“Mom, where’s Grandma? I heard she was MIA,” Jordan sang out.
Curses. Caught crying in the corridor. Camille drew a deep breath as she looked for the will to smile and a way to secrete her damp hankie. Up your sleeve, she thought. Up yours, the old lady’s way. Ah, there was the smile.
And here was the bride, not quite fooled. She touched her mother’s arm, and the damn hankie dropped to the floor.
Weepy laughter bubbled in Camille’s throat as she recalled the last time she’d had a use for cloth handkerchiefs. Her La Leche League breastfeeding manual had advised stuffing them into her nursing bra to absorb leaking milk. It was impossible to fold those huge men’s cotton handkerchiefs into a natural-looking breast shape. She’d had square breasts for a year, stuffed with damp hankies.
Not damn hankies. Precious hankies. Without hers, she was forced to use the tear-wiping side of her forefinger.
“What’s wrong, Mama?” Jordan’s wedding gown puddled around her feet as she stooped to recover the lacy white handkerchief. “You’re not crying, are you?”
Camile shook her head quickly. “Happy tears.”
“Did you find her? Is she okay?”
Another deep breath, and Camille was steady. Steady as she goes. “She just went to bed, a tired but very happy camper.”
“Is she asleep yet? I want to say good night.”
Camille nodded as she took the key card from her skirt pocket and slid it into the lock. She touched her finger to her lips and led the way far enough inside so that Jordan could hear the last few bars of Creed’s song coming from the bedroom. But for a sliver of light beaming from the bathroom for navigation, the suite was dark.
Jordan turned to her mother, eyes wide, fingertips pressed to her own lips. “Dad’s in there?” she mouthed, and Camille nodded, eyes welling up again.
Jordan gave Camille’s arm a quick squeeze as she turned and headed for the back room, the soft swish of her dress announcing her visit. “I came to say good night, Grandma.”
Camille braced her back against the wall and listened to the murmur of words like “most beautiful bride” and “most beautiful grandmother,” with thanks pouring out on both sides as Jordan and Creed exchanged stations. He came to Camille in the dark, peeled her off the wall, held her tight in his arms.
“Don’t let me…”
She didn’t have to specify. He tucked her under his protective arm, swept her down the hall to his room, and scooted her through the door to privacy.
“I’ll be okay in just a minute,” she said unsteadily. He touched her shoulder. She turned to him, and they held each other and wept together in the dark.
“We’re a fine pair,” she said finally, taking his face in her hands, wiping tears with her thumbs. “Sometimes.”
“We’ve done all right lately.” His beautiful voice was tight and hoarse.
“Well, what are we going to do now? You’re supposed to be singing, and I’m supposed to do whatever it is a mother of the bride does at the end of the night, which isn’t supposed to be this.”
“What?”
“Hiding in a dark room crying, for heaven’s sake.”
“Mark it on the calendar. Camille Delonga did something she wasn’t supposed to do.” He touched her hair. “Every once in a while someone calls you Mrs. Burke.” She nodded. “You don’t always correct them.”
“I gave up for the time being. The time being the occasion of our daughter’s wedding. We’re the mother and the father of the bride. We only get to wear those titles once.”
“That’s right,” he said, his voice soft with affection. “But I’m just wondering, how do you feel when someone calls you Mrs. Burke?”
“I know who they’re talking to,” she said, trying to sound matter-of-fact. But it would have been a rude tone if she could have pulled it off, and an unfair response to a fair question. “I mean…after all this time, it still feels natural to sort of…” She needed another deep breath. “Answer to that name, I guess. It’s part of my life that hasn’t really…”
“Gone away?”
“The feelings…” Handfuls of his sleeves at once allowed her to perch on his arms and hold a forearm’s measure of space between her body and his. “Oh, Creed, this is high tide for the ocean of our…emotional life.” She gave a quick laugh. “Did I really say that?”
“I’m gonna be singin’ it next week. We’ve got an ocean of emotion, and baby it’s hiiigh tide,” he sang as he pulled her into his harbor.
“Oh, Creed.” It felt so good to sink against him, just for a moment. But a moment was all she would allow. “We’ve got to get back to the party.”
“Yes, we do. This is a hell of a party, hon. You done good.”
“You, too.”
She lifted her face to receive his open-mouthed kiss and to give him hers. Then, arm in arm, they returned to their daughter’s wedding reception.
The band was dutifully entertaining with instrumental music as Creed made his way back to the dance floor for one more set for the young diehards. By the grace of flattering candlelight, no one seemed to notice that Camille had washed away most of her mascara. While the bride and groom strolled among their guests in the courtyard and put their feet up in the gift room for a nightcap with their wedding party, Camille bade good night to departing friends and family. Some would attend the gift opening at Bridget’s house the next day. Others drifted off to their hotel rooms or their homes with yawning faces and smiling hearts. There could be no drawback, no disparagement of a celebration of love and marriage. Not this night.
Camille told herself that she didn’t want to awaken her mother. Bridget had gone home to prepare for the gift-opening brunch, and Ellie had retired to a room in the hotel with her husband, Stan. Camille decided to make the short drive home. She would sleep in her own bed.
When she emerged from the bathroom in her nightgown, she found Creed standing in the bedroom doorway, backlit by the hall light. It might have been a fantasy, but real or imagined, it was unquestionably some form of Creed Burke.
“Your mother let me in,” he teased.
“You let yourself in.”
“You left the door open.”
“I would never take that kind of a risk.”
“Why make that claim when you know it isn’t true?”
She proved his point by meeting him halfway, in the middle of the bedroom they’d shared years ago.
“I asked your mother about that sermon, about the meaning of happily ever after and what she thought it meant to you.”
“What did she say?”
“She said she didn’t think you had decided yet. Your story’s not over yet, and you’ve never loved anyone but me. Either you’re going to carry a torch for me until the grave finally puts out the fire, or you’re going to give me another chance.” He laid his hands on her bare shoulders. “Which sounds better to you?”
“I only get two choices?”
“That’s it. It’s more than a lot of people get. Me, for instance.”
“How so?”
“I have to go with what you decide.”
“That would be a first.”
“Well, according to Indian tradition, the home and all its contents belong to the woman. All the guy can claim are his weapons and his horse.”
“His guitar and his pickup,” she said, laughing as she slid her arms around him. “There’s been no one else, Creed. I can’t keep that a secret, since even my mother has succumbed to your charms and become your ally. But what about you? How many women have you loved since me?”
“None,” he said, taking her head in his hands and sliding his fingers into her hair. “None before and none since.”
“I asked the wrong question.”
“You asked the one that matters. You don’t wanna ask whether I’ve had sex since we split twelve years ago, and I’m not gonna talk about it.”
“What about before we split?”
“That was a long time ago. Is that what you want to talk about now?”
“No.”
“I love you like crazy, Camille. I don’t know what to do about it except come to you and tell you how I feel.” His eyes plumbed the depth of hers. “And ask you to tell me straight out how you feel about me.”
“You’re the only man I’ve ever loved, Creed. But you know that. We had no trouble with the loving. It was the living together that caused us so many problems.”
“Let’s go back to the loving, then. Can we start there?” He caressed her shoulders, slipped a finger under one nightgown strap and pushed it over the edge until the gown drooped on one side.
Like her aging boob, she thought. But she was not inclined to cover it up. Not now.
“I love you like crazy, Camille. Let me love you now.”
“We had a wedding today, didn’t we?”
“That we did,” he said, backing her toward the bed. “A fine, fine wedding.”
“What comes after the wedding for the mother of the bride?”
He grinned when she started unbuttoning his shirt. They had decided to find out together.