The Wedding - By Nicholas Sparks Page 0,46
a restaurant ten years ago, it was one of Jane’s favorite dinner spots. The menu was extensive, and the chef specialized in exotic original sauces and marinades to accompany typically southern meals. On Friday and Saturday evenings, it was impossible to be seated without a reservation, and guests made a game out of trying to guess what ingredients had been used to create such distinctive flavors.
The Chelsea was also known for its entertainment. In the corner stood a grand piano, and John Peterson—who gave Anna lessons for years—would sometimes play and sing for the patrons. With an ear for contemporary melodies and a voice reminiscent of Nat King Cole’s, Peterson could perform any song requested and did well enough to perform in restaurants as far-flung as Atlanta, Charlotte, and Washington, D.C. Jane could spend hours listening to him, and I know Peterson was touched by her almost motherly pride in him. Jane, after all, had been the first in town to take a chance on him as a teacher.
Jane was too stunned to respond. In the silence, I could hear the ticking of the clock on the wall as she debated whether or not she understood me correctly. She blinked. “But . . . how?”
“I talked to Henry, explained the situation and what we needed, and he said he’d take care of it.”
“I don’t understand. How can Henry handle something like this at the last minute? Didn’t he have something else scheduled?”
“I have no idea.”
“So you just picked up the phone and called and that was it?”
“Well, it wasn’t quite that easy, but in the end, he agreed.”
“What about the menu? Didn’t he need to know how many people were coming?”
“I told him about a hundred in total—that seemed about right. And as for the menu, we talked it over, and he said he’d come up with something special. I suppose I can call him and request something in particular.”
“No, no,” she said quickly, regaining her equilibrium. “That’s fine. You know I like everything they cook. I just can’t believe it.” She stared at me with wonder. “You did it.”
“Yes.” I nodded.
She broke into a smile, then suddenly looked from me to the phone. “I have to call Anna,” she cried. “She’s not going to believe this.”
Henry MacDonald, the owner of the restaurant, is an old friend of mine. Though New Bern is a place where privacy seems all but impossible, it nonetheless has its advantages. Because a person tends to run into the same people with regularity—while shopping, driving, attending church, going to parties—an underlying courtesy has taken root in this town, and it is often possible to do things that may seem impossible elsewhere. People do favors for one another because they never know when they might need one in return, and it’s one of the reasons New Bern is so different from other places.
This isn’t to say that I wasn’t pleased with what I’d done. As I headed into the kitchen, I could hear Jane’s voice on the phone.
“Your dad did it!” I heard her exclaim. “I have no idea how, but he did!” My heart surged at the pride in her voice.
At the kitchen table, I started sorting through the mail I’d brought in earlier. Bills, catalogs, Time magazine. Because Jane was talking to Anna, I reached for the magazine. I imagined that she would be on the phone for quite a while, but, surprising me, she hung up before I began the first article.
“Wait,” she said, “before you start, I want to hear all about it.” She drew near. “Okay,” she began, “I know Henry’s going to be there and he’ll have food for everyone. And he’ll have people there to help, right?”
“I’m sure,” I said. “He can’t serve it all himself.”
“What else? Is it a buffet?”
“I thought that was the best way to do it, considering the size of the kitchen at Noah’s.”
“Me too,” she agreed. “How about tables and linens? Will he bring all that?”
“I assume so. To be honest, I didn’t ask, but I don’t think it’s that big of a deal even if he doesn’t. We can probably rent what we need if we have to.”
She nodded quickly. Making plans, updating her list. “Okay,” she said, but before she could speak again, I held up my hands.
“Don’t worry. I’ll call him first thing in the morning to make sure everything is just the way it should be.” Then, with a wink, I added, “Trust me.”
She recognized my words from the day