by Claire Cook
“What?”
“Yeah, well, you know, there’s a group of us. We buy up waterfront property and develop it. High-end condos, as green as we can make them and still be cost-efficient….”
“So, get out of it,” I said.
“I can’t. I have a commitment to the other investors. It’s business. I shouldn’t even be talking to you about it.”
I flashed on Sean Ryan’s waterfront house in North Marshbury. I wondered how much he’d paid off the poor old man who used to live there. “Ohmigod,” I said. “You really are a barracuda.”
“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with buying property.”
“Take me back to my hotel,” I said. “I don’t want to be late for my nephew’s wedding.”
Nobody said a word the whole way back. Sean Ryan pulled the Prius over to the curb in front of Hotel Indigo. “It’s really not a bad thing,” he said. “Your father stands to make a ton of money. And we offer fair market value.”
“Yeah, right,” I said. “Before or after you call the health inspector?”
“What?”
“You should be ashamed of yourself. Anyone who would call in a phony failed septic system is pond scum. Lower than pond scum. Do you know how much money it takes to put in a new one? And even if you have the money, how would you like a big grass-covered hump between you and your view?”
Sean Ryan wrinkled his forehead. “What are you talking about?”
I slammed the car door in his face.
28
I TURNED AWAY FROM THE CAR WITHOUT LOOKING back and stomped into the hotel. Cannoli and Indie were in the lobby, so I put them on their leashes and walked them a few blocks down Peachtree Street. I found a little froufrou doggie boutique and bought them each a treat, but I was too angry to enjoy the walk. We headed back to the hotel, and Indie came up to hang out while Cannoli and I got ready.
I took a scalding hot shower and scrubbed myself so hard with the washcloth I was lucky I had any skin left when I finished. I slathered myself with the whole little bottle of Aveda Replenishing Body Moisturizer I found in the bathroom to make up for it. I blow-dried my hair and made up my face. I put on my stupid pretty new dress.
I’d been planning to wear a bold red called Frankly Scarlett on my lips. I couldn’t wait to tell everybody what it was called when they told me how great it looked. Instead, I rolled on a pinkish copper called Kiss My Lips. That wasn’t the only thing Sean Ryan could kiss, as far as I was concerned.
I brought Cannoli into the bathroom, so she’d have some privacy from Indie, and helped her into her cornflower blue taffeta bubble bridesmaid dress. At least there was still a chance for canine love this weekend.
I was a little bit late getting to the lobby, where I probably could have hitched a ride to the wedding with someone in my family, so it looked like I’d have to find my own way to the church. The Hotel Indigo owners raved about Cannoli’s dress, maybe because it was blue, and invited her to spend the night at their house. They promised to have her back at the hotel by checkout time. I thanked them and headed out to grab a cab.
“Good luck,” one of them yelled after me. “I hope they found a priest who speaks Northern.”
I found out what that meant soon enough. Catholic weddings with a full Mass are long enough, but Southern Catholic weddings with a full Mass are practically forever. Tulia turned around in her pew and flashed me a thumbs-up, so apparently things on the ring front had worked themselves out.
Maggie was adorable in her soft yellow dress with a big satin bow. She was clearly having a blast throwing yellow rose petals in front of her as she walked behind the other flower girls.
Andrew looked so handsome standing across from Mario and Todd. I tried to get a clear picture of Julie in my mind, and to think about what it would have meant to her to have lived to see her son get married, but all I could think about was how much Andrew had grown to look like Mario and Todd. His posture was just like Todd’s, and he smiled exactly like Mario. I wondered if Lizzie, Luke, and I had spent enough time together that they sometimes reminded people of me.
Amy was gorgeous in a taffeta A-line dress with a beaded bodice. It had a pickup skirt, which made me think of the peaks on a lemon meringue pie. It was an unusual color, just the barest hint of gold, which I could never have worn, but it worked beautifully with her golden hair, blue eyes, and warm skin. Her bridesmaids had dresses in a deeper copper, and Mario and Todd and the groomsmen all had copper taffeta handkerchiefs in their tuxedo pockets.
I sighed. The ushers had seated me next to Angela and her family, but I suddenly felt conspicuously alone. It didn’t help that Sophia and Craig were in the pew ahead of me. The priest droned on and on, and I ignored him, something I’d been doing pretty much since I’d first set foot in a church. Angela’s and Tulia’s families went to church regularly, but the rest of us avoided it whenever possible. The Catholic Church felt the same way about most of us, so it seemed like we were even. I couldn’t have been married in it even if I’d wanted to, since Craig was divorced. My father was divorced times three, and Mario was gay. We were lucky they hadn’t stopped us at the door today.
My parents were sitting in the front row, just ahead of Tulia and Mike. They’d probably hate each other again by Monday, but I found myself holding my breath as I watched them. Sitting or standing, they leaned lightly against each other, hands clasped together. I wondered again what it would have been like if they had stayed together. I wondered if I’d ever meet someone I’d still be drawn to four decades later.
Mack and Myles were in miniature versions of the groomsmen outfits, each holding a ring on a copper taffeta pillow. Myles was rocking back and forth, watching his ring, then looking up at the people in the pews and grinning.
My stomach began to growl, and I started to wish I’d forced myself to eat at least a snack. Finally it was time for the vows. Andrew spoke up loud and clear, and Mario and Todd and the rest of us beamed at him. Amy did a great job, too, and I loved the way they both smiled a lot and looked like they weren’t taking themselves too seriously.
Andrew nodded at Mack. Mack walked over and held his pillow up. Andrew bent over, pulled the ribbon that held the ring in place, and picked up the ring. He took Amy’s hand. “I give you this ring,” he said, “as a symbol of my love and faithfulness. As I place it on your finger, I commit my heart and soul to you.”
My eyes teared up. One part of me wanted to believe they’d stay together forever. But the other part wanted to jump up on the seat of the pew and warn them. I mean, sure, they were in love now, but what were the chances a wedding ring was going to keep one of them from breaking the other’s heart?
It was Amy’s turn. She nodded at Myles.
Myles turned around and took off like a baby bat out of hell, running just as fast as his stubby little legs would carry him.
Everybody gasped, and the collective intake of breath filled the church.
“Mack, Maggie, I mean Myles,” Tulia yelled.
Myles put his feet together and managed two-footed jumps down each of the three steps of the altar.
A few people let out sharp bursts of laughter. We were all standing on our tiptoes and leaning toward the aisle, so we wouldn’t miss anything.
Myles started churning his legs again and headed down the center aisle.
My father leaned out of his pew and caught him as he toddled by. He held Myles up in the air over his head while we all cheered. My father passed him over to my mother, then tried to take the pillow out of his hand. Myles let out a bloodcurdling scream. My mother whispered something in his ear. He let go.
My father held the copper taffeta pillow at waist height. He took his time, walking up to the altar in an exaggerated step together, step together. He climbed the three stairs the same way.
When he came to Amy, he knelt down on one knee, bowed his shiny bald head, and extended the pillow.
Everybody burst into applause.
The thing about my father is that
he never knows when to quit. He stayed on the altar until the priest pronounced Andrew and Amy husband and wife and told Andrew he could now kiss the bride.
As soon as they finished kissing, my father yelled, “Wait!”
Shoulders back, he glided down the three steps of the altar and headed straight for my mother. He knelt down just outside her pew. He reached for her hand. He bowed his shiny bald head.
“Mary Margaret O’Neill,” he said in a voice that filled the church. “Ti amo. Mi vuoi sposare?” Just to make sure nobody missed anything, he translated. “I love you. Will you marry me?”
My mother kept one firm hand on Myles and used the other one to help my father to his feet. “That’s enough, Larry,” she said. “Let the kids have their day.”
“Did you hear that?” my father roared. “She didn’t say no!”
THE MARGARET MITCHELL HOUSE was a great place for a wedding reception. Guests milled around a charming courtyard with a sunken garden and drifted onto covered porches and into parlor rooms. Waitstaff wearing tuxedo pants and crisp white shirts walked around with appetizers on small round trays.
A waiter stopped in front of us and extended his tray.
“That doesn’t have any okra in it, does it?” I asked.
“No, Ma’am, it doesn’t. Beef, pork sausage, cheese, and spices. It’s called Hanky Panky.”
“Well,” I said, “then I’d better take two, since it might be the only shot I get.”
The waiter laughed politely, then handed me a napkin that read Amy and Andrew. “Sir?” he said.
“No thanks,” Mario said. “How about a drink, Sis? Maybe it’ll loosen your tongue.”
I’d been thinking things through, and I finally figured out what the row of turkeys that had crossed in front of me right after I’d slept with Craig meant. Not Craig is a turkey. All men are turkeys. “Well,” I said, “this calls for a toast. I think I’ll have a Wild Turkey. Maybe even a whole flock.”
Mario ordered a glass of wine, and the waiter tiptoed away. Another waiter came by with a tray, and Mario took a shrimp and dipped it in a little bowl of cocktail sauce.
“No, thanks,” I said. “I’m still working on my Hanky Panky.”
“Out with it,” Mario said. “What happened to your date? He’s not still tied to your bedpost, is he?”
“Nah, he escaped,” I said. “Just as well. He was showing signs of wear and tear anyway.”
“Sorry it didn’t work out,” Mario said.
I shrugged. We both started watching our parents, who were sitting close together on a garden bench. We heard our father retelling the story of how he saved the day, and watched our mother nodding and smiling along.
“Geez,” I said. “I mean, it’s not like she missed any of it. She was right next to him.”
Angela came over to stand with us. “It’s unbelievable,” she said. “When did that start?” I could tell she was holding her breath when she looked at them, too.
“My first sighting was in the hotel,” Mario said. “Todd and I saw them coming out of the same room together, heading for breakfast.”
“Not to be competitive, but I was on to them way before that,” I said. “At Logan, before we even boarded.”
“Show-off,” Mario said.
“What can I say,” I said. “I’m good.”
Angela grabbed a shrimp off the tray as it came by. “Couldn’t they have just stayed together the first time around?”
29
“A DRINK, AMORE MIO?” LUCKY LARRY SHAUGHNESSY, our father, asked our mother, Mary Margaret O’Neill. He had loosened his tie, and you could just see the thick gold chain of his cornicello peeking out from his collar.
“When in Rome,” our mother said. They smiled at each other. “As long as it’s not that awful grappa.”
Our father sauntered away in his single-breasted red-and-white-striped seersucker suit. It was hard to tell which was shinier, his scalp or his white bucks.
Our mother turned around and saw us staring at her. “Uh-oh,” I said. “Here she comes.”
“How lovely to be out in a garden at night,” she said. She was wearing a long flowing dress with silver threads that matched her hair and sparkled when the outdoor lights caught them. “What a spectacular wedding.” She leaned over and kissed Mario. “You must be so proud.”
We all stared at her. “What?” she said.
“Nothing,” we said.
She shrugged. “He picked up the phone a month ago and invited me to be his date for the wedding. It took a lot of cogliones to do that.”
“What’s that mean?” Angela asked.
“Balls,” my mother said.
“But you hate him,” Angela said.
“Our whole childhood was based on that,” I said.
“If you’d stayed together, I might have been more popular,” Angela said.
“I might have turned out straight,” Mario said, and we all burst out laughing.
“Are you going to marry him?” Angela asked.
My mother tilted her head and shrugged. “I’m taking it one date at a time. But bottom line, if I only had six months to live, I’d have the most fun with your father.”
“Maybe you should wait for the diagnosis,” I said.
Mario kissed our mother on the cheek. “Enjoy every minute,” he said. “By the way, what did you say to Myles in the church to make him let go of the pillow?”
She smiled. “I just started counting. It works every time. I don’t think I ever made it past five with any of you.”
“Yay, team!” Angela cheered, and we all reached for one another and had a group hug, just to humor her. It wasn’t her fault she was such a soccer mom.
We dropped our arms and took a step back but stayed in our circle.
When I turned around, Sean Ryan was talking to my father.
My heart started to beat like crazy. I took a deep breath. I reminded myself that all men are turkeys, which only reminded me of something even more pressing: That waiter still hadn’t shown up with my Wild Turkey.
“Excuse me,” I said to my family. “But I think I need a drink.”
That waiter wasn’t easy to find, so I headed for the bar and ordered another one. Straight up.
I was in a shot glass kind of mood, but the bartender put it in a brandy snifter, which took some of the fun out of it, in my opinion. “Here you go, little lady,” he said.
“Gobble gobble,” I said, before I took a healthy slug. I started to cough.
My former husband came out of nowhere to pat me on the back.
“Thanks,” I said. I put my drink on the bar and reached for my clutch. Maybe I’d put on some Frankly Scarlett after all.
“What is that anyway?” Craig asked. “You don’t drink hard liquor.”
“Wild Turkey,” I said. “Why? What’s it to you?”
Craig smiled. He was wearing a suit I’d never seen before. “Be careful. Did you eat anything yet?”
“Not your problem,” I said.
I smelled his Paul Mitchell Extra-Body Sculpting Foam before I saw him. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” Sean Ryan asked.
Craig held out his hand and introduced himself. “You look familiar,” he added.
“Sean,” Sean Ryan said. “I think we’ve seen each other at the salon.”
Sophia walked up to us. Craig introduced her. We all stood there awkwardly for a moment or two. I tried to decide which was worse, standing around with my former and his present, who was somehow still my half sister, or being alone with the guy I’d thought might be my future until he’d decided he didn’t want to take things further, even though for some unknown reason he’d shown up anyway. Life was way too confusing. No wonder I needed a drink. I picked up my glass from the bar and took another long gobble. It went down a lot smoother this time.
When I looked up again, Sophia was giving me a funny look. For a moment I wondered if Craig had admitted to her that we’d slept together, but I knew all too well that wasn’t
his style. My sister shorthand kicked in, and an actual chill came over me as I read Sophia’s expression: There’s nothing you can do to stop me from coming on to this guy either. She tossed her hair and smiled a killer smile. “Your new boyfriend is really cute,” she said.
I handed my glass to Sean Ryan. “Keep an eye on the turkey for me,” I said. “We’ll be right back.”
I grabbed Sophia by the arm.
“Ouch,” she said.
I dragged her into a small bathroom and locked the door. “Listen,” I said. “You’re my sister, and you’re embarrassing me. You’re embarrassing yourself.”
She leaned back against the sink. “Half sister,” she said.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “You’re still my sister. I’ve loved you your whole life, since the minute you were born.”
She began to cry. I put my arms around her and held her while she sobbed, the way I used to when she was little and somebody had been mean to her at school or some boy had broken her heart.
“Why’d you do it?” I asked. “At what point did you actually say to yourself, ‘This is my sister and I’m going to sleep with her husband’?”
“You weren’t paying any attention to him,” she mumbled into my shoulder. “I guess I didn’t think you wanted him anymore.”
I pushed her away. “That’s bullshit,” I said. “You did it because you’ve always wanted everything I have. I love you, but get over it. Stay with Craig, or don’t. I don’t even care anymore. But get your act together, Sophia, or I don’t want you in my life.”
I left her in the bathroom and went back to the bar. “Down the hall, last room on the right,” I said to Craig.
“But—” he said.
“Go,” I said.
“But—” he said again.
“Frankly, Craig,” I said, “I don’t give a damn.”
Sean Ryan raised an eyebrow after he was gone.
“Somebody had to say it eventually,” I said.
“You okay?” Sean Ryan asked.
“Never been better,” I said. He handed me my Wild Turkey. “Do you think you can trade this in for a chardonnay?” I asked.
