned to his sister and Jack. “I would not and could not have picked a better brother if I’d tried. Welcome to the family.”
Brian said more, but Charlotte stared out into the dark night and could not stop her mind from wandering to Jimmy. This was the part where he’d read that speech he’d worked on for weeks. This was the part where he’d sit next to Charlotte and hold her hand and whisper that he loved her. This was the part . . .
Charlotte stopped her thoughts from going any further because in truth this was the part where she missed him and her heart broke for all that could have been and was not. She turned her eyes and concentration back to Jack and Kara, lifted her champagne, and took a long swallow.
Brian leaned close to her. “You okay?”
Charlotte nodded. “I’m sad for Jack, too. His brother should be here for him. I want to be mad at Jimmy, but I can’t.” Quick tears flashed in her eyes. “I keep trying to be mad at him, but I . . . can’t.”
“Crazy thing this love thing is,” Brian said and shook his head. “I’m trying to stay away from it.” He lifted his champagne and clinked his glass with hers.
Charlotte smiled at him. “Good luck with that.”
The snow in New York City fell in clumps, hitting the limousine windshield and melting on impact. Jimmy glanced at his cell, saw the battery level was low, and dialed Milton’s number. His stomach dropped in dread; he knew this was not going to go well.
“Hey, man,” Milton answered. “Your luggage is only an hour away from the hotel. This snow is screwing everything up. I’m sorry. Your guitar and clothes will be there in time for the performance. No worries.”
Jimmy exhaled, closed his eyes. “I’m not worried, Milton, because I’m not there. I’m on my way to the airport. I should have never agreed to miss my brother’s wedding.”
“Please tell me you’re kidding. Please tell me you’re sitting in the hotel room fuming because you need your luggage and guitar. Please.”
“Sorry.” Jimmy cringed at the word.
“Turn around now. There is no way I am telling Radio City to take you off the schedule. No way. This is my reputation, James Sullivan.”
“And this is my family, Milton. The only family I have.”
Milton’s response can’t be repeated here, but I’ll just tell you that Jimmy ended up hanging up the phone and leaning his head against the window. The traffic on the Belt Parkway crawled at less than ten miles per hour, and Jimmy leaned forward to Roger. “We gonna make it?”
“I don’t think so. I’m sorry. I’m trying.”
Jimmy leaned back in the seat. Time took on another dimension, one in which every minute meant a change in his destiny, in all that was important to Jimmy Sullivan, and there he sat without any control over the situation.
Slowly they inched toward JFK, until they arrived with just under an hour until takeoff. Jimmy thanked Roger and took his card so he could send him some money later. Roger smiled. “It was my pleasure. Better than sitting and waiting. I hope you make it.”
“Me too.” Jimmy ran toward the doors and to the airline counter. He stopped short when he entered the lobby. A line snaked through the makeshift lanes—hundreds of people. He quickly scanned the crowd and found an airline employee.
“Excuse me.” Jimmy stopped the employee, noticed the name Joe on his name tag. “Excuse me, Joe, but I’m trying to make a flight that leaves in less than an hour, and the line looks at least twice that.”
Joe laughed. “Ain’t no way, buddy. Sorry.”
“Listen,” Jimmy said, “this is sort of an emergency.”
“It always is.” Joe began to walk away.
Jimmy closed his eyes to regain his composure, and his heart sent forth the most fervent wish, the most desperate hope to see Charlotte, to see Jack, to be in Ireland before the wedding. Then he ran after Joe. “Please. I am supposed to be in Ireland for my brother’s wedding and . . . ”
Joe looked at Jimmy and shook his head. “International travel requires you to be here at least two hours before departure.”
“I know. I know. But I also know that the flight I need to be on is sitting at the gate and I don’t have any luggage. Not even a carry-on. It’s Christmas Eve. Come on, can you help me out? What would you do if you were in my situation, needing to see your family?”
Joe stood still for a moment, looking over Jimmy’s head and then back at him. “I’d give anything to be with my family tonight. Guess I could at least help you do that.”
Jimmy’s smile could not have been more authentic.
“Come with me. I’m not sure we can do this, but we’ll try.”
“Thanks. Serious unbelievable thanks.” Jimmy followed the man to a counter.
“No promises.” Joe clicked on a computer, began to punch in numbers. “Your ticket?” He held his hand out.
Jimmy cringed. “Well, see, there’s a problem there too. I have a ticket for tomorrow, and I know there’s a huge change fee. But I have the cash.”
Joe looked up at him, shaking his head. “You just trying to make this as difficult as possible?” But he had a smile on his face, and Jimmy handed him the ticket and then the cash for the change fee. While Joe worked on the ticket, Jimmy counted his money. He had enough left to maybe get a rental car. He’d figure that part out when he got there.
After what seemed like an eternity of button punching, Joe looked up with this grin of satisfaction. “You just aren’t going to believe this. There is one more seat, and the plane is delayed due to weather. Deicing takes time. Planes are backed up.” Joe handed a ticket to Jimmy. “Crazy.”
The relief that spread through Jimmy made him dizzy. “Merry Christmas, Joe. I wish you the most merry Christmas you’ve ever had. Ever.”
“You too.” Joe’s smile proved, once again, that giving offers as much or more to the giver as the receiver. Always.
Waiting at the gate, Jimmy dialed Jack’s number, calculating that they were all in the middle of the rehearsal dinner. No one answered, and Jimmy settled back into the plastic seat, staring at the screen for updates on flight departure. He decided not to leave a message. What if the plane didn’t leave on time or at all? He held on to his ticket and wished for a hot shower, his luggage, and a shave. He’d roll into Ireland looking like a disheveled vagabond. But then again, better to show up as he was and always has been than not to show up at all.
He turned off his phone to preserve what little battery life it had left. He grabbed a piece of pizza. Time crept on as Jimmy thought of the events of the past several hours: leaving his luggage and guitar at a hotel in New York City, canceling a performance at Radio City, selling the ring he’d meant to use to propose. He was missing a performance where his dad would finally hear him sing. He didn’t have his suit or any clothing other than what he wore, and now it looked as if the flight might not even leave before nightfall.
He calculated the losses as an accountant would write numbers in the debit column. Then he moved his mind to where he was going—not what he was leaving. He calmed himself thinking that he was going toward all that mattered, and he let go of everything else.
