Then came Hannah’s parents, and after that the organist began to play the wedding march. All heads turned toward the double doors. Hannah appeared, exquisite in a gown of satin and tulle, her skirt made up of several layers of the flowing material. As she walked down the aisle, the crystal beads of her bodice glistened in the soft lighting. Bubbe had wanted the bride to walk with her parents, as in a more orthodox ceremony, but David had insisted that his bride share her moment of glory with no one. “We’re Reformed now, Bubbe,” he tried to explain. “We choose the laws and traditions we want to follow.”
Tears welled in Becky’s eyes as she watched Hannah walk down the aisle, tears of happiness for Hannah, tears of sadness for herself. She thought about her own wedding, remembering the promises that were made and then later broken.
At the chuppah David met his bride and put his arm through hers. Becky barely heard the ceremony. Afraid she would break down entirely, she held her head low, looking up only when it was time for her to perform her duty as matron of honor and lift Hannah’s veil.
After the bride and groom each took a sip from the cup of wine, the rabbi wrapped the glass in a cloth and placed it on the floor. “Mazel tov!” the guests cheered after David had stomped on the glass, smashing it to pieces. The tradition of the breaking glass was supposed to be a solemn reminder of the fragility of life, but now that the ceremony was over, all somberness was to be banished.
“On with the festivities!” Aaron called jovially, then led the way to the reception hall.
After the meal, the hall was cleared for dancing. The guests formed a circle around the bride and groom, who were seated on chairs, holding opposite ends of a handkerchief as the custom dictated. “To the king and queen of the night!” someone called out, and when Hannah and David were lifted in their chairs into the air, Becky quietly sneaked away.
She was in no mood for a party, but she could hardly leave her brother’s wedding. She hid out in the bride’s lounge, drinking glass after glass of champagne, emerging every now and then to make a brief appearance, resolving, for Hannah’s sake, not to reveal her misery. All she wanted was to be left alone, and when the reception was finally over, she told her parents she planned on walking home.
“You want to walk in those heels?” Gertie chided.
“We live just down the block,” Becky reminded her mother. “Besides, there won’t be any room for me in the car after you’ve packed it up with leftovers.”
Outside, the September air was cool and crisp, a preview to the coming fall. Her head ached from too much champagne, and she wanted to be alone. A walk will do me good, she thought, even though it’ll be a short one.
“Bailing out?”
Becky jumped. “Carter! You shouldn’t sneak up on a person that way.”
“Is there any other way to sneak up on a person?” He tilted her chin with his fingers. “Hey…what’s the matter, princess? Those aren’t tears of happiness.”
His soft caress was enough to break the last of her resolve, and before she could stop herself, she began to sob against his shoulder.
He wrapped his arms around her. “It can’t be that bad. Just think of that old saying, ‘You’re not losing a brother, you’re gaining a sister.”’
“You have that all wrong,” she managed through her sobs. “The saying is, ‘You’re not losing a daughter, you’re gaining a son.’ But that’s not why I’m crying.” Suddenly embarrassed, she pulled away from his embrace. Not meeting his eyes, she wiped at the moisture on his jacket. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me.”
“Don’t apologize. The tux can be cleaned.” A fresh stream of tears rolled down her cheeks, and he said, “Aw, I’m sorry, princess. I shouldn’t have been so flippant. David told me what happened between you and Jordan. If it means anything, I understand what you’re going through.”
She stopped sniffling and looked at him warily. Of all the people in the world who could offer consolation, she had to get stuck with Carter Prescott, III, deadbeat husband and playboy of the Western Waspy World. “I don’t think so! You left your wife—it wasn’t the other way around. Why am I even talking to you? You’re the last person who could understand what I’m going through.”
“You seem to forget there are at least two sides to any story,” he said softly. “Did you ever consider that there might be two sides to mine? Maybe I’m not the big bad wolf you make me out to be. Personally I think Jordan is a complete idiot, leaving you. Someone with such poor judgment isn’t even fit to shine your shoes.”
Then again, maybe a dose of Carter’s sugarcoated words was just the medicine she needed. She managed a small smile. “Go on. I’m listening. I’ll take all the flattery I can get. My divorce papers came in the mail today, and I’m feeling pretty low.”
“Hell, if it’s a husband you want, I’ll marry you. According to some ancient law, isn’t it my duty? Something about the best man and the matron of honor?”
“You’re thinking about the story of Ruth. Except you’d have to be Jordan’s brother, and he’d have to die. But even if Jordan’s parents adopted you and then you went out and hired a hit man, you should know that I’m never getting married again. And you can’t fool me with your talk about marriage. You feel the same way I do.”
“In that case,” he said, winding a lock of her hair around his finger, “since marriage is out, how about we go back to my place and check out my etchings?”
She laughed. “Carter Prescott, I wouldn’t go to bed with you if you were the last man on earth, not with your track record.”
“Hey, I never said anything about sleeping arrangements.” His face sobered. “Kidding aside, come over for a while. I make a mean cup of coffee, and you sure could use one. Truth is, I’m feeling pretty low myself. I was out of town for seven months and no one even knew I was gone.”
“You don’t give up,” she said, shaking her head. “And I don’t buy what you’re selling for a minute. What about your mother? She must have missed you. And David. And your co-workers.” And your long string of women.
“It’s my duty as best man to take care of the matron of honor. Just one cup of coffee, I promise. I’ll take you home whenever you’re ready. I have to hit the sack early, anyway. I’m going back to Phoenix in the morning.”
She hesitated, then smiled. “Misery loves company, right? All right, just one cup. But I should tell my parents I’m going to be late.”
“As always, the dutiful daughter. You can always depend on Becky to do the right thing.”
She was back at his side momentarily, after informing her parents—and offering no other information, to Gertie’s obvious curiosity—that she was going out with a friend.
Arm in arm she and Carter walked to the parking lot. He opened the passenger door of his car, and then, with a straight face, turned to her and asked, “So what about those etchings?”
She swatted him playfully on the shoulder. When they were kids, Carter had made a career of ignoring her or teasing her, but whenever she was hurt, he’d always made her laugh. After she’d fallen, or come home crying because of something someone had said, he’d say something outrageous to take her mind off her troubles.
Now he had her laughing again, and it felt good—even if the joking was risqué. But that was okay. They weren’t kids anymore. And she could handle it.
“Here’s the scoop,” she said, as she climbed into the car. “The only way I’ll ever sleep with you is if we’re out on the highway and there’s this terrible storm…”
Something about her drove him to the brink. It had always been there, and it had been there earlier today when he’d seen her fall. Slim and delicate in a petite frame, she made him feel larger than life. Important. Made