There was a tap at the door and Jillian glanced up to see Lois Carella, the senior social worker at the clinic, peering in. “Do you have a minute to talk about the Podracki birth-parent letter?”
Jillian checked her watch. “I’m sorry, it’ll have to wait until Monday. I’m supposed to be at a wedding rehearsal in a half hour.”
“Another one? You’re in more weddings than anyone I know.”
Didn’t she know it. It was the curse of the therapist. No one knew how to give better friendship. Jillian was unparalleled at being a friend.
It was just the part about accepting friendship in return that she wasn’t so good at.
“Who is it this time?” Lois asked.
“Lisa Sanders. She’s marrying some tycoon from Texas.”
Lois laughed. “The Texas tycoon. Sounds like the title of a romance novel.”
“A bit, I suppose. Except for the part where the Gazette dragged Lisa’s name in the mud.” The Portland Gazette, the same newspaper that had dredged up Robbie’s own history with a babynapping ring, the newspaper that had driven him away.
“I seem to remember they corrected things, though, didn’t they?”
“I suppose.” A spurious lawsuit from the father of the child Lisa had borne and adopted out as an unwed, homeless teen had turned into a biased, inflammatory front-page story. Eventually, the Gazette had gotten to the truth of the matter and cleared Lisa’s name. Eventually. “Too bad they didn’t do the same with Robbie.”
“Don’t blame the Gazette. It’s the tabloids and the television shows that have been hounding him.”
“It doesn’t matter. He’s gone.” And once again, Jillian’s family was torn apart. Once again, her adoptive parents were racked over Robbie, their son kidnapped as a child, rediscovered as an adult struggling to find the right path. Jillian was a licensed clinical social worker, for God’s sake, she had years of counseling experience. And yet she hadn’t been able to help him. She couldn’t heal where it counted.
“Don’t do that to yourself,” Lois said quietly.
Jillian straightened her shoulders. “Do what?”
“You demand too much of yourself, Jillian. You always have.” Lois’s eyes softened. “He’s going to be okay, you’ll see. It’ll work out.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Of course I am,” Lois said briskly. “I always am. Now get off to your wedding. And Jillian?”
“What?”
“Don’t forget to catch the bouquet. I think it’s your turn now.”
The stained glass windows threw patches of glowing red and blue and green light over the polished wood of the pews. The very air of the church held a quiet serenity, an indefinable hush. Jillian should have felt uplifted. She should have felt joy for Lisa and Alan.
Instead, all she felt was lonely.
Which was ridiculous. Ninety-nine percent of the time—okay, at least fifty or sixty percent, she admitted—she was fine being alone. She preferred it, actually. She’d looked, but she’d never found her match. She’d grown happiest once she’d given up trying. She was one of those people who was best on her own, it was that simple. She’d had thirty-three years to get used to the idea.
So why was the thought of being single and watching one more happy couple pledge their lives to one another breaking her heart?
Not that she wasn’t happy for her friends. She was, she could say without doubt. But there was something now that struck her to her very core, something about knowing she’d never be the one walking down the aisle toward a groom who stood bright-eyed in expectation, that at the reception to come she’d have no date, no boyfriend, no husband, no one who cared for her above all. No matter. She’d smile and hold her head high. And she’d joke and dance the choreographed dances, walk with her fingertips on the arm of her usher, touching a man, something she did so seldom—aside from her brothers—that it belonged in the headlines.
And go home feeling more desperately lonely than at any other time in her life. Maybe it was Robbie being gone. Maybe it was the turmoil her family was in. Maybe it was just her.
With a sigh, Jillian glanced over to where Lisa Sanders, the bride-to-be, paced nervously.
“I wish he would just get here,” Lisa said, raking her fingers through her blond hair. “We only have the church for another ten minutes. Alan,” she appealed to her fiancé, “can’t you please call him?”
“Who?” Jillian asked.
“We’re missing an usher. Alan’s friend, Gil.”
Tall and sandy and Texan, Alan exuded calm control. “I talked with him this afternoon and he said he was going to be here.”
“Maybe something’s come up. Anyway, our dinner reservation is half an hour after we get done here, so we’ve got to stay on schedule.”
“Hey,” Jillian said softly as Lisa’s pacing route brought her near, “it’s going to be okay.” Normally, Lisa was organized to within an inch of her life. Normally, she was as cool as could be. There was something about weddings, though, that broke the nerves of the calmest person. And Lisa was only twenty-one, Jillian reminded herself.
“I know, I know, I’m worrying about nothing,” Lisa said too quickly. “It’s just all the details that are driving me crazy. I mean, I know five o’clock was a bad time for the rehearsal but it was the only one they had. We put this together so quickly. And we’ve got to get all the centerpieces over to the reception hall and I need to tie up the favors and I still have to do the holder for the place cards. And I hung my dress from my ceiling light fixture so it wouldn’t wrinkle and I just know it’s fallen down by now and it’s in a pile all over the floor and—”
“And all that matters is the ‘I do’ part,” Alan drawled, coming up from behind to slide an arm around her waist. “Forget about the centerpieces. Forget about the place cards. Hell, we can skip it all, if you want. My corporate jet could have us in Vegas in three hours. Get married tonight and come back tomorrow for the party.”
Lisa laughed and turned to kiss him. “You have no idea how tempting that sounds. But everyone’s here and the arrangements are already made. We’ll get through it. You’re sweet, though.” She kissed him again.
“And you’re beautiful,” he replied. “We make a good pair.”
Together, Jillian thought, just like Doug and Shelly. “Can’t we rehearse without Alan’s friend?” she suggested to Lisa as Alan walked away, flipping open his cell phone. “Let’s run through it with the people who are here. The Invisible Man can figure things out tomorrow.”
“I suppose. It’s just that he’s supposed to be first usher, right next to Neal.” Neal Barrett, Alan’s brother and best man.
“I’d say the Invisible Man just got demoted for tardiness,” Jillian told her. “You show up more than twenty—” she consulted her watch “—twenty-five minutes late, you take your chances.”
“I agree,” said Carrie Summers, walking up from behind. Carrie had that brisk, take-charge air that mothers seemed to acquire. Of course, it made sense. Carrie was practically like a second mother to Lisa, ever since they’d met when Carrie and her husband, Brian, were adopting Lisa’s son, Timothy. Somehow birth mother and adoptive parents had become friends, then family. And Lisa, who’d lost both parents to an auto accident when she’d been young, had a home again.
“Let’s reshuffle things,” Carrie said now. “Besides,” she added sotto voce, “if we leave everyone in the order you’ve