Chapter Three
After Dave had fixed the stairs and left with a promise to be back by seven, Lara floated back up to the attic. She literally felt as if she were walking on air. How was it possible for a humdrum day to be transformed so quickly into something absolutely magical?
Of course, she had another transformation to make before seven. She was not going out tonight looking like Cinderella's poorest, ugliest stepsister.
Quickly she stripped off the wedding gown. She carefully covered it with tissue and folded it. She was about to place it back in the trunk, when she spotted the envelope, yellowed with age, the writing on the front, bold and masculine, the postmark from a town less than 50 miles away. Unable to stop herself, she picked it up and slid out the card, an elaborate valentine meant for a sweetheart.
It had been opened and read so many times over the years that it was coming apart. There were blotches, too, suggesting that it had been soaked with tears, probably more than once.
Hands shaking, Lara opened it, feeling an odd sense of trepidation.
In addition to the printed verse, there was a note in that same bold handwriting: My darling Susan, on this day of all days, thoughts of you fill my heart, replacing for a few brief hours the regrets that haunt me always. You know why I did what I did. And because of the kind of woman you are, I know that you understand and maybe, after all this time, have even forgiven me. If only things could have been different. With all my love, Peter."
Peter? Lara stared again at the signature to make sure she'd gotten it right. Who was Peter? Her father's name was Mitch. Mitch Calhoun. Lara had never heard of anyone named Peter. Certainly her mother had never mentioned the name. Why would a card with such an obviously intimate message be tucked away with her mother's wedding dress?
Suddenly Lara thought she knew. Dropping the card on top of the folds of satin, she ran downstairs, relieved that she had the house to herself, that her father wouldn't be home for hours, not until long after she'd left for her date.
She paused at the door to her parents' bedroom, took a deep breath, then stepped inside and walked over to the dresser. Swallowing hard, heart thundering in her chest, she reached for the informal wedding picture that had sat in the same spot as far back as she could remember. In it, her mother was smiling brilliantly, but it was a spring day, not winter, not February 14. There were buds on the trees and daffodils blooming beside the church steps.
And the dress? Lara's gaze swept over it in a single glance. Soft and feminine, it was trimmed in lace, not pearls. It was made of organza, not satin. Which meant that the dress in the attic was from another wedding.
She thought of the valentine. Or, she concluded, from a wedding that had never taken place at all.
* * *
"Going out with Chelsea tonight?" Peter Lafferty asked as Dave stood in front of the hall mirror and straightened his tie.
"No, as a matter of fact, I'm not."
"Really? I thought that was getting serious."
Dave sighed. "She thought so, too. I told her a little while ago that I couldn't be with her anymore, that we didn't have a future." It had been the most difficult conversation he'd ever had, but he knew in his heart it had been the only fair thing to do.
"Can't say I'm sorry," his father said. "I never did think she was right for you."
Dave stared at him in surprise. "Why didn't you say anything?"
"Because nobody knows better than I do that you can't let other people pick the person you're going to love."
Dave was startled by the admission. He walked into the living room and sat opposite his father. "Dad, were you and Mom happy?"
For a minute, he thought his father might not answer, but he finally shook his head sadly. "Your mother was a very special woman. And she tried her best to make the marriage work. She really did. It's my biggest regret that I could never love her the way she deserved to be loved."
As his father spoke, Dave realized that he had always suspected as much. Maybe that was why he'd been so cautious about wanting to get more deeply involved with a woman. Why invest a lot in a relationship if it was destined to fail or, at best, to be a lackluster partnership?
"Why couldn't you love her?" he asked, recalling glimpses of sorrow in his mother's eyes, the way she always hurriedly covered such revealing moments with her brightest smile.
"Because my heart belonged to someone else," his father answered.
Dave felt sick inside. "How? When?"
"I made a terrible mistake once. I was engaged to someone I loved with all my heart, but one night we had a terrible row. I turned to your mother for comfort. We'd known each other since we were children. We were best friends. I knew your mother cared for me, but that night she told me she loved me. She said I had to know that before I married someone else."
He shrugged. "Maybe if Susan and I hadn't fought I would have been strong enough to resist what your mother was offering, but I didn't. It was wrong. We both knew it. We vowed to pretend it hadn't happened, but there were consequences."
Dave's heart was in his throat. "You mean me."
His father nodded. "Marrying your mother was the honorable thing to do. I truly cared about her. And I wanted my child to have my name. There was never any question about that."
"And the other woman? What happened to her?" He couldn't stop the stirring of resentment toward the woman who had cost his mother so much happiness.
"She married someone else eventually and had three girls."
"Did you ever see her again?"
"Never, but I kept up with her. Once a year I sent her a card, always on the same day." There was a look of unbearable sadness in his eyes. "Today, as a matter of fact."
"Valentine's Day?"
"It was the day we were supposed to be married."
Dave reached for his father's hand. How could he hate him for doing the right thing, for giving up a woman who had obviously mattered so much to him? It just proved what an honorable man he was. "I'm sorry, Dad."
"Don't be. Your mother and I did just fine together. And you've always been a blessing. Your mother would be so proud to know that you're taking over the business, making it bigger." He met Dave's gaze. "Speaking of that, how did that job over in Monroe Cove go today?"
"Piece of cake," Dave said, standing up, relieved by the change of subject. "In fact, that's who I'm going out with tonight, Lara Calhoun." He grinned. "You should have seen her, Dad. She tumbled down the steps and straight into my arms wearing a wedding dress."
"That must have caught you off-guard," his father said. He was laughing but there was a faraway look in his eyes. "A wedding dress, huh? It didn't scare you off?"
Dave remembered that moment, remembered the sense of inevitability he'd felt as he'd caught her, the equally quick rush of panic. "I've got to admit, it gave me a bad minute or two, but I couldn't seem to stop myself from asking her out."
He glanced at his father and thought for just a second that there was a sheen of tears in his eyes, but that couldn't be. Peter Lafferty never cried.