Listen to “Part 4. The Honeymoon”
It was nearly dark when Angela and Mark checked into the Honeymoon Suite of the hotel whose location was necessarily unknown to their attendants, especially to Dave and Chuck. Mark had carried in their bags and had gone back out to the car for something. Angela was lying on the pink velour comforter of the king-size bed, eyes closed, when he returned.
“How was the reception?” she asked, without stirring. “I think everything went well although I can’t swear to it. I can’t really remember any details.”
Mark lay down beside her and stretched his long, lanky body like a sleek greyhound. “Because of the time we took with the pictures, we didn’t have much time at the reception. We didn’t get to talk with many of our friends that took the time to drive down to see us.”
“Tina did a great job with the food.”
“Yes, my sister’s cool. And the wedding cake was actually delivered on time. No one spiked the punch.”
“I remember the candles now–did you see them? The hunter green and burgundy floating candles in dishes on the tables?”
Mark’s hand found Angela’s. “Yes, that was cool, huh? Candles, lots of candles.”
“Did my mom and your mom actually hug when everyone was saying goodbye, or did I just imagine it?”
“They did. Your Grandma even hugged Lorna.”
“Amazing! I wonder if it was just the excitement of the wedding. I wonder if they’ll really ever even speak again.”
Mark was silent for a long moment, knowing that Angela didn’t really expect any answer. Then, “I’m sorry Dad didn’t show up.”
Angela stiffened. “We didn’t expect him to.” For the first time since the wedding weekend began, she thought about Tom Daniels. Why was Mark forcing her to think about him now? Everything had been so lovely–until now. “He’ll be there when we get home.”
“Yeah.”
“He really hates your mom, doesn’t he?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, he’s been out of prison a whole year now. He’s got a good job–finally. Why can’t he just get over it? It wasn’t your mom’s fault, you know.”
“I know. But that’s just Dad. He’s very angry.”
“But it’s not fair to you to have to live with his anger!” Angela’s voice began to rise, as it always did when they discussed Mark’s dad. She turned toward Mark, stroking his sparsely bearded cheek.
“But we have to live in his house,” he said, “for now, anyway.”
Angela knew it was true. Since college graduation just last summer, and facing years of repaying student loans, they had little choice except to continue living in Tom Daniels’ house, at least until Mark had been at his new job long enough for a substantial promotion. “Are you hungry?” Angela hoped to change the subject.
“Not really.”
“Me, neither.”
Mark sat up on the bed, then moved around in the dimly lit room. Angela opened her eyes and watched him curiously. He opened the cardboard box he had brought in, and took from it the large center candle from the unity set and placed it on the stand beside their bed. “Look,” he said, “it burned down low enough in the center so that we can put this votive in the hole.” As he said that, he put the votive in the center of the large candle and lit it. The flame was just below the top of the large candle, and its glow permeated the iridescent shaft, burning deep inside. The two tapers, once lit, lay unseen inside the cardboard box. They would burn again, in time, but not tonight.
Angela said nothing, half-surprised that Mark Daniels, the high-tech computer programmer, would be so sentimental as to have brought the unity candles with them. He came back to the bed, began to embrace her, unfastening the top buttons of her shirt, kissing her, caressing her bare shoulders.
“It doesn’t matter about them,” Angela heard herself say quietly.
“What?”
“My parents. Grandma. Your Dad. Even your mom and Lorna.” She said it more to herself than to Mark, but she had to say it out loud. “We are Mark and Angela Daniels.”
“Mmm, yes.” Mark was nuzzling his face now into Angela’s breasts, running one hand through her light brown curls. As always, Angela felt the fire growing inside her, the fire that was always there when Mark touched her, when he looked into her eyes, when he spoke her name. And the single flame inside the ivory candle with the hunter green and burgundy ribbons burned, steady and strong, through a very long and intimate night.
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Copyright 1998, Juliana Harvard