My One and Only
Page 45

“Uncool.”
“—I know, and I don’t want to get arrested. So. Can you help me? I just need a few minutes.”
“Let’s see.” There was a thoughtful pause. “I think Gerry might be working tonight. I’ll make a call, sure.”
“Really?” Hope, that thing with feathers, gave a healthy flap.
“I’ll give it a shot.”
“Oh, thank you. Thank you so much.”
“You bet, dude.”
“Dennis, you’re the best.”
“Yeah, whatever. Hey, Harp, listen. You should probably know…I’m back with Jodi.”
“Jodi-with-an-I?” I said automatically, veering around a Mercedes whose driver clearly didn’t know ass from elbow and was trying to turn onto a one-way street.
“Yeah. We hung out the other night, and it was like old times.”
I laughed. “Invite me to the wedding, okay, Den?”
“Dude. Totally.” There was a pause. “Good luck, Harper.”
My throat tightened abruptly. “Thanks, Dennis.”
After what seemed like an eternity, I finally drew within view of the ferry landing. Unfortunately, there was a concert at the gazebo in Ocean Park, and we were inching along. But the ferry was in, even though it was 7:09. Maybe I’d make it after all, and God bless Dennis Patrick Costello. I’d pay for his honeymoon with Jodi, I vowed I would.
Then the air tore with the sound of the ferry’s horn. “No!” I groaned. “Oh, damn it.” I was still two blocks away, there was nowhere to park, dang it all, and my teeth ground in frustration. But then again, if I didn’t catch Nick today, and it was looking as if that was a very real possibility, I could always try some other time.
Except that some other time didn’t have the same appeal as right now. Now. It had to be now.
I pulled over, double-parking next to a red Porsche, and hurtled out of the car.
“You can’t park there!” called a cop.
“Emergency!” I said, bolting across the street. The ramp to the ferry was a long post-and-beam structure, and tonight, it was full of people taking in the sights or seeing off their friends. “Excuse me, excuse me!” I called, pushing through the crowd. “Stop the ferry! Hold the ferry, please!” My feet thudded along the wooden slats as I ran, then jumped over a coil of rope. A radio was playing somewhere, and my busy brain registered the lyrics. “Sweet Home Alabama.” It had to be a sign from God, or Bev, or the universe.
The horn sounded again.
“Stop the ferry!” I shouted. “Please!”
“Too late, lady,” said one of the ferry workers as he tossed a rope to one of the men on board. “No one past this point.”
Then I saw Nick. He stood on the lower deck of the boat, staring out at Martha’s Vineyard as the ferry inched away, the ever-present wind ruffling his hair, his gypsy eyes distant and…sad.
Well. He wasn’t going to be sad anymore, damn it.
“Nick!” I bellowed. “Nick!”
He didn’t see me.
“Nick!” I turned to one of the ferry workers. Leonard was embroidered over his pocket. “Leonard!” I barked. “Stop this ferry.”
“Unless this is a medical emergency lady,” he said in a thick New Bedford accent, “or you’re packed with explosives, no can do. Sorry.”
“Stop it or I’m jumping in!”
“Don’t even joke about it, okay?” he said, doing something to the control panel on the boat slip. “You can get arrested for that. And if you get close enough to the propeller, you’ll get sucked right under.”
The propeller was in the back of the boat. I’d aim for the side.
Do or do not. There is no try.
Egged on by Yoda and the surefire knowledge that I loved Nick Lowery more than anything, I ran as fast as I could for the end of the dock, and when the end came, I kept running, and for one incredible second, I was airborne and weightless, flying through the air.
Then the outside world went silent as I went under, bubbles roaring past my ears, and, oh, crotch, the water was frigid! I kicked to the surface and emerged, sputtering, salt water stinging my eyes, my skin crawling in a wave of goose bumps. I coughed and looked up at the boat. I couldn’t see Nick, just the massive hull of the boat about twenty feet away. People on the dock yelled and pointed. Treading water, I pushed the sodden hair out of my eyes.
“Gawddammit!” bawled Leonard the dockworker. I glanced back at him as he pulled out his radio and barked into it. “Hughie, we got a fuckin’ nut in the water! Kill the engines!” He looked at me. “Idiot!”
Then there was a splash as a life ring was thrown down from the ferry. I looked up at the boat again. A crowd had gathered, dozens of faces looking down at me. “Nick?” I called. The roar of the engines cut out abruptly, and it suddenly seemed very quiet. “Nick Lowery?” I called again.
There he was, gripping the railing with both hands. “Jesus, Harper, are you all right?” he called.
“Um…sure,” I said, though my teeth were starting to chatter.
“Take the life ring, idiot!” Leonard the dockworker ordered. I ignored him.
“Harpy, what are you doing?” Nick asked. “Are you insane?”
“Um…a little?” I kept treading water, though I was now shuddering with cold. “Nick…I had to see you.”
“Yeah, I got that,” he said.
“Ma’am? Please get out of the water.” Great. There was the cop who told me not to double-park.
“Nick…see, the thing is,” I began swimming a little closer. Then I stopped. I never did get to memorize that horrible speech I’d been working on.
He waited. The people around him waited. “Mommy, can I have a snack?” asked a kid.
“Shh!” the mom hissed.
“Ma’am, if I have to jump in there to save you, I will not be happy,” the cop said.
I looked at Nick, his rumpled hair, his lovely face, those gypsy eyes that had always done such things to my heart.
“Marry me,” I said.
I guess he didn’t expect me to say that, because he just stood there, looking at me, mouth slightly open, as if my words didn’t quite make sense.
“Marry me, Nick,” I said, my voice roughening with tears. “Marry me again. I don’t care how it looks or what the plan is or where we are, as long as we’re together. I love you, Nick. I always did, I always have, I always will.”
He still didn’t say anything. The crowd watched. “Sir?” said the cop. “Can you please answer the crazy woman so we can all go home?”
The crowd glanced between Nick and me, and for one long, heart-wrenching moment, it seemed as if Nick was just going to turn away and leave me here in the drink.
Except he didn’t. In a quick, neat move, he jumped over the railing, The crowd gasped, the dockworker swore, and with a splash, Nick landed in the water not five feet from me.
“You sure are memorable,” he said, and then he grabbed hold of the life ring with one arm, me with the other, and kissed me, a hot, hard kiss, and I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back for all I was worth.
“Idiots,” someone called.
I didn’t really notice. I had Nick again, the first man I’d ever loved, the only man I’d ever loved. My teeth were chattering too hard to really kiss that effectively, so I pulled back and looked into Nick’s eyes and smiled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
EPILOGUE
OUR WEDDING DAY—WELL, our second wedding day—was cold and rainy, the wind slapping against the wood-shingled Unitarian church, the stained-glass windows rattling. As my father and BeverLee walked me down the aisle, the wind howled in full voice.
“Sounds like a warning to me,” Nick said, grinning.
“Sorry, pal. Too late to back out now,” I answered, shoving my bouquet at Willa and grabbing both of Nick’s hands.
“Scared?” he asked in a lower voice.
I looked into his eyes. “No. Not a bit. Are you?”
He smiled, and my heart swelled. “What do you think?”
“I think you look pretty cute in a tux,” I said.
“I think if the two of you could manage to quiet down, maybe we could get started,” Father Bruce said.
Because the Catholic church wouldn’t touch Nick and me with a ten-foot pole, Father B. had managed to get himself appointed a justice of the peace. His bishop wasn’t happy, but the good father said it was worth it to be able to perform our wedding ceremony. Awfully nice of him.
Chris was best man—hey, guess what? The Thumbie had been picked up by one of those companies that handles those weird products you see advertised late at night. So far he’d earned about fourteen dollars, but you never knew. He gave me a wink, handsome devil that he was, and I smiled back.
“Dearly beloved,” Father Bruce began, “we are gathered here to witness the union of Nick and Harper as they pledge their love and devotion to each other for what we hope is the last time, because I don’t know about you people, but I don’t think any of us should have to go through this again.”
“Everyone’s a comedian,” I said. Nick grinned.
I glanced out at our guests—Dad’s arm was around BeverLee, and she was crying blue tears and smiling hugely at the same time. Theo was there with his latest ex-wife, and Carol, Tommy and the other lawyers from my firm, as well as a few clients (no place like a wedding to meet a potential mate, right?). Dennis and Jodi and her little son sat in the back next to Kim and Lou and the four boys, who were shoving each other. Jason Cruise was there…Nick had insisted, and I was being tolerant. Peter Camden had come too, as well as the other people from the firm; Pete didn’t look happy, but I didn’t really care.
There’d been quite the little furor over my, er, unusual proposal. Of course, virtually everyone there that day had a camera or a cell phone, so the Martha’s Vineyard newspaper had run a montage of the two of us kissing in the water and the adorable headline: “Divorce Attorney Risks Hell and High Water to Win Her Man.” Nick had the front page framed and occasionally pointed to it when we started to bicker.
But our bickering was amiable and over things like how much time we’d spend in Boston and how much on the Vineyard. See, Nick had had a long talk with Peter, cut back on his traveling and opened up a Boston office. The joy of owning your own business, he’d said, was supposed to be flexibility. And so, after a life spent in the Big Apple, Nick moved to Beantown, where he amiably mocked the tangled streets, made enemies by wearing his Yankees cap whenever possible and admitted that the seafood was unparalled on the face of the earth. Each month, we’d be spending a few days in what he called “the real city”—but he was adapting. Even broke the speed limit on the Mass Pike one proud day.
For my part, I’d be working for Bainbrook, Bainbrook & Howe’s Boston office Monday through Thursday, home on the island the rest of the week. We got a cute little apartment in the Back Bay, and would keep the house in Menemsha (of course!). When we had kids, which we hoped wouldn’t be too far in the future, we’d adjust. Nothing was carved in stone, but I had faith.
We said our vows, and this time…this time I knew we’d make it.
“Nick? Do you have the ring?” Father Bruce asked.
“Yeah, Nick. Do you?” I asked. Nick hadn’t let me see the ring he’d chosen, which I thought was quite unfair. “You’d think I could’ve seen it first, since I’m the one who has to wear it for the rest of my life.”
“God, does she ever stop talking?” Nick asked. “Yes, I have the ring.” He raised an eyebrow. Christopher handed the ring to his brother, and Nick smiled, took my hand and slid it onto my finger.
It was my wedding ring. The first one.
“Oh, Nick,” I whispered, my eyes filling.
“I want you to know, I went back for that ring the day after you left me,” Nick said. “Had to pry up a manhole cover, go down into the sewer, crawl down a pipe into the storm drain. Couldn’t just let it stay there.” He paused. “I guess I kept it for a reason.”
“I guess you did,” I whispered, and then I kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him some more.
“Well, since no one’s waiting for instructions,” Father Bruce said, sighing dramatically. “I now pronounce you man and wife. Nick, you may continue to kiss your bride.”
BeverLee sobbed, my father chuckled, Willa laughed out loud, everyone clapped and whooped and hollered.
As for me, I was finally back where I belonged, and as I looked into my husband’s smiling eyes, I finally understood what happily ever after could really mean.