that his jail cell might have been in Timbuktu. I had been too full of my own plans and concerns to give his problems any consideration.
He came to mind, and I felt a twinge of guilt. It was his pain that was directly responsible for my newfound happiness. I was sorry he was locked up. Our investigation had found nothing that would justify holding him beyond Monday. He would go free that afternoon and return to Chicago and pick up the shattered remnants of his life, having lost a wife, a child, and a week from his life, while I had gained Anne Corley. Life is not fair.
Anne came in from the kitchen, untying the apron we had purchased that afternoon. Already it was soiled with a variety of culinary debris. Stuffed Cornish game hens had gone into the oven along with some scalloped potatoes. A complex salad lurked in the refrigerator. We had chosen an exotic Haagen-Dazs ice cream for dessert.
“Ready to go get Ralph?” she asked.
“Do we have to? Can’t I just have you all to myself?”
“Let’s go,” she said. “If I followed the directions right, the oven will turn off and the food will still be hot when we get back.”
“Slave driver,” I said, but we headed for the airport.
A magnificent sunset was in progress as we drove south along the Viaduct. The snowcapped Olympics reached skyward over a mirrored sound, while the sky ranged from lavender to orange above us. “I don’t know when I’ve been this happy, Anne. Not for years.”
“No second thoughts?”
“Nope.”
“I don’t have any either.”
I laughed. “Do you realize we’re getting married on our anniversary? We will have known one another for one whole week tomorrow.”
“I think I’ve known you forever,” Anne said softly.
I glanced across the front seat at her, took her hand in mine, and squeezed it. “I think maybe you’re right.”
I had the usual hassle with airport security over the.38 Smith and Wesson under my jacket. I stuck out like a sore thumb while they verified that I really did have a permit to carry it. Once that was squared away, Anne and I wandered the airport hand in hand, watching planes take off and land, eating caramel corn we bought from the airport candy shop, and griping at one another about ruining our dinner. The passage of time was magic. It seemed to lengthen, but without a sense of waiting. Happiness can do that to you. So can grief.
When Ralph got off the plane, he had a huge box under one arm. It contained long-stemmed red roses, two dozen of them to be exact. I looked at Ralph as a brother-in-law of sorts, which is to say somewhat critically. I watched Anne open the box and wondered crabbily where the hell we would put two dozen roses once we got them home. A mayonnaise jar? Masculine decor isn’t long on vases.
I need not have worried, however. In the car Ralph produced another box from a suitcase. He gave it to Anne, with orders that I was to open it when we got to the apartment. The flowers were from him to Anne, but the box was a wedding present to both of us from the firm.
Inside the box was a tall, slender crystal vase. Anne arranged the roses in it and set it on the stereo. Dinner was festive. Ralph was interested in our plans and, to all appearances, more than happy with Anne’s decision to marry me.
“She’s a wonderful lady,” he said to me later in the evening when we were alone in the living room for a few minutes. “She deserves a little happiness out of life, and I’ve never seen her happier than she is right now.”
I felt as though someone had just placed the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval square in the middle of my forehead. “Thanks, Ralph,” I said. “I’m pretty happy myself.”
Chapter 23
Some days are forever etched in your memory. Three of them come to mind right off the bat — the day my mother died, the day I married Karen, and the day I married Anne Corley. Anne had assured me there was no need to set an alarm, that she would be awake long before five o’clock, and she was. She kissed me and set a cup of coffee on the table beside my bed.
There was no question of fooling around. She was all business. She had finished in the bathroom, leaving it clear for me. I showered and shaved carefully, critically examining myself in the mirror. I hadn’t thought about my looks in years, but I was reasonably happy with what I saw. There was a sprinkle of gray around the temples. Anne liked it, said it gave me an air of authority, liked a seasoned anchorman. I managed to put aside my antimedia prejudices long enough to accept that as a compliment. There would have been a lot of gray in the beard if I’d let it grow. The point was, if all the gray didn’t matter to Anne, it didn’t matter to me.
I wrapped a towel around me and went into the bedroom. Anne stood before the dresser in her slip and bra, piling her hair on top of her head. The result was a gentle framing of her face that reminded me of the late 1890s. It was old-fashioned and attractive.
“You look lovely,” I said, running my finger along the soft curve at the top of her lacy slip.
She caught my finger and held it to her lips. “Thank you,” she said. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
I lifted her chin and looked at her. Her eyes were quiet, subdued. “Are you all right?” I asked.
“I’m fine. Just a little nervous.”
“I’m a lot more than a little,” I told her. That brought a trace of a smile.
Ralph Ames came by the Royal Crest and drove the Datsun. Anne and I took the Porsche. She drove. The minister arrived in a pea green Volkswagen bus. Those were the only three cars in the parking lot at Myrtle Edwards Park when we got there about ten to six. The sun was just putting in an appearance over the hills behind us, while a fresh breeze blew off the water. I worried that Anne might not be warm enough in the shimmering blue suit with its flimsy blouse.
Anne introduced me to the minister. I don’t know where she found him. He didn’t push any creed, and it may well be that marrying people was his whole ministry. That was okay by me. When the minister asked, “Who giveth this woman?” Ralph stepped forward and said he did. I thought he had a hell of a lot of nerve, but since he was giving her to me, I didn’t complain. The ceremony took exactly six minutes. We were in the Four Seasons for breakfast by six-fifteen.
Anne was radiant. I could have slit my throat for not having a camera along, but once more Ralph rode to the rescue. He took pictures of both of us together, and each of us separately. He had even made last-minute arrangements with the hotel for them to produce a tiny three-tiered wedding cake with all the trimmings. It was a nice gesture. It pissed me off. I would have preferred him to be not quite so thoughtful or indispensable.
It was time for Ralph’s plane before we finished breakfast. I told Anne I’d take him to the airport in the Datsun. She could take the Porsche back to the apartment, and I’d meet her there later. We rode down the escalator together. The parking attendant brought the Porsche first. I could hardly blame him for that. I opened the door and gave her a hand inside. I leaned down so our heads were even. “I love you, Anne Corley Beaumont,” I said.
She smiled. “I love you too.” With that, she drove away.
Ralph Ames was standing beside me when I straightened up. “Ready?” he asked. We said little as we drove to the airport. We had nothing in common but Anne. “Did she give you the last chapter to her manuscript?” I asked as we pulled under the airport awning.
He patted his briefcase. “Last chapter? I’ve got the whole book right here. She’s been working on it for so long I can’t believe I’m finally going to get a look at it.”
“You mean you’ve never read any of it before? I thought she had already given you everything but the revised last chapter.”
“Not before today. I’m planning to take a peek at it on the plane.” He dragged his luggage out of the backseat and hustled off toward a waiting skycap with a brief salute to me from beside the car. “Best of luck to you,” he said.
