Chapter 5
Emily had no sooner driven onto the main road when a small, battered car entered the lot. Chelsea was driving, and from the way Greg was slouched in the seat beside her, it was apparent that he wasn’t pleased to be there.
Ian watched from the door of the chapel as they climbed from the car. No trying to be nice from this one. Greg was an exceptionally good-looking man with longish blond hair, broad shoulders, a lean, muscular body, and a stylish goatee, yet the expression on his face was very unbecoming. Chelsea hung not only on his arm, but on his every word. Even from a distance, the loyalty between them was palpable.
“I don’t see why we have to get married here,” Greg said, emphasizing the word here like it was dirty.
Neither of them seemed to realize that the wind was carrying their words to Ian.
Chelsea laughed nervously. “I’ve dreamed of walking down the aisle of St. Conan’s since I was a wee lassie. Plus, it would mean a lot to my mum and da if we get married here. It’s where most - if not all - of the people who care about me are.”
“Did you ask him about doing a civil ceremony instead of a religious one then?”
“Not yet, but I will,” Chelsea said, still not realizing Ian could hear every word they were saying.
Greg looked up and caught his eye. Oh – he knew.
The whole exchange was a probably a microcosm of what lay ahead - Greg manipulating Chelsea into doing it his way, Greg acting fragile so that Chelsea would turn her back on what she wanted and believed in and give in to him lest he grow disgruntled or tired of her and leave.
Ian took a deep breath. Whereas Emily’s situation was slightly disconcerting, Chelsea’s was infinitely more complicated. At best, the woman was letting her love blind her to reality, at worst, their relationship had the markings of an abusive one. He would have to tread lightly and choose his words carefully. It was possible Greg could be redeemed – as long as he was present and at least pretending to listen. If Greg left, or refused to come back, Ian’s chance would be lost.
He nodded at Chelsea like nothing was amiss and reached out his hand to Greg. “Nice to meet you.”
Greg’s hand was hot and damp, his grip, weak.
“If we can do what we have to do and get out of here early, that would be great. I have a gig tonight.”
“Okay. Let’s step inside and talk about your answers to the questionnaire I sent home with Chelsea.” He smiled.
“What? Do we get graded?” Greg laughed. Chelsea did, too.
“There are no right or wrong answers. The questions are designed to stimulate conversations about topics you may need to discuss before marriage, or to bring your attention to areas where you may have differences that need to be resolved - or at least acknowledged.”
“Whatever.” Greg grumbled. Chelsea giggled nervously.
Ian wanted to avoid the subject of Greg’s indiscretions until they’d developed some sort of rapport, but he also wanted to be taken seriously, not mocked.
He needed safe ground. “How about we start by talking about the wedding? Chelsea, you go first, please. Tell me how you envision your wedding day, where you’d like to spend your honeymoon, and what you imagine your first week of married life with Greg will look like. Greg, you’ll have your chance when Chelsea is done, so while she’s talking, I’d like you to listen, but not speak. Are you okay with that?”
“I guess so.”
“Thanks. Chelsea? Whenever you’re ready.”
Chelsea looked at Ian, glancing sideways at Greg every so often, her fear still apparent in her voice. “I’ve always dreamed of a traditional wedding. You know – a white dress with a full skirt and a train, and kilts for the men, and bridesmaids and flower girls and a big ceilidh afterwards.” She turned to Greg. “But if that’s not what you want, I’m flexible. It should be what both of us want.”
Greg looked unfazed. It wasn’t as though he couldn’t give her what she wanted. He simply didn’t care.
“Greg will have his chance later, Chelsea. Right now, we just want to hear your thoughts.”
“Well, I guess it would be fun to go on a real honeymoon – I mean, if money were no object, and if we could do whatever we wanted.”
“Go ahead,” Ian said.
“It’s just that I’ve been working so hard to pass my bar examination, and studying such long hours. And now, the wedding.” She looked at Greg, visibly seeking his approval, finding none. “Wouldn’t it be fun to go someplace exotic like Greece or the Italian Riviera, or Monaco? You know, someplace where we’ve always dreamed of going, just the two of us.”
“It’s okay, Chelsea. How do you envision your life when you come home from the honeymoon?”
She glanced shyly at Greg. “Well, I’ve always dreamed of a little stone cottage with blue shutters and a door with a round top. And window boxes and a garden with a pretty gate.”
“Right,” Greg said. “The motor home isn’t good enough for you all of the sudden?”
“That’s not it at all.” She shrugged her shoulders and cocked her head in Ian’s direction. “He said I should say what I wished for, not what is. I know we can’t afford a house. Not until I pass my exams and get a job.”
“Houses tie you down.” Greg looked more and more exasperated. “You get a house, and suddenly you can’t accept a gig on the weekend because you have to stay home and clean it, or mow the lawn, or weed the garden, or fix the roof, the front steps or the rusty gate. And if you don’t, your wife is bitching at you and you’re screaming at her and... Houses ruin everything.”
Chelsea’s eyes opened wide. Greg’s feeling bitter about the two of them having a home was obviously news to her.
Which was a very good thing – of course Ian felt bad that Chelsea was having a rude awakening, but better now than after the wedding.
He looked at the happy couple and tried to decide whether or not to keep pressing. It might be better to drop things here and let them continue on their own when they’d each had some time to process. Chelsea already looked quite devastated, and Greg, like he was about ready to lose it.
“You’ve really done quite well, then,” he said after a few moments of silence. “It’s good to get your feelings out in the open.”
“Right,” Greg said.
“Anything you’d like to add, Greg?”
“Since you asked...” Greg practically sneered at him.
“Go ahead.”
“I wouldn’t even be getting married if it wasn’t so important to Chell. I sure as hell wouldn’t be getting hitched in some musty old kirk.”
“Okay.”
“My ideal honeymoon would be not having to go to my stinking job for a couple of weeks, but I can’t afford to take the time off, so the best I’ve got is to tell the guys in the band to get lost so we can have the caravan to ourselves for a few hours.”
“As for the rest, I don’t bother dreaming about the future and what wonderful things might be in store for me because it’s never gonna happen anyway.”
Unlike her intended, Chelsea had remained silent during Greg’s discourse. She was probably in shock.
“Anything you’d like to say to Greg, Chelsea?”
“No.”
“Let’s talk about our next session then.” Ian felt like he needed to give Greg a specific reason to come back, or it was likely he’d have no further chances to spur the man on to greater things.
“Greg, Chelsea tells me you’re an excellent musician. For next week, I’d like you to write a song that describes how you feel about being married to Chelsea.”
Greg looked surprised. “Sure. I mean, whatever.”
Chelsea, probably wisely, said nothing, but she looked at Ian gratefully.
A few minutes later they were gone, and Ian was left to ponder what had transpired. He wasn’t even sure what his objective should be – to urge caution, to recommend that they delay getting married until they were both a little more ready, or to give in to what was
probably inevitable and do everything he could to foster growth in both of his immature, misguided charges.