When I got back to the suite, Sonya was charging around, dragging the bags to the door, her suitcase, my canvas zipper bag, the hatbox, and the various other boxes. She said: “Okay, you carry the bag, I’ll carry the rest.”
“Fine. Kiss me.”
“What did she say?”
“What did who say?”
“Your mother. Remember?”
“Oh! That she’s hauling your parents to Rockville.”
“What else?”
“That she likes you, that she thinks you’re a real musician, that though young, she felt you had something, when she talked to you over the phone.”
“What else?”
“Was I sure I knew what I was doing.”
“And what did you say to that?”
“That I was.”
“And what did she say to that?”
“I told you: She’s hauling your parents to Rockville.”
She kissed me, but gave me a squinty look.
Chapter 14
For the rest of the morning, things went nice for us. We stopped in Salisbury, where I bought flowers, corsages for the ladies, boutonnieres for Mr. Lang and me, and while they were being done up, rings for Sonya, at a jewelry store a few steps from the florist. I got her a sapphire solitaire engagement ring that cost more than I want to say, and a platinum wedding ring, a chased band with our initials engraved inside, in such a way as to intertwine. All that they did while we waited, and took my check without even calling up about it.
Sonya was pleased as a child with a rattle, and held the sapphire up for the sunlight to catch it, all during the drive home. We arrived around twelve-thirty, running into no delay on the bridge, and left the flowers in the car while she went to change to her wedding dress. I followed with the bags, and unzipped her and started to peel her. However, she pushed me aside and sat down in the armchair, there in the master bedroom. “Gramie,” she said, “one thing a sixteen-year-old knows, better than other people, because she does it so often herself, is when someone is lying. And you’ve been lying to me, ever since you came back from that call, the one put in to your mother. So I ask you, I ask you once more: What did she say?”
“Sonya, I’ve told you.”
“Call me a cab.”
“...Cab? What for?”
“Go home.”
“I thought we were getting married.”
“We were. Now I’m not.”
I sat down on the bed and tried to think. Pretty soon I said, “She asked about Jane Sibert.”
“In what way, asked about her?”
“Did I realize she likes me.”
“She loves you, is that what she meant?”
Then, one word at a time, jerky and quick, I gave her the whole bit, what Mother had said, what I had said, without holding anything back. She said: “What she thought is what we thought, all of us.”
“Who is we?”
“Us kids?”
“That I was sleeping with her?”
“Well? It’s what your mother thought too.”
“Seems that everyone thought it but me.”
“Are you sure you didn’t?”
“Who knows if I don’t.”
“You know if you’re telling the truth? Gramie, she’s not so old, and she had her mind on you, that we all could see. So you must have let her have it! You—”
“Well goddam it, I didn’t!”
“Okay, then you didn’t.”
She got up, went to the window, and stood looking out. Then she zipped up her dress, the one I’d been taking off. Then she sat down on the bed, picked up the phone, and ordered a cab. Then she unzipped my bag, and switched her nighties to her bag. I reached over, picked up the phone, and cancelled the cab order. She sat down with me, kissed me, and said: “Gramie, it cannot be, we’d just be doomed, we’d be doomed, right from the start. No girl is worth a million dollars.”
“You’re worth a hundred million.”
At that she started to cry, and buried her face on my shoulder. Then, between sobs: “No, I’m not — and not worth this million dollars — which is all hooked up with a dream — about shells and cotton and moonlight.”
“There’s just one thing.”
“...Yes, Gramie, what is it?”
“That kick in the tail—?”
“No, please, I couldn’t say no to that!”
She ranted on, pleading with me, “not to make it so hard for me — so hard to keep my promise — didn’t I say, didn’t I say it, Gramie, that I wouldn’t be inny pest?” And then, whispering: “Gramie, there’s not inny need for us to get married. Because we could see each other. She wouldn’t have to know, Mrs. Sibert I’m talking about. We could meet, on the Q.T.—”
“And do it?”
“Yes! On our same beautiful Cloud Nine.”
“By a funny coincidence, that’s what Mother suggested.”
“Oh, she’s sweet! So we’re going to—?”
“Stand up!”
“...What for?”
“So I can kick your beautiful tail.”
“You mean I have to get married?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
We got to Rockville at five of two, and the others were waiting for us, out on the courthouse lawn, Mother in dark red, the color she likes best, Mrs. Lang in gray, Mr. Lang in a dark suit. When I got out of the car, I carried three boxes, two of the ladies’ corsages, one of Mr. Lang’s carnation. I was wearing mine, and Sonya was wearing her corsage of orange blossoms they dug up in Salisbury. We all stood around for a minute, helping each other pin up, and then went inside, where they were ready for us. The lady who had sold us our license was nicely turned out in pink, and the two girls in the office, who stood up with us as witnesses, were in pretty summer dresses, but I don’t recollect which color. Mr. Lucas, the deputy clerk who read the service, had on a mixed gray summer suit, very dignified.
Mr. Lang gave the bride away, and of course I fumbled the ring. I knew where I’d put it, where I thought I’d put it, in my coat pocket, but when I reached for it it wasn’t there.
“Take your time,” said Mr. Lucas soothingly. “It really wouldn’t be legal if the groom didn’t lose the ring.”
Then I found it, in the other coat pocket. Then we were all sitting down, while the girls signed the certificate, and Mother said: “Sonya, Gramie has everything to make music with, in that living room of his, every mechanical thing, to work when a button is pushed — except something you work yourself. Would you like a piano from me? As a wedding present I mean.”
“Oh, Mrs. Stu! Oh!”
Sonya started to cry, then kissed Mother. Mrs. Lang said: “We have something in mind, Sonya. We’ll give you a present too.”