“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 mothers and daughters, it’s way too cute.” But now, as she began moving toward Tony and her children, she wished she’d gone along with Tony’s idea. It wouldn’t have been cute at all — it would have been lovely. A moment later she was taking the hand that Tony was extending toward her, and the judge they’d asked to marry them was starting the brief service.
Then she was handing her bouquet — a spray of tiny roses whose colors mirrored every shade with which Tony had banked the room — to Laurie, and a moment later Tony was slipping the ring on her finger and she heard the judge softly speaking the words: “By the power vested in me by the State of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
Tony’s strong arms went around her, pulling her close, and a second later Ryan was tugging at her. Hugging her son, then her daughter, she finally straightened up and turned to gaze at the small crowd that had gathered to witness the ceremony.
Kevin Barnes and Mark Noble were right in front of her, Kevin beaming as if he’d engineered the whole thing himself. Claire Robinson was with them, and her smile looked almost genuine, though Caroline wasn’t certain whether it was happiness for her, or happiness at the prospect that she was about to meet half a dozen residents of The Rockwell, every one of them potential customers.
Beverly Amondson and Rochelle Newman were there with their husbands, along with Andrea Costanza, who was being escorted by a man who looked to be a little younger than Andrea, and might have been reasonably good-looking except for his sallow complexion and dandruff-specked shoulders.
On the other side of the room was Irene Delamond, along with a cluster of Tony’s other neighbors from The Rockwell.
Before Caroline could speak to anyone, Claire Robinson was beside her, leaning close as if to give Caroline one of the air kisses she despised. But instead, Claire whispered a little too loudly, “Is that Virginia Estherbrook over there? Introduce me, Caroline. You’ve simply got to introduce me.”
“Don’t you think you might congratulate my wife first, Claire?” Tony asked, his arm slipping protectively around Caroline.