Standing as the bridal march reverberates, I turn towards the rear of the church, wincing as arthritis pain stabs the back of my neck. I audibly gasp as my eyes fill with the glorious sight of my Granddaughter, Emily wearing my wedding gown. The pearl-studded bodice clings to her breasts, narrowing her waist as the ivory lace slips along her slender hips, pooling gently on the floor.
Beaming with pride, her father, my son David is handsome in the elegant tux, most likely an Armani, if I know Maiya, my daughter-in-law. She has exquisite taste. David is the image of his father, the man I loved for more than half of my life. The man I loved but never married. The man I will see for the first time in 46-years. I wince again, this time from anxiety, not pain.
Feeling tears stinging my eyes, unsure if they are tears of joy for Emily, approaching Bryce, the handsome young man she is about to wed, or sorrow for the loss of a long-ago love.
I tell myself they are tears of joy for Emily and Bryce. Memories plunge in my mind, forcing the tears to fall onto my cheeks as I look at the wedding gown I never wore. The marriage to David’s father never happened. Moving my head as they make their way down the aisle, the pain shoots down my neck onto my left arm. I stifle a gasp as Maiya puts her arm around me, her eyes staring at my profile. “I’m okay, I whisper,” my attention riveted on the beautiful couple about to become husband and wife.
For a moment, I wonder where Robert, David’s father is sitting. I nearly had a heart attack when I saw his name on the guest list. I can't think of that now. I force myself to focus on the ceremony. The priest’s clearly spoken words taking my thoughts from the past. “Family and friends, we are gathered today to witness the vows of matrimony between Bryce Michael Armstrong and Emily Marie O’Brien…"
My attention slips back again. It has been doing that often lately. Has it always been so slippery, swishing from one thought to another? I am thinking of Robert again in spite of trying to stay alert to the wedding.
We planned a simple wedding. My gown was the only extravagance. In those days it wasn’t customary for a pregnant woman to wear a white gown, but only Robert and I knew about the baby. We planned to be married during his spring break from Yale.
Maiya reaches for my hand, bringing me back to the moment as Emily repeats her vows. I love my granddaughter more than life. She too is a part of Robert; hopefully, she will never know that he is her grandfather. It is my prayer that she and David never know.
Why is he here? The question shoots through my mind. Who invited him? I thanked God that he never revealed to anyone, at least not to my knowledge, that David is his son. Is he sitting alone? His wife Andrea passed away a year ago. Strange, she and my husband Arthur died within three months of each other. It will be the first time I see Robert in over forty years.
The priest introducing the newlywed couple to the congregation startles me from my memories as Maiya tucks her hand under my arm and helps me to my feet. The ceremony is over, the bride and groom beaming at an applauding congregation. They begin their walk up the aisle. David stands beside the pew reaching for Maiya’s arm, putting her on his left side and guiding me to his right. My eyes stare straight ahead, not ready to see Robert. Will I recognize him after all these years?
“She looked gorgeous, didn’t she Mom?” David whispers in my ear. I nod, my eyes raised toward the choir loft hoping not to see Robert, not after all these years. I suddenly feel ill, my chest tightening.
“Mom! What’s wrong?” David stops, looks down at me with concern in his eyes.
“Nothing. I’m fine.” I stammer, walking faster. Damn, it is a long aisle. I need to get outside. I need to breathe. I fooled myself into thinking I could face David’s father after all these years, telling myself he meant nothing to me. Now, excruciatingly aware that he means everything to me, always has, always would, I ache to run away.
“Not this time,” I hear the words rushing through my mind. “You’re not going to run away this time.”
Outside the church, I force myself to smile standing inside the circle of well-wishers tossing rose petals as the couple rush to the limo.
“You have a beautiful granddaughter.” A deep voice speaks softly behind me. I would know that voice anywhere. It is Robert. I refuse to turn; he is so close I feel his breath on my neck. “Megan, would you be offended if I say we have a beautiful granddaughter?” He whispers moving closer to me.
Standing ramrod stiff, I refuse to turn, wanting desperately to see the thick black hair that curled so slightly; teasing brown eyes overflowing with looks of love and longing all those years ago. I don’t want to see white hair, or a baldhead or, or, damn, I don’t want him to see me. That’s it. He would not see the girl I used to be, the girl I still am inside. He would see an old woman with gray hair, no longer smooth soft skin or-or _ _
“Mom,” the limo is waiting.” David glances at Robert and introduces himself as I stand like a statue afraid to move. Oh my God, what if he tells him?
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, David. I’m Robert Jenson,” he pauses briefly, shaking David’s hand. “It was a lovely wedding.”
David slips his hand behind my back. “Will you excuse us, Mr. Jenson? Do you need a ride to the reception?” he adds always so thoughtful.
“That would be nice thank you, but I have my car. I’ll see you there, Megan.”
“Are you all right, Mother?” Maiya asks as I stiffly settle on the leather seat opposite her.
“Yes dear, I am fine, thank you.” Do they hear the tremor in my voice or see my hands shaking? I am sure they hear my heart beating wildly.
“Too bad Dad wasn’t here to see this,” David seriously stares at me for more than a few moments. “He would have been bursting at the seams with pride seeing his only grandchild walking down the aisle.” David’s smile is melancholic. His father’s death, or at least the man he thought was his father wounded him deeply. Theirs was a special relationship all their lives. David, never a rebellious child deeply loved and respected Arthur.
I never told him the truth. Arthur said it was okay for me to tell him, but I couldn’t do it. Not just because I didn’t want my son to know I was pregnant with him without being married, but because of the bond between him and Arthur. I couldn’t take a chance of breaking that bond.
“David, it was the wedding of my dreams.” Maiya beams. She planned every detail. Emily looked beautiful, the church even more elegant than I’ve ever seen it. Everything was perfect. I just hope the reception goes as well.”
“Who was that man you were talking to, Mom? I didn’t recognize him. He must be someone from Bryce’s family. You knew him, didn’t you? I mean the way he looked at you seemed mighty friendly.” Maiya adjusts the seat belt.
“Yes, I knew him a long time ago.”
Hesitating for a moment, I sigh. “Robert Jenson. He lived here with his family a long time ago. They owned the mill, the department store, the drugstore, and just about everything else in town. They sold everything and moved to Florida before you and David moved here.”
I remembered what it was like being the girlfriend of the richest kid in town. Certainly not easy knowing that his parents resented him having anything to do with me. I wasn’t from the poorest section of town, but my mom, was a waitress in the coffee shop at the drugstore they owned, and my father, an over-the-road truck driver were not members of the country club. We weren’t poor, but we didn’t belong to the country club where Mr. Jenson was president and Mrs. Jenson was chairwoman of the Ladies Guild.
Maiya pulls a compact from the small beaded clutch bag, reaches inside for a lipstick, and flips open the compact. She carefully applies the brilliant red lip-gloss, snaps the compact shut, and then looks at me. “An old beau?” she grins.
Thankfully before I can respond, the limo glides in front of the country club. The same club that now accepts me as a member and David, like his great-grandfather, Robert’s father, is now president. How times change.
As I follow David and Maiya to the table, my eyes lock onto Robert’s. My heart sputters skipping beats then accelerates. My breath escapes me, my knees weaken, and then my heart begins wildly thumping, pounding as our eyes connect. He is looking at me the same way as those years ago, just as I remembered them.
“Mom!” David leads me towards the table, pulls out the chair for me. When I drop my beaded pearl evening bag, David picks it up, puts it on my lap, and unexpectedly kisses my cheek. “By the way lady, did I tell you that you look gorgeous?”
He is unaware of how much I need to hear those words, maybe not from him, but yes, from him. I need to believe them. I know I am attractive for a woman my age, but I certainly am not gorgeous. I was never what one would call gorgeous. Not bad looking but never a beauty.
A drum roll announces the arrival of the bridal party. “Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present the newly married Mr. and Mrs. Bryce O’Donnell!” The band plays a melody I never heard before as chairs noisily scrape the floor. We stand, applauding the young couple as they move among the tables to the elegantly decorated bridal table. Cameras click when Bryce kisses Emily as someone taps a spoon against his or her glass.
It is a festive room as everyone sits to give drink orders to bustling servers. Glancing around the room, I see Robert staring at me. He tilts his head, smiles, and raises his water-filled goblet in a toasting gesture.” My God, he’s still handsome.” I whisper.
“Did you say something, Mother?” Maiya leans across the table.
I shake my head; close my eyes, listening to what the young people call music. It is deafening, guitars, more guitars, drums, and a keyboard. Where are the saxes, trombones, and piano? "Stop it, Megan Rae O’Brien! Stop it this instant!” I mentally order myself. “It isn’t 1965.” Oh God, was it ever 1965? Wasn’t that only yesterday? Where have the years gone?
“I see you have the white flag, madam,” a server stands to my right. “That’s the swordfish. Is it what you requested?” I nod as a voice announces over the microphone.
“Emily and Bryce, family and friends, Father Stephen Grayson will offer a prayer of thanksgiving for our food and a special prayer for joy and happiness for our loving bride and groom.”
My dinner is barely touched as I struggle to avoid looking at Robert knowing each time our eyes connect my heart beats faster as memories clamor for attention. Thankfully, after dinner toasts then the bridal couple dancing keeps my attention.
“May I have this dance?” Robert leans towards me, his hand held out. He is dashingly handsome in his fashionably tailored suit. My trained eye traces it to Bond Street, London. Not hard to guess since he has been living in England for many years. Until recently he was one of our country’s foremost diplomats. I read about it in the Washington Post when the president assigned him there and again on his recent retirement.
Pulling myself achingly to my highest position, throwing back my shoulders, and not looking up at him, I am silent as we walk to the dance floor. He is also silent as we move about as best we can to what is considered a sedate melody.
“You still wear Chanel!” I am unbelieving that he remembers after all these years? I nod, my eyes staring at the monogrammed silk handkerchief in the pocket of his suit coat. It is beautifully crafted. I should know, as a fashion coordinator for 18 years after Arthur and I married, I went on numerous trips to New York, Paris, and London, always hoping I would bump into Robert, always afraid I might.
“Whenever I am around that scent, I think of you.”
“Do you really, Robert?” I am still unable to look up at him.
“I’ve thought of you often over the years, Megan.”
When the music, or what is supposed to be music stops, I turn, my shoulders held back until I think they will break as pain nibbles down my spine.
"Megan. We need to talk.” He gently touches my shoulder.
I turn, finally looking up into his eyes, fighting tears that suddenly overwhelm me.
“No, Robert. It’s too late to talk. I don’t know how you got an invitation to the wedding, but when I saw your name on the list, I, I,...” Words escape me as David takes my hand.
“Seems I’m always pulling her away from you,” he smiles at Robert. “It’s our turn to dance. If you’ll excuse us.”
“Mom, I think you’re holding back on me,” David twirls me around, cautiously, I might add. “What’s going on with you and that guy?”
“Nothing, David. We knew each other a long time ago. Your grandmother worked for his father. We dated a few times, nothing serious,” I lie.
Our obligatory, traditional dance over when the group playing goes into a raucous piece, shaking the rafters. David grins knowing better than to suggest we dance another one. “I’ll take you back to the table, okay?”
“I think I’ll go to the Ladies Room,”
I move cautiously among the gyrating bodies to the nearest restroom. Thankfully it is empty. I sit on the edge of a high-backed wing chair, avoiding the oversized gold gilt mirrors, not wanting to look at my image. I want it to be the way I see myself in my mind’s eye. Who am I kidding?. For a long time, I colored my hair champagne gold. Then one day I decided to let it be natural grey. Now I wish it was champagne again. I wish I brought my champagne with me into the Ladies Room. Damn, I wish I had something stronger than champagne. A good quality scotch would be ideal. I have never been much of a drinker but under duress, scotch is best.
Oh lord, I need to go back out there and face him. God, I wish he’d gone home. I wish he’d never come. Why did he come? Is it to see his son and granddaughter? Suddenly my heart is thrashing. Oh lord, what if he plans to tell David who he is? Is that why he is here, to tell David and Emily? Oh no, not on her wedding day. He couldn’t do anything like that.
I bolt from the chair, forgetting the pains, unaware of the stiffness. I dart out of the room, dashing into the reception area. Scanning the room, I see him dancing with Emily. Something inside me nearly screams. I need to stop him. I can’t let him tell her. As I careen between dancers, blinding pains sluice down my arm. My breath comes in gasps as pain clutches my chest. Suddenly I am slumping to the floor. Then nothing, until I open my eyes aware I am in an ambulance. The siren screeching as two IV bottles sway back and forth. An attendant is looking down at me.
“Are you in pain?” I shake my head. “We gave you a pretty heavy dose of nitro. We’re almost at the hospital. Just hang in there.”
I close my eyes, feeling his fingers on my wrist, the cuff of a blood pressure monitor squeezing my arm; I wonder if I am about to die. Somehow it doesn’t matter. I am overcome with weakness. No pain thankfully but overwhelmingly weak. I don’t remember much more about that night, arriving at the hospital, seeing David and Maiya rushing to my side, hearing Emily somewhere in the distance crying. Emily. She is supposed to be at her reception.
A nurse swooshes them out. “The Dr. needs to check her. Please wait outside in the waiting room.” A man is quickly at my side, holding an iPad or Tablet, whatever those things are they use instead of charts. His eyes scan the screen. “Well my dear, I think you’ve had a coronary. Let’s get an EKG and a few tests to see what’s happening.”
He mumbles instructions as the severe weakness overwhelms me, I feel myself slipping away.
The hospital stay is not long. It’s amazing what they can do with faulty hearts. It was determined bypass surgery would be best for me, and I agreed. David and Maiya stayed by my side as much as they were allowed. We all convinced Emily to go on her honeymoon.
Waking up after the surgery, David and Maiya are on either side of the bed. “Mom, don’t ever scare us like that again,” David’s eyes are moist.
After we visit for a bit, and I assure them I am not tired, David says Robert has been at the hospital throughout the entire time. “He wouldn’t leave.” After a moment’s hesitation, he adds, “Mom, we need to talk.”
“I’m going to get coffee.” Maiya kisses me “Dr. says you may have some decaf.”
What do we need to talk about I wonder? Was there a problem with the surgery? Am I not as well as I think I am or will be?
“Mom,” another pause. “I know, and it’s okay.”
“You know what? David, you are scaring me. Is something wrong with me?”
“No. There’s nothing wrong with you. It’s about Robert. Mom, I know he is my biological father.”
Stunned I stare at him then anger zooms into me. “I can’t believe he told you.”
“He didn’t tell me. Dad did, I mean Arthur told me.”
Seeing the confusion in my eyes, he explains. “When I got a copy of my Birth Certificate to get my passport, I saw Arthur adopted me. You were on a fashion trip somewhere at the time. He told me another man was my father, but he didn’t tell me who it was. He asked me to consider not telling you that I knew.”
After a brief pause, he continues. “I think I knew outside the church when I saw how Robert was looking at you. Mom, I could see he loves you. Then watching him dancing with you, I knew for sure. What I’m not sure is how you feel about him. He has been here ever since they brought you in.”
“I am so sorry. I should have told you years ago. I don’t know why I...”
His finger touching my lips stops me. “Mom, it’s okay. I was mad at first, not because you weren’t married but that you didn’t tell me. After I thought about it, I realized my life worked out great with you and Dad, I mean, Arthur.” He puts his arms around me, “It’s really okay, Mom. Robert and I have talked about it. He apologized over and over again that he wasn’t there for me. I assured him I knew the circumstances, and that he and Arthur worked out a way for him to be in my life without you or I knowing it. He didn’t know Dad told me.”
This time I am more than stunned. I am shocked. “What? He and Arthur worked what out.”
“I’ll let Robert tell you what that was all about. Okay if I let him come in? He’s been a nervous wreck waiting to see you.”
Not waiting for my reply, David goes to the door as Maiya returns with the coffee. David takes a cup, puts it on my bedside table, turns Maiya around, and leaves without closing the door.
Robert is at my bed within seconds, holding my hand. “You scared the hell out of me. I was so afraid I’d lost you again. I couldn’t bear losing you again,” he whispers, his voice husky, his eyes filling. “Promise me you won’t leave me this time.”
Tears stream down my face. After all these years, he still loves me, just as I never stopped loving him. I thought of Arthur. I loved him differently. He was my dear friend from childhood. He knew I was pregnant and followed me to New York, insisted we be married after I told him about Robert’s father’s threat. He cared for me for years. Gradually we fell in love and had a good and loving marriage, but there were always moments when I thought of Robert.
Over the next few days Robert tells me that after I ran away, as he put it, he went back to Yale. When he graduated, he tried to find me. My mother refused to tell him anything. He’d heard from someone that I fled New York, nothing more. After searching for me there, he went back to Yale, got a master’s degree in Foreign Affairs, and became a political attaché. There was a time when he considered running for political office, but his wife begged him not to enter the public arena. He never had children; at least he and Amanda never had children.
He waited until after I was out of the hospital, safely and securely at home before he asked me why I left him all those years ago. Why did I refuse to marry him and let him be David’s father? At first, I couldn’t tell him the truth. It was difficult to think about it after all the years. Finally, one evening as we sat on the terrace above the pool area of my condo, I asked him to pour me a Scotch. He raised an eyebrow and then winked at me. “Scotch? I didn’t know my beautiful gal was a drinker.”
“Only under duress,” I assured him, “only under duress.”
I gathered my thoughts, wondering how much I could tell him without causing anger at his father. Reaching back into my memory, I vividly recall all those years before when his father stood over me after he ordered me to his office. His face contorts in rage. “You did this deliberately. You tricked my son into getting you pregnant so you could do to him what your mother was unable to do to me.”
I gasped, shocked. What was he talking about?
“Your mother, tramp that she is, lured me to her bed. She was always flitting around the coffee shop, throwing herself at me. Just like I’m sure you have done to my son.”
I began to protest, but he shouted me down. “You cannot marry my son. He could be your brother, damn it, your own flesh and blood.”
I was as close to fainting at that moment as I ever have been, before the wedding reception that is. I became dizzy, weak. It was a good thing I was sitting down.
“It would be incest. A sin. A crime.” He shouted at me, and then lowered his voice, the anger replaced by a pleading look in his eyes. “Please, don’t do this. You cannot marry Robert.”
I regained my strength, just as I jumped from the chair that afternoon in the Ladies Room, I jumped from the chair and ran from his office. I couldn’t bear to be near him. I ran home and confronted my mother. She denied it, but something in her eyes told me she wasn’t sure.
“Honey, I don’t know. Oh, baby, I’m so sorry. Please don’t tell your daddy. Promise me you won’t tell your daddy.”
Later that night I was sobbing in my room. Daddy was on the road, and momma answered the door. I heard muffled voices but paid very little attention. My thoughts were muddled. What if it were true? What if Robert was my brother? The baby could be deformed. Oh God, what was I going to do?”
Momma tapped on my door. “Sugar! May I come in?”
I didn’t answer. She opened the door, came slowly into the room. “Honey, that was Robert’s father. He, well, he came by with a check. He said he would pay all expenses for you to leave.”
“Get out of my room!” I screamed at her.
“Megan. It’s the best thing for everyone.” She came towards me, and I jumped up, pushed her to the door.
“Get out of here,” I screamed.
Before dawn, after a fitful night of sobbing, I came to the conclusion that I couldn’t tell Robert. It was hard enough for me. I couldn’t hurt him. I called my best friend, Arthur from the train station. He met me there, tried to talk me out of going, but in the end, he loaned me the money to go to New York.
I got a job in the garment district, assisting fashion models. Arthur came and we married. I learned more and more about the fashion industry and managed one of the finest designer shops in the country. After Arthur’s father died, he asked me to come back home with him. He needed to look after his mother. It was the least I could do after what he did for me.
I finish sipping the Scotch as I tell Robert what happened. Both our parents are gone; it would hurt no one to know. It takes a while for Robert to allow what I told him to sink in. I am concerned when he goes back into the condo for a few minutes then returns with the Scotch bottle and a glass. Touching up my drink and pouring one for himself, he finally says, “I wish you had told me back then. I thought you didn’t love me and didn’t want to marry me. You don’t know how I anguished all the years. I’d come back here, hoping you’d be home, or that I could find you in New York. I looked for Arthur’s name in the phone directory when I heard you married him. I wanted to see you and my son.”
“Is that when you two made plans without my knowledge? David told me in the hospital about you and Arthur working a relationship that you could see David from a distance in various places in the city and that you set up a trust fund to go to any children David might have. It will go to Emily someday.”
“I don’t understand why you never told me about my father’s threats.”
“I’m sorry Robert.” It is all I can say.
“I would have defied him, you know that.”
“Yes.”
“I wish I’d never told him we were having a baby.”
“I know.”
After a long pause, he continues.
“David is a fine man. You and Arthur did a good job raising him.
“Thank you.” It is all I can think to say.
The timer flicks on the lights in the apartment. “Do you want to go out for dinner?” Robert picks up the bottle and his glass, replaces them on the table, stands, comes to me, and holds out his arms pulling me into them, and whispers. “I love you, Megan. I always have. I always will.”
Epilog
Robert and I got DNA tests, though we didn’t think they were necessary. There was no connection. We married in a simple wedding. Emily was my matron of honor; David walked me down the aisle, then stood beside Robert as his best man. Maiya hosted the after ceremony party at the country club. It was elegant, classy, and very Maiya.
