Chapter 9 - The Empty ChairTheir wedding was scheduled for the following spring.
Small.
Maya insisted.
Roman’s definition of small was apparently two hundred people.
They compromised at ninety.
Elena appointed herself chief planner.
Dante threatened resignation twice.
Maya opened her studio three months before the wedding.
She named it Second Step.
Not Second Chance.
Because, as she told Roman:
“I hate the idea that people only get two chances.”
The studio occupied a renovated brick building on the West Side.
Roman did not buy it.
Maya checked.
Twice.
He did, however, anonymously improve the security system.
Maya discovered that too.
They argued.
Then compromised.
Roman was allowed to pay for one security camera.
He installed nine.
Maya made him remove eight.
Elena took Maya’s side.
Dante took no side whatsoever.
Second Step began with four women.
Then eleven.
Then twenty-seven.
Women recovering from violence.
Women rebuilding after divorce.
Women who had spent years hearing that their bodies were wrong, weak, old, damaged or unwanted.
Nobody was required to dance.
Some only stretched.
Some sat.
Some cried.
Some laughed.
Maya understood all of it.
Elena volunteered twice a week.
By March, she could walk sixty feet with forearm crutches.
The first time she crossed the studio floor, everyone applauded.
Elena immediately yelled, “Stop making it weird.”
They applauded harder.
Life was becoming ordinary.
That was when Maya realized ordinary could be beautiful.
Then, six weeks before the wedding, Marianne Pike died.
A stroke.
Unexpected.
Maya learned through the prosecutor’s office.
Roman found her sitting alone in the darkened studio.
He sat beside her.
No advice.
No questions.
After several minutes, Maya said, “I hated her.”
Roman nodded.
“I felt sorry for her.”
He nodded again.
“I was angry at her.”
“Yes.”
“And now she’s dead, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel.”
Roman looked at her.
“You don’t have to choose one.”
Maya leaned against him.
“She knew what Aaron was doing.”
“Yes.”
“But she gave the money back.”
“Yes.”
“She testified.”
“Yes.”
“Too late.”
Roman’s voice was soft.
“Sometimes people become brave after their cowardice has already cost someone everything.”
Maya looked at him.
“That sounds personal.”
Roman smiled faintly.
“Maybe.”
They sat quietly.
Then Roman handed her a second envelope.
It had arrived through Marianne’s attorney.
Maya opened it.
Inside was another letter.
And a key.
Marianne had left Maya her house.
Maya stared.
“No.”
Roman waited.
“I don’t want it.”
“You don’t have to keep it.”
Maya read the letter.
One line stood out.
Please turn something built on fear into something that helps someone leave it.
Maya cried.
Three months later, the house became temporary housing for women leaving abusive relationships.
Maya named it Rose House after her mother.
The wedding was postponed by four weeks while renovations were completed.
Roman did not complain.
He worked beside contractors.
Poorly.
Maya photographed him holding a paint roller backward.
Elena saved the image as her phone wallpaper.
Finally, wedding day arrived.
The ceremony took place in the DeLuca garden.
White roses.
No press.
No business associates Maya had never met.
Only people who belonged there.
One chair in the front row remained empty.
Roman looked at it before the ceremony.
His mother’s chair.
Elena had placed one white rose across it.
Maya joined him.
“You okay?”
Roman nodded.
Then shook his head.
Maya took his hand.
“I wish she could see Elena.”
“She can’t.”
Maya didn’t offer comforting lies.
Roman loved that about her.
He looked at his sister across the garden.
Elena stood beside her wheelchair.
Her crutches rested nearby.
She was going to walk down the aisle.
Not because she needed to prove anything.
Because she wanted to.
Music began.
Elena took one step.
Then another.
The garden went silent.
Roman’s breathing stopped.
Elena moved slowly.
Her face tightened with concentration.
Ten feet.
Fifteen.
Twenty.
Halfway down the aisle, her left leg trembled.
Maya started forward.
Roman caught her hand.
“Wait.”
Maya looked at him.
Elena steadied herself.
Then continued.
She reached them.
Roman was crying.
He did not hide it.
Elena smiled.
“Don’t ruin my makeup.”
Roman laughed and hugged her.
Then the ceremony began.
Maya walked toward him alone.
She had considered having Dante escort her.
Or Elena.
Or one of the women from her studio.
Instead she chose herself.
Not because she had no one.
Because she wanted the symbolism.
Years ago, Aaron had told her nobody would want a woman who limped.
Now she walked toward Roman with a slight permanent unevenness in her step.
She did not hide it.
Roman watched her as though she were the only woman alive.
When she reached him, he whispered, “You’re beautiful.”
Maya smiled.
“I know.”
Elena snorted loudly.
The guests laughed.
Their vows were simple.
Roman went first.
“I spent most of my life believing love meant keeping people safe.”
He looked at Maya.
“You taught me that love is also trusting them to choose.”
Her eyes filled.
“I promise to ask.”
Soft laughter.
“To listen.”
Elena coughed dramatically.
Roman glared at her.
More laughter.
“And to stand beside you without standing in front of you.”
Maya’s voice broke when she began.
“I spent a long time believing receiving love meant owing someone.”
Roman’s eyes softened.
“I thought kindness always came with a bill.”
She glanced toward the empty chair.
Then Elena.
Then back at Roman.
“You taught me that some people give without keeping score.”
She smiled through tears.
“I promise to let you help me sometimes.”
Roman raised an eyebrow.
“Sometimes.”
The guests laughed.
“And I promise to remind you that nine security cameras is not compromise.”
Dante applauded.
Roman shook his head.
Then they exchanged rings.
When they kissed, Elena cried harder than anyone.
The reception lasted until midnight.
Maya danced.
Not perfectly.
Not competitively.
Not like the woman she had been before Aaron.
She danced as the woman she had become.
Roman moved with her.
One.
Two.
Three.
One.
Two.
Three.
Then Elena appeared beside them.
Standing with her crutches.
“Move.”
Roman stared.
“What?”
“I’m cutting in.”
Maya laughed.
Roman stepped aside.
Elena took Maya’s hands.
The music changed.
Slow.
Gentle.
Elena moved one foot.
Then the other.
Maya cried.
“You’re dancing.”
“Don’t make this dramatic.”
“You are dancing at my wedding.”
“Yes.”
“I’m allowed to be dramatic.”
Elena smiled.
Then laughed.
That laugh.
The one Roman had heard through a forbidden door more than a year earlier.
He stood beside the dance floor and listened.
This time he did not enter the room and make it stop.
May you like
He simply watched.
And smiled.
