Stand-in Groom (22 page)

Chelsea couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “I’m not going anywhere, so you can just call those movers back.” She looked around, suddenly aware of the police officers and the window repair crew who were listening with unabashed curiosity. “This is obviously not the time to discuss this,” she said icily.

Johnny was furious, and the sudden appearance of the Ice Princess didn’t help calm him any. “When will it be time to discuss it?” he asked. “After the next guy with a gun breaks in and this time blows a hole in your head?”

“I will not talk about this now.” She stalked haughtily back toward her office, and he caught up with her, pushing open her office door and holding it for her.

“You want privacy? Fine. Let’s go in here, close the door, and talk about how much of your precious money you plan to spend on security to make
this place safe enough.” Johnny closed the door behind her, watching as she stiffly moved to stand with her arms folded across her chest, staring out the window. “Let’s talk about the fact that this guy didn’t stumble in here in the middle of the night. Let’s talk about the fact that it was ten o’clock in the morning when he held that gun in your face.”

She turned to face him and her eyes were cold, her expression carefully distanced. “I’m sorry, this decision is not yours to make,” she said icily. “It’s my decision, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Johnny wanted to scream. Didn’t she know that just the thought of her coming back here to work tomorrow made him sick to his stomach? Didn’t she know that the fear he’d felt when he’d first seen that yellow tape was not something he could just forget overnight? Didn’t she know that he loved her more than any dollar amount, more than his own life? “Wanna make a bet? I already made the decision—the movers are on their way.”

Two bright spots of pink appeared on Chelsea’s cheeks, but she covered her anger with a thick layer of frost and spoke more softly rather than shouting. “Your name’s not on this lease along with mine—”

“No, but my name’s on a marriage license along with yours.” It was the wrong thing to say. Johnny knew that it was the wrong thing to say, but once he started he couldn’t seem to stop. “You’re my wife, and I
will not
allow you to come here anymore. Why am I even bothering to talk to you about this? This is
not
a topic that is open for discussion.”

The Ice Princess facade wavered, then crumbled as Chelsea’s anger became too strong to hide. “You won’t
allow
me to stay?”

“Damn straight.”

“Just because you think you’re my husband, you’re ordering me to just pack up and run away—”

“I don’t just
think
I’m your husband. I
am
your husband.”

“Like hell you are.” She was shaking, she was so mad. “Get out.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m waiting for the truck, remember?”

Her movements jerky, Chelsea gathered up her purse and jacket, her laptop and her briefcase and started for the door. “Fine. Then I’ll get out. You’ll hear from my lawyer. This stupid game has gone far enough.”

“Oh, so now it’s a stupid game?”

She turned to glance at him over her shoulder as he followed her quickly down the hall, out of the office, and onto the sidewalk. “Marriage has always been a stupid game. And I was a fool to think you’d play by smarter rules.”

“Smarter rules.
Your
rules, you mean. What about
my
rules? What about what
I
need?”

There were tears in her eyes as she lifted her hand to hail a cab. “You need my money. And my father’s money. Don’t look so surprised. Did you really think I didn’t know he’d sweetened our deal? Between the two of us, you’ll have enough for your restaurant. That’s all you really want, anyway.”

And just like that Johnny’s anger was deflated. “Is that really what you think?”

A taxi pulled to a stop in front of her.

“I can’t talk to you right now,” Chelsea said with a sob, opening the cab door. “I have to go home.”

“Let me drive you.”

“No.” She closed the door.

He leaned in the window. “Chelsea, we need to talk more. If you think all I need is that money, then we have to—”

“Go,” Chelsea told the driver.

The taxi pulled away, taking with it Johnny’s heart.

His condo was as silent as a tomb. Johnny knew before he even shut the door behind him that Chelsea wasn’t there.

She’d gone home. To
her
place.
Her
home.

Dammit, he’d handled that all wrong.

After Chelsea had left he’d called and canceled the movers. He wanted her to move, but now that his anger had faded, he knew that making demands and doing it against her will was not the way to go. She had to make the decision to move on her own, not have it forced down her throat.

Johnny picked up the phone and dialed her number in Brookline. No answer. He was about to leave a message on her machine when he heard the sound of a key in the lock.

As he hung up the phone the front door opened, and Chelsea came in. She was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, her hair back in a ponytail. She looked like a teenager, sweet and impossibly young. She
stopped short at the sight of him, glancing quickly at her watch.

“No,” he said. “You’re right. It’s after five. I’m supposed to be at work.”

She was clearly ill at ease. “I just, um …” She moistened her lips. “I wanted to get my stuff.”

Johnny felt his heart break. “That’s it? You’re just gonna pack up your things and leave?”

“This whole thing was such a big mistake, and—” She turned back to the door. “I don’t want to talk, John. Not now. You’re already late for work—”

“I went in earlier,” he told her quietly. “I got everything set up and ready to go. I told Rudy I needed the night off—to try to save my marriage.”

She looked up at him at that, her eyes bruised looking in the paleness of her face. “Johnny—”

“I know. You don’t want to talk. You don’t have to talk—you just have to listen, okay?”

“I heard more than enough this morning,” she said softly.

“No, you didn’t. You heard too much and too little, all at the same time. Chelsea, look, I know I was wrong to make the demands I did.” He held her gaze steadily, praying that she would believe
him. “I said some things I shouldn’t have, I went a little crazy on you, and I’m sorry about that. But I need you to give me a chance to explain why finding office space in a safer part of town is so important to me.”

Johnny took a deep breath. So far, so good. So far she was listening, and that’s all that he could ask. He glanced at Chelsea’s watch, reading the time upside down and backward. It was five-fifteen. The timing was perfect. He couldn’t have planned this better if he’d tried. “I’d like to show you something,” he continued. “Will you go for a ride with me?”

But Chelsea was shaking her head no, opening the door, about to walk out of his life, maybe forever. “I can’t.”

“Please,” he said. “Chelsea, I heard you out. That day you asked me to marry you? I could’ve walked away from you, but I didn’t. I listened to what you had to say. All I’m asking is for you to give me the same chance.”

She closed her eyes in defeat. “Oh, God.” She took a deep breath and looked up at him. “I’ll give you fifteen minutes.”

Johnny nodded. “That’s all I need.”

——

Chelsea sat in the front seat of Johnny’s VW Bug. “Where are we?”

“We’re in a part of Boston you’ve probably never been to before,” he told her with a wry smile. “We’re a few blocks away from the Projects. This is where I grew up.”

Chelsea gazed out the window. The dreaded Projects. Funny, she’d always imagined a bombed-out, burned-down landscape with deserted buildings and trash in the streets. But this neighborhood was nice. There were flowers growing in window boxes, the sidewalks were swept, and a carefully tended playground where children played and laughed was nestled between two apartment buildings.

Johnny pulled over to the side of the road, squeezing the little car into a tiny parking spot. “I can’t come down here without thinking about my mother,” he continued. He got out of the car and came around to open Chelsea’s door. “She was an advocate against urban violence. She was one of the leading forces in the community pride program too.”

He led her down the sidewalk, toward the corner, where they stood, waiting for the light to change. “She started all kinds of neighborhood watch programs, and cleanup programs, and after-school programs. She helped clean out the basement of her health clinic and turn it into a rec center for teenagers. I spent a lot of time there myself.”

The traffic slowed before the walk light came on, and Johnny stepped out into the street. Chelsea hurried across after him, wondering if her nervousness at being in this part of the city showed. Didn’t drive-by shootings happen down here regularly?

But Johnny didn’t seem to notice her nervousness. He was still talking about his mother. “But there was one program she started that she wished to God she hadn’t had to set up. They had their first meeting more than fifteen years ago, and they’re still meeting once every two weeks, here at the church.”

Chelsea looked up and realized she was climbing the steps that led up to the front doors of a stately looking brick church.

Johnny fell silent as he opened the door for her
and they went inside. She followed him down a flight of stairs to the cool mustiness of a church basement. He led her down a long, dimly lit hallway, where there were a number of little darkened Sunday-school rooms off to either side. She could hear voices coming from a room way down at the end, but that room, too, seemed dark.

As they approached the double doors she saw that the room was quite large. The overhead lights had been turned on only for the far side of the room, creating an area of light bordered by the late-afternoon dimness.

A group of about thirty people sat in a circle illuminated by that light. One of them was speaking as the others listened. The mood was solemn and the tone of the voice speaking was sad.

Chelsea stood next to Johnny, in the shadows. “What is this?” she whispered.

“It’s a support group for people who’ve lost a child or a parent or a spouse to urban violence,” he whispered. “Listen, okay?”

“I should have been home,” a woman was saying, her voice tearful. “Or I should have somehow taught her not to open the door for anyone. Not for
anyone
. I should have spent more time with
her, teaching her things like that. And I keep thinking about all those times I was too tired or too busy or too wrapped up in figuring out how to pay the bills to play with her. I keep thinking about all those times that I didn’t take the time to give her a hug and tell her how much I loved her. …”

“I think that’s something we all feel,” another woman said, her voice stronger, clearer than the first. “This sense of wasted opportunity, this sense of wishing we’d been a little more aware of how precious life is, and how quickly it can be taken from us. I think we all wish we had one more chance to tell our loved ones that they were, indeed, loved.”

A man spoke up. “My wife was killed four years ago by a car being chased by the cops. As I was watching her casket being placed into the ground, I couldn’t remember the last time I told her that I loved her. I tried, but I just couldn’t remember. It may well have been years. And I remember thinking, sweet Jesus, I’ll never have another chance. So now I tell our daughter and son how very much I love them every single day. And I like to believe that somewhere up in heaven, LaRae can hear me.” He laughed, but it was laughter filled with
sorrow. “She always did have good ears, that woman. I like to believe she knows I’m talking to her too.”

“I love you, Chelsea,” Johnny whispered.

Startled, she turned to look at him. Despite the shadows, she could see the shine of tears in his eyes.

He tried to smile. “That’s why I want you to move your office out of that part of town,” he told her softly. “That’s why it’s so important to me that you’re safe. I know damn well that you could’ve died today, and then I would’ve spent the rest of my life sitting in a group like this one, filled with regret that I never told you that I love you.”

He loved her. Johnny Anziano
loved
her.

“Oh, my God,” she said, forgetting to be quiet, and across the room, a number of heads turned toward them.

“May I help you?” one of the women called out.

“No,” Johnny said. “No, thank you. I’m sorry we disturbed you.”

“Johnny Anziano, is that you?” another woman asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “How are you, Mrs. Samuels?”

“It’s Dr. Anziano’s boy,” Mrs. Samuels told the others. “Who’s that with you, Johnny?”

“This is my wife. Her name is Chelsea,” Johnny told them.

“Your
wife
!” a man called out. “Congratulations, young man!”

“Thanks, Mr. Hart.”

“What are you doing out this way?”

Johnny hesitated. “I wanted to … show Chelsea the church.”

“The sanctuary’s open, sweetie,” Mrs. Samuels said. “Just go on up.”

“Thanks, Mrs. S. Sorry to interrupt your meeting.”

Chelsea let Johnny lead her out of the room and up a flight of stairs. He loved her. He
loved
her. “Everybody knew you.” Somehow her voice sounded normal when she spoke. How had she managed to do that?

“About ten years ago I was tapped to join a gang,” Johnny told her, “and when my mother found out, she made me sit in on these meetings. Needless to say, it was an eye-opener.”

Johnny opened a set of doors and they stepped into the church.

The late-afternoon sun was shining through the stained-glass windows, giving the sanctuary an otherworldly, shimmering glow.

She followed him down the aisle and up toward the altar.

“I always thought if I ever got married, I’d be married here, in this church,” Johnny said. Even though he spoke softly, his voice seemed to echo in the stillness.

He turned to look at her then. The ghostly light cast shadows, but even they couldn’t disguise his face—a face she’d come to know so very well over the past few short weeks. His eyes were lazily hooded, as ever, and, as ever, they seemed to gleam with an intensity that was far from lazy.