A Wedding to Remember Page 7

  “Tell me,” Savannah said softly.

  “Don’t ever—” Bruce stared into his wife’s eyes “—say that you want a divorce.”

  “I won’t.” She whispered the interjection.

  “Ever again.”

  * * *

  Savannah felt emotionally drained after the session with Dr. Kind. She had imagined that the therapist wouldn’t be able to get more than two words out of her husband, but as it turned out, Bruce had a lot bottled inside that he needed to get off his chest. Savannah imagined that no one was more surprised than Bruce himself. He had been quiet on the ride home; when they arrived back at the ranch, he went out to his workshop and she went to her garden.

  Dr. Kind had left them with homework to do with a request that they both return the following week. The homework was for them to start dating. Even though they were married, they needed to treat this as a new, fragile relationship and nurture it as such.

  * * *

  “Look up,” Jessie instructed, holding an eyeliner in her hand.

  Savannah looked up to the bathroom ceiling, trying not to blink as her sister-in-law brought a pointy pencil close to her left eye.

  “But I never wear eyeliner,” she told Bruce’s sister. “A little mascara, a little lip gloss and I’m good to go.”

  “Keep looking up,” Jessie said. “This is Naughty Nutmeg, and it will make your hazel eyes pop right out of your face.”

  Savannah pulled away and blinked her eyes several times. “Do I want them to pop out of my face? Has fashion really changed that much in three years?”

  “Don’t wipe them or you’ll smear it, and we’ll have to start all over!” her sister-in-law exclaimed.

  Still blinking, Savannah smiled at her. “That was a little amnesia humor for you.”

  Jessie screwed up her face. “I got it. Let me look at your eyes.”

  After a moment, her sister-in-law gave her a smile and a nod of approval before stepping aside so Savannah could see the finished product.

  “Well?” Jessie asked impatiently after a moment of silence.

  Savannah studied her reflection in the mirror. For her second first date with Bruce Brand, she had gone to have her hair dyed a deep mahogany brown; this color was much closer to the color she last remembered. She was growing out those awful bangs—she couldn’t imagine what she was thinking with that hair travesty—but at least it could be fixed with time. Jessie had gone shopping with her and “styled” her; her sister-in-law actually convinced her to buy a midnight-blue wrap dress and strappy heels. Jessie had also taken her to the makeup counter to buy new cosmetics.

  “I think you made me actually look glamorous.”

  “That’s what I was going for,” Jessie said proudly.

  Savannah stood up and hugged her sister-in-law. Afterward, she brushed Jessie’s long, pin-straight, black hair over her shoulders.

  “You’re so grown up,” she said wistfully. “And so tall!”

  She couldn’t stop herself from remembering Jessie as a gawky, awkward fifteen-year-old who was worried about acne and her breasts not coming in fast enough. Now, she was eighteen, a willowy beauty who had recently graduated from high school and had absolutely nothing to worry about in the décolletage area.

  Jessie hugged her again. “I’m glad you’re back. I missed you.”

  “Do you think your brother is going to think I’ve lost my mind getting this dressed up?”

  Her sister-in-law uncapped the new lip gloss on the counter, applied it to her full lips and smacked them together. “Please. He’s gonna love the fact that you put in so much effort. What do you think of this color on me?”

  “Lovely.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Jessie pouted her lips and posed in the mirror, then took out her phone and leaned her head next to Savannah’s. “Here. Snapchat.”

  After the photo op, Savannah took one last look at herself in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. She pulled at the belt on her dress, then fidgeted with her bra straps. Jessie had managed to cover the puckered red scar on her forehead, and with her hair changed back to nearly its original color, if she squinted, she looked more like the woman she remembered from several years back than the one she awakened to in the hospital.

  “Well.” She tilted her head. “I hope Bruce loves me in this.”

  Those were the words that she said for Jessie to hear, but in her mind, she thought—

  I hope my husband falls in love with me again in this.

  * * *

  The thirty minutes of waiting for Bruce to pick her up was nerve-racking for Savannah. They consisted of sweating, pacing, sitting back down on the couch, checking her phone, sending texts to her sisters, video-chatting with her sisters and finally landing back in the bathroom to “just in case” urinate and use the hair dryer to dry off the sweat stains under her arms. They had agreed to make this as much like a real first date as possible, so Bruce was getting ready in the main house, while she was to wait for him at their home.

  Pacing in the living room, talking to Hound Dog, who was watching her curiously, Savannah wished that she hadn’t insisted on getting ready so early. She didn’t want to be late for her second first date with Bruce, but by the time the man arrived, she would have sweated through half her makeup.

  “Oh, thank goodness,” Savannah said to Hound Dog.

  She walked over to the window to peek out; Bruce had just pulled up and was about to get out.

  “Aw,” she told her canine companion. “He washed the truck.”

  Savannah scurried back to the couch, sat down on the edge of the cushion, smoothed her skirt over her knees and cupped her hands together and rested them on her thighs.

  Unexpectedly, instead of just opening the front door of his own house, Bruce knocked. Hound Dog went to the door, his tail wagging. Savannah moved out of her perfectly staged pose on the couch and opened the door for her husband.

  “Hello.” Bruce was standing in the doorway holding long-stemmed red roses.

  “Hi.” Savannah accepted the flowers, brought the fat, bright red flowers up to her nose and inhaled the sweetness.

  She met her husband’s gaze over the top of the flowers; now that she saw him, she was glad she had gone all out for this date. He was wearing a new pair of dark wash denim jeans, his dress cowboy boots and a new button-down shirt, in her favorite color, forest green. If she had a tail, just like Hound Dog, she’d be wagging it for Bruce too.

  “I’ll just put these in some water.”

  Bruce followed her to the kitchen; while she cut the ends of the flowers, Bruce located a vase in a cabinet above the refrigerator.

  “Thank you.” Savannah admired the flowers, now in the vase. “They’re beautiful.”

  As Bruce stood closer to her than usual, the scent of his woodsy cologne, her favorite, mingled with the strong, sweet smell of the roses in the most tantalizing way.

  “You look beautiful.”

  His compliment, so simple, so quietly delivered, brought her to tears, which she quickly pushed back; in every way he could say, without words, Bruce was telling her that he was going to try to make their marriage work. That he was willing to give her—their—life together an honest chance.

  “You look handsome.” She brushed a piece of lint from his arm.

  “Shall we?” Her husband offered her that same arm.

  Happily, Savannah tucked her hand into the crook of Bruce’s arm. “Where are we going?”

  “It’s a surprise,” he told her. “Is that okay?”

  She laughed—for no reason at all other than she felt happy. “Sure. I’m actually starting to kind of like them.”

  * * *

  Bruce didn’t realize until he shut the passenger-side door to the truck that his palms w
ere sweating. From the time he’d pulled up to his cabin, to the moment he had his wife securely in the truck, he had felt slightly sick to his stomach. He was nervous—nervous as all get-out, actually—to take his wife out on a date.

  “The truck looks nice,” Savannah said to him. She had always nagged him about using the floorboard on the passenger side of his truck as a trash can of sorts; he’d wanted to make sure that he cleaned the inside and the outside of the truck for their date.

  “Any requests?”

  “No,” Savannah said faintly. “Surprise me.”

  After Bruce dropped Hound Dog off with Lilly and Jock, who were already watching Buckley and Murphy, he chose a CD and lowered the volume so it was more like background music.

  “Ah,” She dropped her head back on the headrest and smiled. “I love Patsy Cline.”

  “I remember.” He remembered everything about his wife—all of those little things that made her his wife. In particular, he remembered the fragrance she was wearing tonight; with some floral and white musk notes, that scent evoked so many memories of Savannah. Always Savannah.

  They drove toward Bozeman. As the sun was setting on the horizon in the rearview mirror, the inside of the truck cab was washed with a gold-and-blue romantic light. This was where he always wanted to be—with this woman, by her side, sharing the small pleasures of life and tackling the tough challenges together. Somewhere along the way, things had gone so terribly wrong between them. And yet, here she was, back in his life. It felt like he was being blessed by God, but he couldn’t figure out why.

  “This is the best night I can remember,” Savannah told him softly.

  “It hasn’t even begun yet.” He glanced at her pretty profile.

  “Yes, it has.” She touched his arm briefly. “And it’s perfect.”

  * * *

  When Bruce pulled into a parking space in front of the South 9th Bistro, a restaurant that held a lot of meaning for them as a couple, all of the pieces fell into place for Savannah; Bruce was re-creating their first date, from the long-stemmed roses, to Patsy Cline, to the restaurant.

  “Bruce...” Savannah unhooked her seat belt. “You’re such a romantic.”

  “I try to be.” He took the keys out of the ignition. “For you.”

  He had reserved their table on the second floor of the quaint restaurant with big-city cuisine. As always, Bruce held the chair for her, making sure she was settled before he seated himself.

  “Are you up for a bottle of wine?” he asked her.

  In the candlelight of the private table, Savannah couldn’t stop herself from speaking her thoughts. “I have always loved sitting across from you at a table. You are so handsome.”

  That brought out his half smile, a half smile that she had fallen in love with very early on in their courtship.

  “And yes—to the wine.”

  He ordered her favorite merlot, and with every passing moment she felt more spoiled than the next. Although she had believed in the impact of their session with Dr. Kind, the extent to which the session had blown through the barrier that had been holding them back was beyond her wildest expectation. Bruce seemed to be “all-in,” and she knew this Bruce—once he locked in on what he wanted, he never gave up.

  “Are you hungry?”

  Savannah laughed. “You are going to have to roll me out of here, sir. Because I am starving, and I am going to eat like a famine is imminent.”

  Over their favorite appetizer, escargots, they talked about nothing—and in a way, they talked about everything. They talked about the ranch, and their families and how she missed her job. They talked about her desire to put a greenhouse in the backyard and his desire to add a deck to their cabin. It was a lovely moment and she cherished it.

  After the waiter cleared their appetizer plates and refilled their wineglasses, Bruce smiled at her in a way that she hadn’t seen since before that awful day she awakened in the hospital.

  “Do you remember when we met?” He leaned forward, his eyes locked with hers.

  “Of course.” She leaned in to the table, as well. “First grade, Mrs. Coleman’s class. As I recall, you heckled me during show-and-tell...”

  “That’s a lie.”

  “I brought my painted lady caterpillar aquarium, and you heckled me.”

  “I don’t remember it that way at all.”

  She crossed her arms in front of her chest in feigned anger. “Even back then you were the most popular kid in the class. And I was...”

  “The smartest kid in the class,” he filled in.

  “And the nerdiest.”

  She’d had buck teeth, pigtails, glasses—the works. And, she had been a precocious reader and had begun to read the dictionary when most kids her age were still tackling Clifford books.

  “I picked on you because I thought you were cute,” Bruce added.

  “You should be ashamed of yourself, Brand,” she teased him. “You tortured me for years.”

  “Thank God you have a forgiving nature.”

  Savannah uncrossed her arms, leaned toward him and lowered her voice for his ears only. “I thank God for your forgiving nature.”

  Before the tone of the dinner could switch from upbeat to serious, the main course arrived—Bruce had ordered his standard favorite black truffle New York strip steak, bloody in the center. And she couldn’t say no to the filet, medium well, with the most delicious cognac-peppercorn sauce. They both took their time, savored the food, savored the company—savored the moment.

  “Here’s to you.” Savannah held out her glass after she had cleaned her plate.

  Bruce wiped his mouth, dropped his napkin on his empty plate and raised his glass.

  “To us.” He touched his glass to hers.

  “To us,” she agreed.

  The waiter swung by their table to clear their plates; he asked the inevitable question, “Did you leave room for dessert?”

  Savannah and Bruce locked eyes.

  “Are you up for it, Brand?” He issued the challenge.

  “Are you?”

  Bruce gave a little laugh at her bravado—he knew her eyes were always bigger than her stomach.

  “One Black Beast,” her husband told the waiter. “Two forks.”

  Chapter Seven

  Bruce held the door for Savannah; she was laughing as they walked out into the crisp night air, and his heart fed on that sound.

  “You just had to go for the Black Beast, didn’t you?” She bumped into him playfully.

  Chocolate torte, dark chocolate ganache, blood orange chocolate mousse and more whipped cream than should be legal, the Black Beast was the dessert that they couldn’t resist on their first date, but had wished they had.

  “I feel like I need to walk off the Beast and the wine.” He admired the way the light breeze was blowing wisps of hair around her face.

  Not thinking twice, he moved a wayward strand of hair away from her mouth. His thumb lingered for the briefest of moments on her lower lip.

  “Can you walk in those heels?” he asked.

  “I think I can hold my own. As long as you let me hold on to your arm every now and then.”

  An evening after-dinner walk was a part of his plan for this second first date. He’d wanted to show Savannah, without having to say the words, that he wanted to start doing his part to repair their marriage. No, it wasn’t going to happen overnight for him. But if he wasn’t going to make an effort, put some trust in his wife, risk his heart a bit, then he should let Savannah go right now. That he wasn’t willing to do.

  Bruce wasn’t under any illusion that every day would be like this; there were plenty of rough waters ahead. Yet, as he walked down the street with his wife’s hand tucked into the crook of his arm, he felt like a king among men. He was proud of his
wife—who she was as a person, her values, her choice to pursue her passion of educating children over the amount of money she could make. Her outward prettiness was quirky more than classical—it was the beauty he saw on her inside, once he was mature enough himself to notice it, that made him fall hard for the brainiest, biggest bookworm in Bozeman, Montana.

  “Do you remember the first time I kissed you?” On a darkened street lined with mature trees, Bruce asked his wife a question for the second time that evening.

  Suddenly, Savannah inhaled when she realized where he had taken her.

  “Story Mansion.” Her fingers tightened on his arm. “You kissed me first, and then asked me out. Totally backward.”

  They had both attended Montana State University directly after high school; he had continued with sports and joined a fraternity. Savannah had focused, as she always did, on academic and civic-minded activities. He became the president of his fraternity, Sigma Phi Epsilon, which happened to own and occupy one of the oldest landmarks in Bozeman: Story Mansion.

  They both stopped, mesmerized by the historic house built in 1910; it was one of the few remaining three-block mansions in Montana, and for over a decade, the house had been preserved as a public state historical treasure and park after being purchased by the city of Bozeman. Eighty years before the city bought the mansion and saved it from development, his fraternity, SAE, had owned it.

  “This brings back a lot of really good memories,” Bruce mused. His days living in the Story Mansion, partying with his frat brothers, drinking too much and chasing coeds when he was “off-again” with Kerri were some of the best in his life.

  On the other hand, as a volunteer member of the Bozeman Historical Society, Savannah had vehemently opposed the use of an irreplaceable cornerstone of Montana’s rich history as a house of depravity for a bunch of oversexed frat boys.

  “Uh-huh.”

  His wife remained unimpressed by his past history with this house that she loved.

  “Don’t forget,” he teased her. “SAE was considered a good steward of this place for over eighty years.”

  Savannah let that comment slip away into the night without a response.