How was the wedding?
Brief, to the point, and not unduly musical.
At five o’clock sharp, we were standing in the vestibule of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church. The richly detailed Greek Revival church dated back to 1845 and had been the Matthews family’s place of worship for almost as long. And although that worship was infrequent at best, it nevertheless was the chosen site for the Matthewses’ and other established Richmond families’ marriages, baptisms, and funerals. Especially funerals, according to Harry, who liked to say that St. Paul’s was “where those in Richmond go, when they go.”
In spite of Bridget’s dire premonitions, the wedding ceremony went off with only one minor mishap. Ashley, Bridget’s flower girl, took one look at the long church aisle, chucked her specially ordered rose-filled flower basket, and fled. Her parents spent the remaining part of the ceremony soothing her “shattered nerves” with copious amounts of candy and kisses. Not surprisingly, as soon as she’d consumed one piece of candy, she would burst into tears all over again until another was produced. After twenty minutes or so, it became mildly annoying, but given the intensity of Bridget’s fears, it was not the Greek tragedy I half expected.
Back at Barton Landing, the cocktail portion of the reception was now under way. From the main terrace the band played a sedate selection of classical compositions while below, waiters in starched white coats circulated with assorted trays of hors d’oeuvres and champagne. The staff appeared passionately dedicated to their jobs. As soon as a shrimp puff or a glass of champagne was consumed, it was immediately replaced with another. At the current rate of consumption, I calculated the entire party would be full and/or drunk by the time dinner was served.
I stood on the side terrace with Bridget and Colin and the rest of their families, waiting to have our pictures taken. We were grouped in front of the enormous rose-covered wooden trellis that ran up the side of the house. The vibrant pink roses stood out full and lush, a glowing testament to Elsie’s green thumb.
I shifted uncomfortably. As predicted, the sun’s heat was intense and I stared longingly toward the refreshment tents, where there was the promise of shade and cold drinks. Chloe stood off to Bridget’s left, impatiently tapping a manicured fingernail against her ever-present clipboard. Even though she was wearing a black sheath dress—a color most Southern women avoid on hot, sunny days—she looked cool and professional. I, on the other hand, felt like an overdone strand of spaghetti in my yellow dress. I was pale, sticky, and limp.
Catching my eye, Chloe moved in my direction. “Goodness, but you look hot, Elizabeth,” she said sweetly.
I took that to mean that I looked like crap, but I nodded good-naturedly. “I am. I’m looking forward to getting under one of those tents and getting something cold to drink.”
“Can’t someone get you something? Where’s Peter?” She looked vaguely around before turning back to me. “I guess he’s wandered off. Same old Peter,” she added, giving me a knowing smile.
Same old Peter? I had assumed that Chloe had only met Peter this morning when he was outside with Graham, hardly enough time to start referencing him as “same old Peter.” Something about her smile coupled with the way she pronounced Peter’s name—slowly, intimately—sent a finger of unease sliding down my back.
“You know Peter?”
From the way her smile increased, I gathered she found the question amusing. The amusement was purely one-sided. For the first time, I noticed that her teeth were a brilliant white, a shade normally limited to toothpaste ads—or piranhas. The feeling of unease was gone. It had been replaced by a swelling panic. Please God, I begged, please don’t let this paragon of cool perfection be an ex-girlfriend of Peter’s. Please, let her be a cousin or, at the very least, an old friend. I amended the last part to an old friend who was a dedicated lesbian.
“You mean he didn’t tell you?” She let out a small giggle, the source of which was not readily apparent to me. I could forgive much, but not that giggle. “He can be so ridiculous sometimes with his old-fashioned ideas of discretion.” She fell silent for a moment as if lost in fond memories. “But, yes,” she said finally, “I do know Peter. We go way back. We were about to take our own stroll down the aisle ourselves, oh, I guess it was about five years ago. But I was so young. I wasn’t sure if I was ready for marriage and a family. We agreed that it made sense for each of us, me, especially, to experience life a bit—you know, date around.” She considered me with a complacent smirk, which I interpreted as satisfaction that Peter’s latest dating “experience” was a sticky, limp thing in a yellow dress. “Anyway,” she continued, “it’s been so great to catch up with him. I gather you two are old friends?”
Old friends? Catch up with him? When the hell had Peter been catching up with Chloe? And why the hell did she think Peter and I were just friends?
“Um... yes, I guess you could call us that,” I began. “But then actually—”
“Have you met his mother, Jane, yet?”
I longed to say that I had. I longed even more to say that not only had I met her and Peter’s father, but that they’d already told me all about Chloe. Then I’d duck my head as if embarrassed, and mumble how “they were very unkind—but I won’t say any of that to you. ”
But the sad fact remained that I had not met Peter’s parents. While Peter and I had known each other as kids, it was because we had both been staying with Aunt Winnie. Our own parents had been elsewhere. Since we had begun dating, I had spoken to Jane on the phone a few times, but both she and Peter’s father, Patrick, had been so busy with their business that a proper meeting had yet to happen. However, I was damned if I was going to mention this to Chloe. I struggled to answer in such a way as to not give this fact away. Apparently, I needn’t have bothered; my face did it for me.
“Oh, so you haven’t met her then!” cried Chloe in a voice that sounded suspiciously like crowing to my ears. “She is quite a character. And while I absolutely adore Jane, she is very particular when it comes to Peter. God, I watched her give so much hell to Peter’s girlfriends over the years.”
“But not to you, I expect,” I said, hoping my smile hid my sarcasm.
Chloe glanced down as if overcome with modesty. “Well, no, we’ve always gotten along just fine.”
Honestly. If it weren’t for the proximity of the wedding photographer, I really think I might have mashed my bouquet into her smug, perfect face. Inner poise, I sternly reminded myself, inner poise.
Ashley skipped up to us just then, singing loudly and pretending to casually swing her flower-girl basket in an overly cutesy manner. In reality, she was taking turns whacking us in the rear with it.
“What a cutie!” Chloe exclaimed after receiving her whack. Catching Bridget’s eye, she added, “Your cousin is adorable, Bridget!”
Bridget was silent. It was impossible for her to say what she did not feel, however trivial the matter. The photographer called to her and she turned in his direction.
As soon as Bridget turned away, Ashley whacked Chloe again with the basket. Chloe’s smile dimmed, but she responded only by saying, “She’s certainly full of spirit today!”
“Ashely!” I said firmly. “Stop hitting people with your basket. It’s rude.”
“I’m not hitting people on purpose,” she replied with complete and utter insincerity.
“Ashley,” I began sternly. Hearing her daughter’s name uttered in a tone that indicated imminent reprimand, Karen suddenly materialized.
“What’s going on, pumpkin?” she asked brightly. Ashley used her mother’s presence to full advantage.
Letting her basket drop forlornly by her side to the ground, she pushed out her lower lip. “Mother,” she whined, “I was just swinging my basket—honest! But now everyone’s mad at me.” She glanced accusingly up at me from underneath her lashes. For once, Karen did not automatically jump to her daughter’s aid. She studied Ashley’s face for traces of deception. Sensing that her mother was not going to rise up in her usual lioness defense, Ashley upped the ante. Flopping her slight body onto the ground, she buried her face in her hands and began to cry. “It’s because I’m little,” she moaned. “Everyone thinks I’m a pain! Nobody likes me!”
Karen’s earlier hesitation vanished in a flash. “Oh, my poor baby,” she crooned, bending down to sooth Ashley’s huddled form.
Chloe followed suit. “Don’t cry, honey,” she purred, as she crouched over the girl. “No one is mad at you! Why, how could they be? You are probably the sweetest little flower girl I’ve ever seen—and I go to tons of weddings! I don’t think I’ve ever seen one as pretty as you!”
Ashley shifted her arms slightly and peeked out doubtfully at Chloe. “You really think I’m the prettiest?”
I rolled my eyes, but Chloe carried on. “Of course! No question! Now don’t you worry about anyone being mad at you!”
“But Elizabeth was,” she said, glancing in my direction.
Before I could open my mouth to defend myself, Chloe jumped in, “No, she’s not, honey. It’s just this awful heat.” She lowered her voice to a conspiring whisper. “It makes some people grumpy.”
While I tried to digest that without obvious rancor, Ashley smiled coyly at Chloe. “You don’t seem grumpy. You seem real nice.”
Chloe winked at her. “Well, thank you, Ashley. I think you’re really nice, too. Now why don’t we see if we can’t get you something to drink?”
“I’ll get you something, pumpkin,” Karen said, pulling Ashley to an upright position again. “Thanks very much,” Karen added with a grateful smile to Chloe before moving away. I received only a cool nod.
Chloe stood up in one graceful move and smoothed away nonexistent wrinkles from her dress. Catching sight of my annoyed expression, she smiled sheepishly. “I guess I’m just a sucker for kids,” she said.
“So I gather.”
Chloe glanced carefully around before continuing. Was she making sure her next words were not overheard—or just the opposite? “I can see how you might think she’s a bit spoiled, and I grant you that you may have a point. But who could resist that face? She’s so cute! I know I’d always be indulging my kids—should I ever be lucky enough to have any, of course. Besides,” she added with a glance in Ashley’s direction, “I’ve always had a soft spot for the kids who have a bit of the devil in them. I much prefer them to the polite, well-mannered ones.”
“Really?” I couldn’t resist, so added, “I confess, every time I see Ashley, I never think of polite, well-mannered children with any abhorrence.”
Before Chloe could respond, Mr. Keys, the photographer, anxiously clapped his hands to get our attention. “I need the bride’s family now!” he called.
I focused on him rather than on Chloe’s obvious ploy to demonstrate to everyone within earshot that she was quite ready to be a mother to Peter’s children. Everything about Mr. Keys was round. He had round, wire-rimmed glasses, a round, soft-looking body, a round, pink mouth, and a round balding head. In his right hand, he clutched one of those large white linen handkerchiefs that were popular in the early 1900s. Peering thoughtfully at our group, he alternately coughed into the handkerchief and mopped his head with it. Peer, cough, mop. Peer, cough, mop. We stood patiently while he did this. Mr. Keys might be eccentric, but he was also talented. Finally, a gleam of inspiration replaced the peering. The coughing and mopping stopped and he methodically arranged us according to some unknown master plan. In the midst of the shuffling, Avery called out, “Wait! Where’s Megan?” We looked around, and realizing that she wasn’t nearby, began to call her name. Within seconds she appeared from the terrace, flushed and apologetic.
“Sorry, I was just listening to the band,” she said. “They’re really good.”
As Mr. Keys crankily reshuffled the rest of us to create a spot for Megan, Roni eyed her daughter critically. “Megan,” said Roni, “is that the dress you wore to the church?”
Megan glanced warily down at her outfit before answering. The full-skirted silk dress of midnight blue was sophisticated and flattering. She looked lovely. Still, Megan tensed. “Yes,” she finally said suspiciously. “Why?”
With a perplexed expression, Roni shook her head. “Where did you get it?”
Megan threw her head back and stared defiantly at Roni. “I bought it.”
Roni’s winged eyebrows lifted a fraction of an inch. “Really?” Her eyes flickered disparagingly at the dress. As she turned to face Mr. Keys, I heard her add under her breath, “From whom? Omar the tentmaker?” I wasn’t the only one who heard the vicious remark. Megan bit her lip and looked away. Behind me I heard a sharp intake of breath, while another low voice muttered, “That bitch.” The camera flashed just then, forever capturing the moment: Roni smiling obliviously, Megan’s head ducked in embarrassment, Harry’s mouth a hard, thin line of anger, Elsie’s eyes narrowed and focused on Roni, and Avery with his eyes closed. Around them, everyone else wore bright, painfully artificial smiles. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. This one was worth twice that.
By eight o’clock the reception was in full swing. The band, abandoning its earlier serene melodies, was now blasting out “Mack the Knife.” Guests packed the dance floor and gyrated in inverse proportion to their skill level. The air was filled with the smell of muted sweat underneath expensive perfume. Peter and I briefly joined the fray, but the onslaught of flailing arms and sharp elbows proved too much for us. After a particularly painful jab to my upper arm, I gave up. Deftly avoiding a twirling woman in a fuchsia dress, Peter led me off the dance floor and toward one of the refreshment tents. After getting me a glass of wine and a beer for himself, Peter shifted uneasily on his feet. “Elizabeth?” he said. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
My stomach flipped sickeningly and my body temperature instantly rose ten degrees. This is it, I thought. He’s going to tell me about Chloe. I had refused to bring up the matter myself with the knowledge that to do so would only make me appear petty and jealous. I had been down this road too many times before and had finally learned my lesson. I would stay calm and cool. I would be—to coin a phrase—mistress of myself.
Taking a deep breath, I put my wineglass down before my shaking hands spilled it down my dress and looked at him. However, his next words were interrupted by the arrival of Harry. As he saw us, Harry’s face split into a lopsided grin.
“How come you two aren’t dancing?” he asked.
“I forgot to bring my body armor,” I said, rubbing my still-tender arm.
“Well, it’s a take-no-prisoners kind of crowd. We Southerners take our dancing very seriously,” he replied.
“I notice you’re not out there,” I said pointedly.
Harry took a sip of his beer before answering. “We Southerners also take our drinking very seriously.”
“No point in spreading yourself too thin,” said Peter with mock seriousness.
“Exactly.” Harry nodded, clinking his beer bottle against Peter’s.
I rolled my eyes. A woman in a powder-blue linen suit moved past Harry and then stopped and looked up at him. “Hello, Harry,” she said quietly.
At the sound of her voice, Harry whirled around and stared down at her. She was a plump woman in her late fifties with chestnut brown hair, light green eyes, and an open, kind face. When he saw her, Harry’s demeanor changed. The sardonic façade vanished, his mouth lost its ironic twist, and the mocking glint faded from his eyes. Without a word he wrapped his long arms around the woman and enveloped her in a giant bear hug.
“Julia!” he said, once he had released her. “How are you?”
“I’m fine, kiddo. I saw you in town today, but I guess you didn’t see me.”
“Really?” said Harry flushing, “I don’t think I—”
“Don’t worry about it. You were in a rush, no doubt getting ready for the wedding. How are you? Have you lost weight? You look tired,” she said, giving him a motherly pat on the cheek.
“Really? Shoot. I thought I looked debonair. Oh, well. Story of my life.” Turning back to Peter and me, he said, “Elizabeth? You remember Julia, don’t you?”
I smiled and extended my hand. “Hi, Julia. I’m Elizabeth Parker, Bridget’s friend... ”
Julia smiled and took my hand. “Of course, I remember you, Elizabeth. It’s lovely to see you again. I was so sorry to hear about your father’s passing. How is your mother doing?”
“She’s fine, thanks. She’s actually dating someone now,” I said.
“Really?” Julia said. Julia worked as a family therapist. Something in my voice must have aroused her professional instinct. With a slight tilt of her head, she asked, “How do you feel about that?”
My mother is an English professor with a passion for Victorian literature. Her boyfriend, George, is a man heavy on the brawn and light on the brains, who labors under the illusion that George Eliot was really a man. He’s a nice enough guy, but as Dorothy Parker once said about someone, “His ignorance was an Empire State Building of ignorance. You had to admire it for its size.”
I waved my hands, at a loss for words. “Whatever makes her happy, I guess,” I said finally.
“Loss is hard. It’s a good sign that she’s moving on,” Julia replied.
There was a hint of sadness in Julia’s voice as she said this, and I was sharply reminded that Julia had had her own share of loss. Her daughter, Becky, had died tragically some years back.
Becky was Julia’s only child. As kids, Harry, Bridget, and I played with her, although she and Harry were the closest. Becky’s father, Tom, was an alcoholic who took his anger at his own failings out on his wife and child. I’m not sure when Becky started using drugs and alcohol to numb the demons that plagued her, but by her eighteenth birthday, she had a serious problem. After being told that she was a worthless waste of space almost daily by her father, it was hard for Becky not to believe that on some level it was true. Julia did everything she could to help her daughter, but nothing worked. After attending a party one night, Becky showed up at Harry’s bedroom window, high and drunk. Harry wanted to take her home, but she begged Harry to let her sleep in his room, saying that if her parents saw her in her current condition, her father would kill her. Harry relented and snuck her into his room. But Becky was drunker than Harry realized, and sometime during the night, she slipped into a coma. She never came out of it and died two days later. Julia was devastated.
Julia’s eyes now slid to Peter, and I quickly introduced them. From there we all fell into easy conversation. Harry was regaling Julia with exaggerated stories of his past exploits when raised voices to our left caught our attention. Not ten feet from us stood Roni and Megan. Megan’s back was to us; Roni’s was not. Her artfully made-up face contorted in anger, she leaned in close to Megan, her face mere centimeters away, and gripped Megan’s arm with such force that her nails made angry red marks. Roni’s next words floated clearly to our ears. “I’m not going to tell you again,” she hissed. “You’re making a fool of yourself out there. Stop gawking at the boys in the band. They are not interested in you, nor are they likely to ever be. Men are not interested in obvious girls. Especially obvious overweight girls.”
Megan yanked her arm free of her mother’s grip. “I hate you!” she spat out before whirling around and pushing blindly past us.
Roni took a half step in Megan’s direction, then seemed to rethink the move. Instead, she pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and walked off in the opposite direction.
Julia’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, my God,” she whispered. “She’s just—”
“A real bitch,” finished Harry succinctly. Julia raised confused eyes to his but said no more. “I’ll go after her,” Harry said.
“No,” I said suddenly. “Let me go. She’ll be even more embarrassed talking to you about it.”
“Are you sure?” Harry asked.
“Yes. Peter, I’ll be back in a little bit.”
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll wait for you here.”
The band launched into the first few chords of “I Could Write a Book.” As I turned back to wave good-bye to Peter, I saw Harry offer his arm to Julia. “How about a dance, Julia?”
Taking his arm, she walked silently away with him. When they were well out of earshot, they turned toward each other and began to talk, earnestly and passionately.
It didn’t take me long to find Megan. She was in the summerhouse, the little cottagelike structure that sat on the edge of Elsie’s property. Marianne Dashwood would have found it sadly defective. The building was regular, the window shutters were not painted green, nor were the walls covered with honeysuckles. It was used mainly to store boating supplies, but there were a few chairs and a cot, as well. Bridget and I had used it as a place to sneak cigarettes when we were younger.
Megan was sitting with her back to me, her shoulders hunched. On the floor next to her, I saw a beer bottle. I considered saying something about it but dismissed the idea. When I was seventeen, I’d snuck a few beers myself now and again. Megan’s rebellious behavior was the least of her worries. “Megan?” I said softly. “Are you okay?”
She nodded her head but didn’t turn around. “I’ll be fine,” she answered in a choked voice.
I pulled up one of the folding chairs and sat down next to her. She kept her head averted.
“Megan, I don’t want to sound like a cliché, but, trust me, it does get better.”
“The only way it will get better will be if she drops dead,” she said bitterly.
“I know how you feel. I really do. Being a teenager is hard enough, and when you don’t look like a Barbie doll, it’s all the worse. When I was your age, I had to wear these horribly thick glasses, I had a retainer, and looked like I was in training to become a sumo wrestler.”
She looked at me, her eyes red and puffy. “You’re just saying that. I can’t believe you were ever fat.”
“My nickname was Cocoa Puff because I ate that stupid cereal day and night.”
“Really? You’re not kidding?”
“Nope.”
She looked down again. “Well, that may be so, but I bet you didn’t have a mom who made you feel worthless. You should have heard her tonight. She actually compared me to that stick woman, Chloe, saying that’s the kind of figure I have to have if I ever want a boyfriend. She wouldn’t shut up about her. I bet your mom never did anything like that to you.”
My dislike of Chloe only increased at the news that Roni liked her. Viewed in a certain light, however, they did seem a perfect match. Unbidden, Austen’s words came to mind, “There was a kind of coldhearted selfishness on both sides, which mutually attracted them; and they sympathized with each other in an insipid propriety of demeanor, and a general want of understanding.” Maybe I had been immersing myself in Sense and Sensibility a tad too much lately. “No, you’re right,” I admitted, after a moment. “My mom never made me feel worthless.” I gave a little laugh. “The creeps I dated in high school did that.”
Megan sighed. “She won’t even let me date, so I wouldn’t know about that.” Shaking her head, she continued. “You know, if it weren’t for Harry, I don’t know what I’d do. He’s been so nice to me. Did you know he takes me out almost every weekend?” she asked me with a small smile. “We go to the movies or to lunch—basically any place that’s out of the house. I mean, Avery is great, too, and it really meant a lot to me when he officially adopted me last year, but he’s so infatuated with her that he can’t see what she’s really like.”
“I’m sorry, Megan. I won’t pretend that this isn’t hellish for you right now. All I’m trying to say is that there is life after your teen years. And there will be life after your mother. You’re a smart, nice girl. You’ll go off to college next year and start a new life and you’ll see. It gets better.”
She sighed and stared at her lap. “I guess it has to, right? But still, there are times when I really wish she would just disappear.”
“I know.” I put my arms around her and hugged her. From what I could see, Megan wasn’t the only one who held that sentiment.
I left Megan shortly after. She wanted to stay at the summerhouse a while longer. It was hard to see Megan so miserable. I just hoped that she’d heard me when I said that it gets better. But when you’re a teenager, it’s hard to see beyond next week.
As I walked back, I saw Elsie standing at one of the tables. With a furtive glance around, she pulled something small out of the pocket of her peacock blue silk gown. Looking around one last time, she reached down and opened a bright pink clutch purse on the table and dropped whatever it was she was holding inside. Closing the purse again, she turned my way. When she saw me, surprise registered on her face, and she made her way over.
“Hello, Elizabeth,” she said. “Enjoying the party?”
“I am,” I said. I didn’t tell her about Megan’s fight with Roni. It would only upset her, and there was nothing anyone could do about it now. “Everything turned out perfect. This is such a beautiful place for a wedding.”
“I’d love to host yours when the time comes,” she said. With a broad wink, she added, “If I were you, I’d start making plans.”
Embarrassed, I ducked my head. “Well, I don’t think I’m going to need to do that soon.”
“Oh, posh! But, I will grant you this—the boy won’t have a chance to ask you unless you’re with him. Now, why don’t you go and ask him to dance?”
“Oh, I... ”
“No excuses, now. Go grab your man and dance! The band’s playing a slow one. Those are the best songs for proposals. Now scat! Peter’s under the drink tent over there,” she said, using her cane to point me in the right direction.
“Elsie, really... ”
“Oh! There’s Annabel Martin,” she said, indicating a petite woman wearing horn-rimmed glasses and a bright yellow gown. “Excuse me, Elizabeth, I haven’t said hello to her yet.” She quickly made her way across the lawn.
I walked over to Peter and told him about my conversation with Megan. Then, taking Elsie’s advice, we braved the dance floor once again, but by the time we did the band had launched into another fast number. After a few futile attempts, we gave up and opted to watch from the safety of a nearby table. Once I was seated, Peter went off to get us some water. Although it was long past sunset, the heat of the day was still strong. After a few minutes, Avery and Roni approached.
“Elizabeth,” said Avery, “may we join you?”
“Of course,” I answered. “Peter’s just gone to get us something to drink.” While they settled in at the table, I eyed Roni thoughtfully. Throughout the day, I had seen her receive several more calls on her cell phone. However, each time she had immediately hung up, claiming it was a “crank” or “wrong number.” I didn’t believe her for a minute, suspecting that she merely didn’t want to take the call while someone was in earshot. I now searched for something to say. Unfortunately, the only things that sprang to mind were “How’s the affair?” and “So, have you verbally abused Megan enough for one day?” Finally, I settled on, “I can’t believe it’s still so hot.” Mundane, yes, but not toxic.
“I know,” said Avery, “but a storm is coming. This heat will break soon.” After delivering this bland observation, Avery’s face went under a startling transformation. His eyes widened, his mouth parted in surprise, and two bright spots of color formed on his pallid cheeks. I assumed that this reaction was due not to a sudden fear of storms on Avery’s part but to whatever it was that he was gaping at over my shoulder. I glanced behind me. It was Julia.
She stared at Avery, a small sad smile hovering on her lips. “Hello, Avery,” she said.
Some of Avery’s stupor faded and in a voice heavy with emotion, he said, “Julia! How are you? You look wonderful!”
The low timbre of Avery’s voice caught Roni’s attention. Narrowing her eyes, she studied Julia, while Avery continued to gush his excitement. I smothered a smile as her brows wrinkled in perplexity. To a woman like Roni, Julia’s attraction would be an eternal mystery. Roni could no more understand the importance of warmth, humor, and intelligence than a rattlesnake could understand the importance of comfortable shoes. However, while she may not have understood the attraction, she clearly sensed it.
Roni eyed both Avery and Julia as she carefully arranged her necklace. Concocted of delicately spun platinum and glittering diamonds, it was Avery’s latest and most extravagant gift to Roni yet. Reflecting the vibrant pink of her dress, the diamonds blazed in a rosy fire. Once satisfied that it was properly displayed on her chest, she turned her eyes on Avery.
“Avery, honey,” she purred, “aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”
A startled expression crossed Avery’s face at the sound of Roni’s voice. I wondered if he’d forgotten that she was there.
“Oh, of course, excuse me,” he said quickly. “Roni, this is Julia Fitzpatrick. Julia, this is... my wife, Roni.”
Roni curled her body into Avery’s. “It’s nice to meet you, Julia,” she said, her long fingers still toying with the necklace.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Julia replied, a tight smile on her lips. Roni took this as a compliment and smiled, but I suspected that Julia’s words held a far different meaning. “That’s a lovely necklace,” Julia added.
Roni’s full lips pulled up into a smug smile. “Isn’t it? It’s a gift from Avery. He’s so thoughtful.”
Julia’s glance flickered to Avery, and I noticed a faint blush creep up his neck. “You’re a very lucky woman” was her only reply. “Well, it was wonderful to see you again, Avery,” she said, as she moved away from the table. “Nice to meet you, Roni,” she added. Giving me a discreet wink, Julia disappeared into the crowd and was gone.
“Didn’t you used to date her?” Roni asked.
Avery was staring at the place where Julia had stood. “Mmmm,” he said, nodding his head.
“She’s not very pretty, is she?”
Neither Avery nor I responded. Roni eyed Avery suspiciously, seemingly unsure what his silence meant. Pulling her coordinating clutch toward her, she pulled out a lipstick. After applying the glossy red sheen liberally to her full mouth, she recapped the gold tube and dropped it back into her bag.
Her task complete, she turned my way. “So, Elizabeth, tell me all about you and Peter. How long have you two been dating?”
“Since January,” I replied.
“That’s nice.” She twirled a long strand of her raven hair around her finger. From the way she covertly studied Avery from beneath her long lashes, I suspected that her words were mechanical and her mind was actually miles away from the conversation. “Are you two talking about marriage yet?” She patted Avery’s hand and continued. “I can tell you, once you find the right man, it’s wonderful.”
Avery seemed not to have heard. Staring off in the distance, his face wan and drawn, he didn’t look like the poster child for a promarriage campaign. Roni noted her husband’s silence and her brow furrowed as she twisted in her seat to peer at his face. “Avery? Honey, are you all right?”
At the sound of her voice, he jumped slightly and raised vague eyes to hers. “I’m sorry, dear, did you say something?”
“I was just telling Elizabeth how wonderful marriage can be with the right person.” She smiled expectantly at him.
Avery turned back to me. “Yes,” he said slowly, “that’s true. Whatever you do, make sure you find the right person. It can make all the difference.” From underneath her long lashes, Roni shot him an uneasy look and let out a nervous trill of laughter. “Avery! You sound so dire! Goodness, what’s gotten into you tonight?”
Avery shook his head and gave her a half smile. “I’m sorry, dear. I guess I’m a little more tired than I realized.” At these words, Roni cooed and fussed over him. She was certainly playing the part of the dedicated wife, I thought, but as her phone call earlier had made clear, it was just that—a part. While it would be gratifying to see Roni unmasked, I couldn’t reveal what I’d heard. Telling Avery would be akin to kicking a puppy, and telling either Bridget or Elsie would be akin to dropping a match into a bucket of gasoline. All things considered, silence seemed my best option. Someone else had heard Roni’s conversation on her phone earlier. I wondered if that person planned on spilling the beans. My ruminations were interrupted by the arrival of Millie. In her starched uniform, she was the only woman other than Bridget wearing white. She stuck out like a luminous moth. She bent low and quietly whispered something to Avery. He looked at his watch and nodded his head. “Okay, Millie. I guess you’re right. I am tired. I must have overdone it today.” Patting Roni on the arm, he said, “I’m going to turn in now.”
“Oh,” she replied, her eyes wide. Her voice hesitated slightly as she added, “Do you want me to come, too?”
“No. There’s no need for you to miss out on the fun. I’ll see you later.”
Roni smiled and jumped up from her seat. Carefully running her hands over her shapely hips to smooth out the folds of her snug pink dress, she kissed him lightly on his cheek and said, “I won’t be long. I think I’ll just go and see where Megan is. I’ll pop in and say good night to you when I get in.” I wondered at this. Given her earlier poisonous exchange with Megan, I doubted that she was really interested in finding her. So where was she going? Was she going to make another phone call to her “love”?
Turning to Millie, Roni added, “Millie, I leave him in your capable hands. Make sure you take good care of him for me!” Blowing an airy kiss to Avery, she sashayed toward the dance floor, gliding across the lawn like a pink snake. She passed near Claire. Claire hesitated a moment and then turned to follow her. Reaching out, she grabbed Roni’s shoulder and whirled her around. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but their body language spoke volumes. Claire’s back was to me, but from her stiff posture and jerky movements, it was clear she was angry. Roni, however, was not. She listened to Claire with a mocking smile and laughed at something Claire said. Claire raised her hand and I had a sudden thought that she meant to strike Roni. A couple danced between us, obscuring my line of vision. When they moved out of the way, Claire and Roni were gone.
Next to me, I noticed Avery and Millie staring out at the spot where the two women had been. Avery’s face was pained; Millie’s was etched with disgust. Wondering if it could have been Millie’s footsteps I’d heard earlier today in the hallway, I snuck a quick look at her shoes: white with rubber soles. I doubted they had made the loud footsteps.
Giving me little more than a mechanical good night, Avery signaled to Millie that he was ready to leave. I sat at the empty table for another five minutes before pushing my chair back and going in search of Peter. Heading toward the closest drink tent, I craned my neck over the thick crowd. I soon found him. He was standing away from the tent, partially hidden by the loping branches of a large magnolia tree. Chloe stood next to him. To steal a quote from Groucho Marx, if she were standing any closer, she’d be behind him. Peter said something and Chloe let out a peal of laughter. Gently placing a slender hand on his chest, she leaned in to whisper something in his ear and he laughed in response.
My mind reeled. The summer I was twelve, my parents enrolled me in a soccer camp, ostensibly because studies had shown that girls who participated in sports did better in school. The real reason, however, was I was overweight due to the recent acquisition of an Easy-Bake Oven, which I liberally used to sooth myself about two other recent acquisitions: thick glasses and a mouthful of braces. During one of the camp’s torture sessions, also known as scrimmages, I fell and was kicked in the stomach. Painful as a pair of cleats smashing into your gut can be, it was nothing to how I felt seeing Chloe lean in toward Peter, her hand on his broad chest.
Suddenly aware that I was gawking like a wounded schoolgirl, I quickly turned and headed back for the table before they saw me. I know I should have calmly joined Peter and Chloe, but I simply couldn’t. There was no way I could trust my emotions. I had a long, painful history with cheating boyfriends. The last guy I’d dated had been seeing at least two other women behind my back. I had been made a fool of too many times before to be calm now.
Thankfully, Harry grabbed me just then for a dance, saving me from having to sit at the table alone and brood. But as much as I enjoyed both Harry’s conversation and dancing, it did not escape my notice that we had danced three songs before Peter finally reappeared.
The last guest left just before one A.M. Exhausted and yet radiant, Bridget and Colin disappeared soon after to their room downtown at the Jefferson Hotel. Colin’s parents left a few minutes later. They were staying at the same hotel but wanted to give Colin and Bridget their privacy.
Inside the house, I sank into one of the couches in the living room and pried my shoes off my swollen feet. Claire and David were also in the room. From the looks of it, Claire was trying—without much success—to get David to go to bed. She shot me a distracted smile before turning her attention back to David.
Peter came in and sat down next to me. “Has something happened? You seem upset,” he said in a low voice.
I turned to face him, firmly reminding myself of my resolve to remain composed. “Upset? Me? What a funny question. Why should I be upset? Is there any reason I should be upset?” I abruptly snapped my mouth closed. I can be really smooth sometimes.
He opened his mouth, looked at me closely, and then shut it. Glancing over at Claire and David, he said, “I don’t know. You just seem upset.”
I didn’t want to talk anymore. I wanted to crawl into bed and try to block out what I’d seen. “I’m just tired, I guess,” I said, making an excuse for disappearing upstairs. “It’s been a long day. I don’t think I’ll have any trouble sleeping tonight,” I added with a forced yawn.
“Really?” said Peter. “I’m having the opposite problem. I’m completely wired. I must have had too much coffee.”
Harry stumbled into the room. From the bottle of beer clutched in his hand, it was clear why his balance was off. From the mud stains on his pants, it was also clear that this wasn’t his first stumble of the night. “Whoopsie,” he said with a sheepish grin. Spying us on the couch, he flopped down next to Peter. “That was a fun party,” he said. At least, that’s what I think he said. It might have been, “Hats are sun hardy.” Harry’s balance wasn’t the only thing that was off.
“Have a nice time?” Peter asked mildly.
“Yep,” Harry said, draining the rest of his beer. He stared sadly at the empty bottle. “Time for a beer run. Pete, you wan’ one?”
Peter shook his head and reached out his hand to stop Harry from getting up. “You’d better switch to water, Harry.”
“Don’ be silly. I’m fine.” Harry pulled himself unsteadily to his feet. For a second it looked as if he was going to come back down in a hurry. Once he stopped swaying, he grinned proudly at us. “See? Fine.”
The doors from the terrace opened again and in walked Roni. So much for getting back to Avery early, I thought. Looking at us, she said, “Have any of you seen Megan? I can’t find her anywhere.”
Peter and I shook our heads, as did Claire and David. Megan had spent most of the night watching the band, but once they stopped playing, I hadn’t seen her. Harry glared at Roni and took an unsteady step toward her. “If anything happens to her, it’s your fault,” he said with slow deliberation.
Roni narrowed her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Harry leaned in close to her and jabbed her shoulder with his forefinger. “It means you’re a terrible mother, Roni. It means you ran your daughter off.”
Roni took a step back, her expression disdainful. She sniffed. “You’re drunk.”
Harry nodded his head vigorously, sending his blond hair falling into his eyes. “That I am,” he agreed. “But in the morning, I’ll be sober. You’ll still be a bitch.”
Without a word, Roni’s tanned arm swung up and she slapped him across the face. Claire let out a gasp. David sat still and stared bug-eyed. Peter and I jumped to our feet. Harry pulled his hand back to retaliate, but Peter grabbed it and pushed it back down. “Whoa!” Peter said. “Let’s everyone calm down.” But Harry wasn’t listening. “You’re a bitch,” he repeated. “You ruin everything you touch: Megan, my dad, everything. Someday you’ll get yours. And I hope I’m the one who gives it to you.” He pulled against Peter’s arm, but Peter held firm.
Roni’s face was white under her tan, but she held her ground. “You think I ruin things? Well, in your case you just might be right. After this, I’m going to make sure that your father cuts you off completely. You are done, Harry. Do you hear me?” Her voice rose an octave. “Done! You can bet on that.” She whirled around and marched back out to the terrace, slamming the door behind her. In the darkness outside, I saw a flash of red as the ember of a cigarette was lit.
Peter released his hold, and Harry fell back onto the couch. Peter and I stared down at him. “Are you okay, Harry?” I asked.
He nodded, rubbing the red mark on his cheek. “Yep. Except... ”
“Except, what?”
“Except, I think I’m going to be sick.”
Peter and I quickly yanked Harry to his feet. Propelling him up the stairs to the bathroom with lightning speed, we deposited him in front of the toilet and quickly backed out into the hall. “Thanks, guys,” he said thickly, before kicking the door shut. Through the door, I heard him begin to retch. After a minute, he called out, “Guys?”
“Still here, Harry,” I said. “Can I get you anything?”
“Better judgment would be nice. Think I’m going to take a quick shower.”
Peter, who was sharing a room with Harry, called out, “Good idea. We’ll wait for you.”
Hearing the shower turn on, Peter and I sat down on the top steps of the staircase. He wrapped his arm around me. Closing my eyes, I breathed in his familiar scent and leaned my head against his shoulder. For a moment, my anxiety about Chloe vanished and all was right with my world. Somewhere down the hall, I heard one of the bedroom doors open and shut.
“Poor guy,” said Peter with a shake of his head. “I wonder if he’ll remember any of this in the morning.”
“Well, if he doesn’t, Roni certainly will.”
Peter grimaced. “I gotta tell you. I debated not pulling his hand back. That woman is vile. What do you think she’ll do to Harry?”
“I don’t know. But Avery is putty in her hands. I can only imagine what she’ll say or suggest as punishment. But one thing is for sure, Harry’s in a world of trouble.”
We both fell silent and sat listening to the steady stream of water from the shower. After ten minutes or so, Harry emerged wearing a towel, appearing chagrined but more coherent. Peter and I pulled apart and stood up. “Sorry about that, guys,” said Harry. “I feel like a real ass.”
“Don’t be silly, Harry,” I said. “You lost your temper, that’s all.”
Harry looked down at his feet. “That’s not all I’ve lost, I think.” Shaking his head, he slowly walked down the hall to his room.
“He’ll be okay, right?” I asked Peter.
“Yeah. I’ll keep an eye on him. But I think the worst is over. Except for his headache tomorrow morning.”
We said a quick good night. I know the kiss I gave Peter was tempered by my insecurity at seeing him with Chloe. Was it my imagination, or was Peter’s kiss tempered as well?
I headed for my room. Opening the door, I fumbled with the wall light switch before remembering that it didn’t work. As Bridget was at a hotel tonight, Megan had been moved into my room. Switching on the nightstand lamp, I was relieved to see that Megan wasn’t there. I wasn’t up to making small talk. I wanted to get my thoughts in order. Quickly changing into my pajamas, I wearily crawled into bed. Peter was not the kind of man to cheat or lie, I told myself. Granted, as a child he’d been a creep, but he’d outgrown that. I mentally listed all the reasons why I could trust Peter and sternly reminded myself that he was not like my other boyfriends. Besides, after tomorrow, Chloe would be gone, along with all the tables and chairs and other paraphernalia of the wedding. Peter and I were headed for Cape Cod to visit my Aunt Winnie and spend some much needed time together before Peter left for London. He was leaving next week and would be gone for almost three months helping his parents open another hotel. It would be a long separation, but everything would be okay. I tried to ignore the nasty little voice that mocked this assumption. After twenty minutes of these mental gymnastics, I reached over and turned out the light. Megan still wasn’t back. I glanced at the clock. It was two thirty. Unconcerned, I shrugged mentally and rolled over. I had been seventeen once, too.