Chapter 2

2

"Mom, did you hear me?" I asked.

My mother shifted her attention from the window to her watch, and then to me, saying, "I … umm, yeah. Sorry, dear. You mentioned something about a wedding, right?"

"Yeah, my wedding."

Her eyes lit up. " Your wedding? The two of you set a date, eh? It's about time."

We were standing in my mother's living room, sipping tea, and warming ourselves in front of the fire. It had been a much chillier October than usual. And although I'd always welcomed autumn and the changing of the leaves, I wasn't ready for cooler temperatures just yet.

"We're planning on getting married next year," I said.

"When?"

"August."

My mother raised a brow. "Seems a bit far off, don't you think? Then again, I suppose you've both been married before."

I didn't know what to make of her comment, and I wasn't interested in adding any fuel to the fire, so I said, "It gives us plenty of time to plan. Besides, I've always wanted a summer wedding, and it's not like there's a rush."

"I should say not. It's been over a year since Giovanni's proposal. I was starting to wonder if the two of you would ever tie the knot, or if you'd decided to remain engaged forever."

She was in a testy mood this evening.

Something was bugging her.

I took a sip of tea and let the comment slide.

In truth, I wasn't sure why we'd put off setting a date after our engagement. Months earlier, I'd learned Giovanni had been waiting for me to suggest a timeline for our nuptials. That was when we gave it some serious thought and came up with a plan.

My mother glanced out the window and then back at me again. "Where are you thinking you'll have the ceremony?"

It was a question I expected, but one I wasn't prepared to answer yet.

"New York is a place we've talked about," I said. "It's where we met."

"When you were both in college, and you lived with his sister. I'm aware."

"It holds special meaning to us for that reason. It's also the city where we reunited four years ago."

"It's also where he proposed to you. It doesn't seem like you've only talked about it. It seems like you've decided New York is the place. Am I right?"

I nodded.

She sighed, and I waited for what more she was about to say.

I didn't wait long.

"I'd hoped the two of you would marry here. But I can see why getting married in a place that holds fond memories for the two of you makes sense."

There was disappointment in her eyes when she'd said it, but so far, she wasn't pressing the issue any further.

I was impressed.

"Giovanni's sister, Daniela, has offered to host the wedding and the reception at their family estate," I said. "And before you say anything, I want you to know how important it is to me for you to be involved with as much of the wedding reception planning as you'd like."

"I think I'd like to sit down," she said.

She crossed the room, taking a seat on a chair near the window.

I sat down next to her.

"We're still discussing all the details," I said.

"Is this why you stopped by tonight, to break the news?"

"I spoke to Daniela earlier today, and we discussed a few things, but I wanted to talk to you before any final decisions were made."

"I appreciate the consideration."

And I appreciated how well she was taking it. I'd spent much of the afternoon fretting over the conversation. It was possible I'd worried for nothing, but considering how much more agreeable she was than I'd expected, it gave me pause.

My mother crossed one leg over the other, setting her empty teacup on a side table. "There's something you should know. I met your father in New York City."

"I thought the two of you met here, in Cambria."

"We did, the second time."

"I don't understand."

"After I graduated from high school, I took a trip to New York City with my friend, Cassandra. Her aunt had a home there, and she invited us for a visit. On our third night, we went out to a nightclub, and I met your father."

"If you met in New York City, why did you tell us kids you met in Cambria?"

My mother swished a hand through the air and frowned. "Do you want to hear about it or not?"

"I do."

"Good, then let me talk. I'll explain everything."

I leaned toward her, anxious to hear the rest of the story.

"As I was saying, I first met your father in that New York nightclub. I still remember what he was wearing—a white T-shirt under a black leather jacket. Jeans rolled up at the bottom. The moment our eyes met, he smiled, and walked right over to me."

"What did he say?"

"He told me his name was Abe and that I was the prettiest gal he'd ever laid eyes on. While Cassandra tore it up on the dance floor with a gentleman she'd just met, I sat at a booth with your father. We talked for over three hours."

"What about?"

"Lots of things, and at the end of the conversation, he told me he was only in the city for the night. The next morning, he was flying to Spain to study abroad for a while. Before we said our goodbyes, he asked for my address and said he would write to me."

"And did he?" I asked.

"Every week for a year. And then … I … we …" She bit down on her lip, crossing her arms in front of her. "I'm ashamed about what happened next, you see."

"Why? What happened?"

"For the first six months, I wrote back to every letter he sent. And then … well, I met someone else. Your father continued to send letters each week, but I stopped replying to them. A few months later, things fizzled out with the other guy. I thought about writing your father to explain why I'd stopped corresponding, but I was embarrassed. I couldn't bring myself to do it."

It was hard for me to believe my mother had ever been embarrassed about anything.

"The second time you met was here," I said, intrigued. "How did that happen?"

"As soon as your father returned from Spain, he came straight to Cambria. He knocked on my door, and when I opened it, he handed me the most beautiful bouquet I'd ever seen, and he professed his love for me. I didn't know what to say. I stood there for a moment and then I burst into tears. I realized I loved him too."

"Why did you feel like you couldn't tell us kids the real story until now? We would have understood."

She reached out, taking my hand. "I know that now. I should have been honest about it from the start. I felt awful about how I'd handled everything with your father. After your father and I talked, and I explained what had happened, he was disappointed at first. Then he suggested we start from scratch, and that's just what we did."

"What matters is you found your way back to each other in the end."

"Just like you and Giovanni. I suppose now you can see why New York is a special place for me too."

She released my hand and squinted, peering out the window for a third time.

Then there was another quick glance at the time.

"You've been looking out the window and then at your watch a lot since I've been here. Is everything okay?"

She tapped a finger to her lips. "Mmmph, I don't know. Cordelia's porch light is on."

I glanced out the window, staring at the house my mother was pointing at.

"Why are you concerned about your neighbor's porch light?" I asked.

"She always leaves it on when she's not home in the evening, and she always turns it off when she gets back. It's getting late. The light's still on, and she should have been home a while ago."

"Maybe she got tied up running errands."

"I think I'll give her a call."

My mother removed her cell phone from her pocket and dialed.

There was no answer.

"Well, I just don't understand it, don't understand it at all, I tell you," my mother said. "Cordelia doesn't leave the house much. Not since her husband passed away."

"How's she doing?"

"Depressed. Yessiree, that one word just about sums it up. I was visiting with her a few weeks ago, and she made a comment about having nothing to live for now that he's gone. She has no children and not much family to speak of, other than a sister whom she hasn't spoken to in years."

"Do the two of you get together often?"

"I pop in a couple of times a week to see how she's doing. During one of my recent visits, I told her I knew what she was going through, having lost your father some time ago. I promised her it would get better. Perhaps it was a promise I ought not to have made."

"Why?"

"Part of me worries I've pushed her back into society before she's ready. As I thought of ways to help her cope with his death, I came up with what I thought was a brilliant idea. Cordelia loves books of all genres. Her house is filled to the brim with them. I knew the local library was looking for a volunteer, and I proposed it would be a perfect opportunity for her to dip a toe back into the outside world."

"What did she think about your suggestion?"

"She loved the idea. She worked there today, in fact. I'm concerned because the library closed a few hours ago. I don't understand why she isn't home yet."

"You said she loves books. Maybe she stayed late to read."

"Cordelia doesn't like to be out after dark. She's a bit funny that way. Why would she stay when she could just bring the book home?"

It was a fair point.

"If it will make you feel better, we can head over to the library and see if she's still there," I said.

My mother nodded and bolted from the chair. "It would make me feel better, yes. I'll grab my shawl and meet you at the car in a jiffy."