Brad.
That was part of it, of course. Even though he’d died less than a year ago, there were already days when she didn’t even think of him. Not many, but a few. But that was natural, wasn’t it? She was getting married today, so it was natural that she’d be thinking much more about Tony Fleming than about Brad Evans.
Then why did she feel vaguely guilty — somehow disloyal — about what she was doing? But she knew the answer to that, too. Part of it was simply the unexpectedness of it all. Until she’d met Tony the whole idea of getting married again hadn’t occurred to her. Even dating hadn’t been on her agenda, with the pain of Brad’s death still so fresh. But from the moment his hand had touched hers in the elevator of The Rockwell, she’d known something was going to happen. Still, she’d been on her guard, knowing that even though he seemed interested in her, the relationship probably wasn’t going to go anywhere.
But it turned out he really did like children, and his eyes always seemed to be sparkling with good humor, and even on that first night, when she’d invited him to stay for a glass of wine after the kids had gone to bed, she’d found herself pouring out her troubles to him more easily than she would have thought possible. When he’d told her she was worrying too much, that things had a way of working themselves out, she hadn’t quite believed him. And when Irene Delamond called her the next day and asked her if she’d be willing to help redo the entire apartment she shared with her sister, Caroline had been certain that Tony must have had a hand in it. But it didn’t really matter how she’d gotten the job — the commissions on the pieces Irene picked out that very afternoon had been enough to bring the rent current and pay off all the old bills.
Suddenly her job had become secure, and it quickly became obvious that she had a flair for seeing what would work together and what wouldn’t. Irene had eventually even agreed to part with the hideous vase that she had insisted was “perfect” only a few weeks earlier.
A pattern had quickly developed — Tony had found her in the park the next Saturday, watching Ryan play baseball, and wound up spending the day with her. They hadn’t really done much — but it had just been comfortable having him around. A couple of weekends later, when she’d had to attend an auction to help Irene choose a few pieces for her apartment, he’d volunteered to keep an eye on Ryan while he played baseball in the morning and soccer in the afternoon, joining the other weekend fathers almost as if Ryan was his own son, even though Ryan himself objected to the whole arrangement.
“Why does
“Ryan!” Caroline had begun. “There’s no need to be rude to—”
“Hey,” Tony had interrupted, apparently totally unfazed by Ryan’s outburst. “Ease up! He’s eleven years old, and doesn’t need a baby-sitter.” Then he’d winked at Ryan. “On the other hand, I have a feeling you’re stuck with me, unless you’d rather skip baseball and soccer entirely. Mothers worry too much, but sometimes there’s no arguing with them.”
The next weekend, when Ryan had put up a fuss about getting his hair cut, Tony had taken the boy’s side again. “Why would he want to go to a beauty parlor?” Once again he’d turned to Ryan. “How about I take you to my barber on Columbus?” Apparently deciding that a barber shop was better than a beauty parlor, even if it meant being with Tony, Ryan had gone along. But despite all Tony’s efforts, Ryan had remained wary of him, and when she’d told him they were getting married, there’d been an immediate storm.
A storm that had almost changed her mind.
Almost, but not quite.
“Of course Ryan’s going to object,” Beverly Amondson had told her. “What did you expect? He’s just turned eleven years old, and he misses his father. It’s not Tony Fleming he objects to — it’s anyone. He wants his mother to himself.”
It had almost been enough to dissuade Caroline, and when she’d talked to Tony about it, he had told her he understood exactly how she felt, and that whatever she decided wouldn’t change his feelings for her. “If we have to wait until he’s eighteen and goes off to college, then that’s what we’ll do. We’ll just figure out how to make this work.”
But it was Kevin Barnes who had finally made things clear to her. He took her out for lunch one day, and wasted no time with subtleties. “For God’s sake, Caroline, he’s perfect! If I weren’t so happy with Mark, I might just go after him myself. Just kidding,” he’d added as she’d threatened to throw a French fry at him. But then his expression had turned serious. “So what if Ryan doesn’t like him? Ryan will grow up and move on, a whole lot faster than either he or you thinks, and then where will you be? Do you really think Tony’s going to wait for you forever? And why should he, if it turns out you’re a wimp who lets an eleven-year-old kid dictate how you live your life? Believe me, darling, he’ll find someone else — and it won’t be because he doesn’t love you. He’s wants a wife, not a girlfriend, and you can’t expect him to wait around while you pander to Ryan.”
“It’s not pandering!” Caroline had objected, but Kevin had merely rolled his eyes.
“So maybe the word’s too strong. But think about it, okay? Just think about it.”
Which was exactly what she’d done, and in the end she’d decided that Kevin was right.
So this afternoon she and Tony were getting married in a suite at the Plaza Hotel, and in a few minutes she would be leaving the apartment for the last time.
Her eyes flicked to the spot on her vanity where Brad’s picture had always stood, his eyes watching her as she put on and took off her makeup. How many times in the months since he’d died had she sat here talking to him, knowing he couldn’t possibly answer her, but feeling as if his presence was still close. But after she’d made up her mind to marry Tony, she’d put the picture of Brad away, adding it to the collection of things she was keeping for Laurie and Ryan to have when they were grown up. But now, as she started putting on her makeup, she found herself talking to him one last time.
“Tell me I’m doing the right thing,” she whispered. “Tell me I’m not making a mistake.”
There was no answer.
Caroline hesitated one last time before opening the door that led to the living room of the suite in the Plaza. Even through the door she could smell the scent of the roses that had been arriving all day, bouquet after perfect bouquet, each one more lavish than the last. “You said you were allergic,” she’d said when she called Tony after the third delivery. “You told me not to order any flowers because they’d make you sneeze all the way through the ceremony.”
“And you believed me,” he’d replied. “Which just proves that you’re not very observant. Haven’t you ever noticed that I always stop to smell the roses in the park?”
By midafternoon, every available surface in the suite’s living room was filled with vases, and every delivery boy had arrived with detailed instructions on exactly where his vase was to be displayed. The pattern had quickly emerged: white roses at the end of the living room where the bedroom door was, then graduating through ever- deepening shades of pink, culminating in a huge burst of brilliant red at the far end of the room, where the ceremony would take place. Tony had chosen them all, turning what she’d thought was going to be a flowerless wedding into the kind of floral celebration she’d only dreamed about.
Glancing at herself one last time in the mirror on the back of the bedroom door, she reached out, turned the knob, and stepped into the living room. There was Tony, unbelievably handsome in his tuxedo, a crimson rose in his lapel, with Ryan standing next to him, identically dressed, looking almost like a miniature version of Tony himself, except that Tony was smiling while Ryan’s features were twisted into a dark scowl. Laurie was on the other side of Tony, in a dress that was a younger version of the one Caroline was wearing, but not identical. “It’s fine for you and Ryan to be dressed alike,” she’d told Tony when they were deciding on the clothes for the wedding. “But no woman wants to have someone else at her wedding dressed exactly the way she is. Besides, men always dress alike. For
