The Wedding (The Notebook 2)

In contrast, my wife still refers to that period as "the hateful years." She says this tongue-in-cheek, of course, but I strongly doubt she wants to relive them any more than I do.

By "hateful," what Jane meant was this: There were moments when she hated practically everything. She hated how she looked and how she felt. She hated women whose breasts didn't ache and women who still fit into their clothes. She hated how oily her skin became and hated the pimples that appeared for the first time since adolescence. But it was the lack of sleep that raised her ire most of all, and consequently, nothing irritated her more than hearing stories of other mothers whose infants slept through the night within weeks of leaving the hospital. In fact, she hated everyone who had the opportunity to sleep more than three hours at a stretch, and there were times, it seemed, that she even hated me for my role in all this. After all, I couldn't breast-feed, and because of my long hours at the law firm, I had no choice but to sleep in the guest room occasionally so I could function at the office the next day. Though I'm certain that she understood this intellectually, it often didn't seem that way.

"Good morning," I might say when I saw her staggering into the kitchen. "How did the baby sleep?"

Instead of answering, she would sigh impatiently as she moved toward the coffeepot.

"Up a lot?" I'd ask tentatively.

"You wouldn't last a week."

On cue, the baby would start to cry. Jane would grit her teeth, slam her coffee cup down, and look as if she wondered why it was that God seemed to hate her so.

In time, I learned it was wiser not to say anything.

Then, of course, there is the fact that having a child transforms the basic marriage relationship. No longer are you simply husband and wife, you are mother and father as well, and all spontaneity vanishes immediately. Going out to dinner? Have to find out whether her parents can watch the baby, or if another sitter is available. New movie playing at the theater? Haven't seen one of these in over a year. Weekend getaways? Couldn't even conceive of them. There was no time to do those things that had encouraged us to fall in love in the first place--walking and talking and spending time alone--and this was difficult for both of us.

This is not to say that the first year was entirely miserable. When people ask me what it's like to be a parent, I say that it's among the hardest things you'll ever do, but in exchange, it teaches you the meaning of unconditional love. Everything a baby does strikes a parent as the most magical thing he or she has ever seen. I'll always remember the day each of my children first smiled at me; I remember clapping and watching the tears spill down Jane's face as they took their first steps; and there is nothing quite as peaceful as holding a sleeping child in the comfort of your arms and wondering how it's possible to care so deeply. Those are the moments that I find myself remembering in vivid detail now. The challenges--though I can speak of them dispassionately--are nothing but distant and foggy images, more akin to a dream than reality.

No, there's no experience quite like having children, and despite the challenges we once faced, I've considered myself blessed because of the family we created.

As I said, however, I've just learned to be prepared for surprises.

At Anna's statement, Jane jumped up from the couch with a squeal and immediately wrapped Anna in her arms. She and I were both very fond of Keith. When I offered my congratulations and a hug, Anna responded with a cryptic smile.

"Oh, honey," Jane repeated, "this is just wonderful! . . . How did he ask you? . . . When? . . . I want to hear all about it. . . . Let me see the ring. . . ."

After the burst of questions, I could see my wife's face fall when Anna began shaking her head.

"It's not going to be that kind of wedding, Mom. We already live together, and neither of us wants to make a big deal about this. It's not like we need another blender or salad bowl."

Her statement didn't surprise me. Anna, as I've mentioned, has always done things her own way.

"Oh . . . ," Jane said, but before she could say anything more, Anna reached for her hand.

"There's something else, Mom. It's kind of important."

Anna glanced warily from me to Jane again.

"The thing is . . . well, you know how Grampa's doing, right?"

We nodded. Like all my children, Anna had always been close to Noah.

"And with his stroke and all . . . well, Keith has really enjoyed getting to know him and I love him more than anything . . ."

She paused. Jane squeezed her hand, urging her to continue.

"Well, we want to get married while he's still healthy, and none of us knows how long he really has. So Keith and I got to talking about possible dates, and with him heading off to Duke in a couple of weeks for his residency and the fact that I'm moving, too, and then Grampa's health . . . well, we wondered if you two wouldn't mind if . . ."

She trailed off, her gaze finally settling on Jane.

"Yes," Jane whispered.

Anna drew a long breath. "We were thinking about getting married next Saturday."

Jane's mouth formed a small s. Anna continued speaking, clearly anxious to get the rest out before we could interrupt.

"I know it's your anniversary--and it's okay if you say no, of course--but we both think it would be a wonderful way to honor the two of you. For everything you've done for each other, for everything you've done for me. And it seems like the best way. I mean, we want something easy, like a justice of the peace at the courthouse and maybe dinner with the family. We don't want gifts or anything fancy. Would you mind?"

As soon as I saw Jane's face, I knew what her answer would be.

Chapter Three

Like Anna, Jane and I didn't have a long engagement.

After graduating from law school, I'd started as an associate at Ambry and Saxon, for Joshua Tundle had not yet been made partner. He was, like me, an associate, and our offices were across the hall from each other. Originally from Pollocksville--a small hamlet twelve miles south of New Bern--he'd attended East Carolina University, and during my first year at the firm, he often asked me how I was adapting to life in a small town. It wasn't, I confessed, exactly what I'd imagined. Even in law school, I'd always assumed that I would work in a large city as my parents had, yet I ended up accepting a job in the town where Jane had been raised.

I'd moved here for her, but I can't say I've ever regretted my decision. New Bern may not have a university or research park, but what it lacks in size, it makes up for in character. It's located ninety miles southeast of Raleigh in flat, low country amid forests of loblolly pines and wide, slow-moving rivers. The brackish waters of the Neuse River wash the edges of the town and seem to change color almost hourly, from gunmetal gray at dawn, to blue on sunny afternoons, and then to brown as the sun begins to set. At night, it's a swirl of liquid coal.

My office is downtown near the historic district, and after lunch, I'll sometimes stroll by the old homes. New Bern was founded in 1710 by Swiss and Palatine settlers, making it the second oldest town in North Carolina. When I first moved here, a great many of the historic homes were dilapidated and abandoned. This has changed in the last thirty years. One by one, new owners began to restore these residences to their former glory, and nowadays, a sidewalk tour leaves one with the feeling that renewal is possible in times and places we least expect. Those interested in architecture can find handblown glass in the windows, antique brass fixtures on the doors, and hand-carved wainscoting that complements the heart-pine floor inside. Graceful porches face the narrow streets, harkening back to a time when people sat outside in the early evenings to catch a stray breeze. The streets are shaded with oaks and dogwoods, and thousands of azaleas bloom every spring. It is, quite simply, one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen.