He nodded. This time his grin wasn’t lopsided. Both sides of his mouth slanted upward.
“They sent the congratulatory e-mail yesterday. But I didn’t see it until this morning when the police gave me back my phone. I wanted to make some arrangements before I told you.” The prideful glint in his eyes was adorable. He was no multimillionaire—yet—but every penny he had, he’d earned himself, through hard work. “One of them was with Father Dominic—he’s doing much better today, by the way. It will still be some time before he’ll be able to return to work, of course, but he might—just might—be well enough to marry us next weekend.”
“Wait.” I stared at him, not sure I’d heard him correctly. “Next weekend?”
He nodded again, looking almost apprehensive, his dark head ducked a little shyly. “Yes. I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it, especially after . . . well, everything that happened last night. But when I spoke to Father Dominic this morning, he felt you might like the idea. He was the one who suggested it, as a matter of fact. I don’t know why.”
Now I knew why Jesse hadn’t wanted to see me that morning. It made sense. With Father Dominic’s help, he’d finally put the past behind him, and had been busy making plans for the future—our future.
When I saw that priest, I was going to give him the biggest hug.
“It would have to be a very small private ceremony, of course,” Jesse was going on. “And at such short notice, many of your parents’ guests might not be able to attend. But David will be back in town for the holiday, and I think getting married over Thanksgiving weekend—well, what better way to show our thanks for finding one another, and for everything everyone has done for us? We can still have a formal ceremony in a year if you want to, but I thought since I finally have money, and you have this house—”
I’d already flung my arms around his neck.
“Thanksgiving weekend would be perfect,” I whispered. “Just perfect.”
treinta y siete
We had a church wedding after all.
It wasn’t under the grand, sweeping arches of the basilica at the Carmel Mission, as we’d always planned. It was in the much smaller, more modest chapel at St. Francis Medical Center in Monterey.
But somehow I felt it was better that way. There were no statues of the Madonna (rumored to have once wept tears of blood because a virgin—me—graduated from the school) or Father Junípero Serra to gaze down upon us, only the familiar faces of friends and loved ones—our true friends and loved ones, because we’d invited only Jesse’s colleagues from the hospital and my friends and family members who happened to be home for Thanksgiving.
Father Dominic was still there to perform the ceremony, but it was from his wheelchair rather than the intimidating altar at the San Carlos Borromeo de Carmelo Mission, which I preferred.
The ceremony went off without a hitch, with the exception of the performance of the flower girls, who, in the tradition of flower girls throughout history, stole the show. Only Jesse, Father Dominic, and I knew, however, that their antics were due to the fact that a few additional guests had shown up to the ceremony uninvited . . . an elderly woman who’d passed away moments before in the cardiac ward and decided to stick around because, as she informed us, “I love a good wedding.”
Then there was a forty-niner (the gold mining kind, not a member of the professional football team) who simply stood in the back, his battered top hat in his hands to show his respect for the bride.
Finding a venue for the reception afterward was simple. We invited everyone—minus the deceased—back to 99 Pine Crest Road for cake, champagne, barbecue, and beer.
“Well,” my mother said as she stood with her arm around my waist on what had once been her back deck, but was now mine. “I don’t know how you did it, Suzie. Or why. But I approve.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I clinked her champagne glass with my own. “Jesse and Jake worked really hard on it. David helped, too.”
I didn’t mention how David had arrived unannounced at Snail Crossing on the Saturday afternoon that Jesse and I had first made love, demanding to know where everyone was, and accidentally walked in on Jake and Gina having a romantic interlude of their own.
Then, upon discovering that I had somehow managed to procure ownership of our old house, and that there was no longer any danger from “the curse” he’d flown over three thousand miles to help break, David had proceeded to have a miniature nervous breakdown, from which we’d had to nurse him back to health with great quantities of brewskis and za.
“I don’t mean the decorations,” Mom said, indicating the party globes we’d strung across the backyard to light the picnic tables at which our guests were enjoying the barbecue Andy—ever the chef—had insisted on providing. “I mean the house. Suze, I had no idea this house meant so much to you. Why didn’t you tell me? We’d never have sold it if we’d known.”