A Wedding on the Beach

by Holly Chamberlin

  “That’s them,” Bess announced, suddenly throwing open the front door and racing out to the drive.

  Allison got to her feet and joined the others as Bess led the Fortunato-Williams family into the house.

  Dean, a few years younger than the others, was about five foot six inches tall, burly and muscular. He wore his head shaved. He was famous for his collection of designer eyeglass frames; indeed, the ones he was wearing now were, Allison thought, fantastic. They shared a hug and a kiss. Dean didn’t tell her how wonderful she looked, which would have been an outright lie. Neither did Chuck.

  Allison didn’t wait to be asked if she wanted to hold the baby. Better to be proactive, she thought. Dean carefully placed his son in Allison’s arms. She felt a slight buzzing in her head, and it took every ounce of her strength to keep a hold on the bouncing baby boy. It wouldn’t do to drop her friends’ child, a child chosen as she had been chosen, in a conscious and deliberate act of love and faith. She lightly kissed his smooth forehead and willed herself not to cry. Only after a long moment did Allison relinquish Thomas to Dean.

  While Mike and Marta exclaimed over the baby, Chuck discreetly took Allison aside.

  “Have you talked to him?” he whispered.

  “No,” Allison said simply.

  Chuck frowned. “I’m sorry, Allison. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

  “How can you be sorry?” Allison replied. “You don’t even know what happened.” And then she put a hand to her head. “Forgive me. I’m . . . I’m not myself.”

  “Understandable. Look, we’ll talk whenever you want to, okay?”

  Chuck turned back to the group, and Allison thought: Even if I want to talk I won’t let myself because I promised my husband I wouldn’t. I’m being held prisoner by guilt and shame, those strongest of internal guards.

  “How about it, Bess?” Dean was saying. “Want to hold Thomas?”

  Bess hurriedly, though politely refused Dean’s offer. “Babies kind of scare me,” she said. “In fact, until children can drive and maybe even vote I’m kind of at a loss.”

  Chuck laughed. “I told you, Dean. He thought that even Bess would melt at the sight of our perfect prince of a son!”

  “Oh, I love him, of course,” Bess said. “As long as I don’t have to be responsible for his welfare before he can legally drink.”

  Mike tickled the baby’s plump cheek with his forefinger. “No worries, guys. When you need a break from being parents, Marta will take over.”

  Allison noted that Marta’s expression contracted into something approaching a frown.

  The crunch of wheels on the gravel drive announced that Nathan had returned from the grocery store. Introductions were made and Nathan grabbed two of the men’s many bags. “I’ll show you to your room,” he said. “It’s on the first floor, just down this hall. Bess didn’t want you to have to lug all the baby stuff up to the second floor. Let alone the baby. He looks like a fine, hefty fellow.”

  Allison twitched. A fine, hefty fellow. What her child might have been if he or she had lived.

  “You must be pretty darn special to have convinced our Bess to take the plunge,” Chuck said to Nathan when they had returned to the front hall. “We thought her Knight in Shining Armor had gotten permanently stuck in a Dungeon of Despair or a Mire of Misery.”

  Nathan laughed and looked to Bess. “It did take me until I was over fifty to spot her across a crowded room. Well, across a crowded backyard. I’m sure Bess told you we met at a party she had organized for old friends of mine who just happened to be her favorite clients.”

  Bess laughed. “A coincidence made in heaven!”

  “And you somehow managed to notice her as she dashed around behind the scenes making sure that the flowers weren’t wilting and the icing on the cakes wasn’t melting,” Dean suggested.

  “Pretty much! And she really does dash about!” Nathan put his arm around Bess’s shoulder.

  It was so very obvious to Allison that Nathan was head over heels in love with Bess. She was happy for her friend, of course, she was, but she also felt a tiny sliver of jealousy snake through her.

  Suddenly, Bess broke away from her fiancé. “I forgot to take the fruit salad out of the fridge! Right back.” And she dashed off, proving Nathan’s observation.

  “So,” Dean asked, “is your wedding song going to be ‘Some Enchanted Evening’?”

  “I think Bess has something else picked out.” Nathan shrugged. “Music doesn’t play a big part in our relationship, so whatever song she chooses is fine by me.”

  “Even if it’s ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’?” Chuck asked with a twinkle in his eye.

  “I love that song!” Nathan enthused. “Anything by Queen would be cool.”

  “You know that’s not going to happen,” Chuck said. “If I know Bess, she’s chosen something from The Great American Songbook or maybe even a sickly-sweet pop ballad. God, I hope it’s not that. I might not be able to refrain from keeling over.”

  Mike announced that he would fetch the rest of the baby equipment and luggage still outside and Nathan went with him to help. Chuck suggested he and Dean take the baby for a stroll down to the beach. “His first glimpse of the famous Maine coastline,” he explained. “We’ll be back within half an hour.”

  Allison and Marta joined Bess in the kitchen, where she was slicing a loaf of hearty wheat bread. The aforementioned fruit salad sat on the island counter.

  “They look wonderful,” Bess said, beaming. “Parenthood agrees with them.”

  “So far,” Marta added. “Just that I’ve seen that look of slightly stunned bliss wear off at about the ninth month when total exhaustion has set in.”

  “I wonder if Dean has help during the day,” Allison mused. “I mean, I hope he gets some time to himself, other than when the baby is sleeping, and that’s not really time alone, is it? It’s not like a parent can go for a stroll and leave the baby alone at home.” She and Chris had talked about such things in anticipation of their own family. They had talked so many times.

  “I certainly hope they’ve made some provision for Dean’s mental sanity!” Marta said robustly. “Chuck gets to go to work most every day and yeah, it’s work, but he does something he loves and he’s around human beings who speak in more than a coo and a gurgle.”

  “You didn’t have help, did you, Marta?” Bess asked. “I mean, nobody professional, like a nanny.”

  “No, I didn’t.” Marta laughed a bit wildly. “I guess I never thought much about . . . about me. I wanted to do it all on my own and I did.”

  “Well, with Troy already seven it won’t be too much longer until you’ve got some solid you time on your hands,” Allison said. “Any thought about what you might want to do then?”

  Marta waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, I’ve got years before I need to plan my future. Years. Anyway, I’m more than happy to help out with Thomas,” Marta went on, “but I hope Mike doesn’t overcommit me. I mean, I did come here to relax, at least in part. It’s why I chose to leave the kids at home. Day after day, night after night. Sometimes I—”

  Marta stopped mid-sentence, as if she was only then aware of what she was saying.

  “Don’t you love how men volunteer our services without first checking with us?” Allison said quickly. “My dad used to do that all the time, though my mom never seemed to mind it.”

  “I’m sure Mike didn’t mean any harm when he said you’d help out,” Bess said with a note of distress in her voice. That was Bess, Allison thought. Always afraid of offending; always ready to apologize for someone else’s wrongs.

  “Of course not,” Marta said quickly. “Anyway, babies are a breeze. Now, let’s get lunch going. The guys will be hungry after the ride from the Cape.” She strode to the fridge and gathered plastic bottles of mustard and mayonnaise.

  Allison had never heard Marta admit even for a moment that the duties of parenthood wore on her. There had been times when Allison felt that Marta was invested in
appearing untouched by the usual annoyances of life. Maybe it was an unfair assessment; maybe it was an assessment rooted in jealousy. Though her own life had been good, it had not been as good as Marta’s life; Marta was the proud mother of three happy and healthy children. Certainly Allison would take no satisfaction in knowing that her friend’s life wasn’t as perfect as she made it out to be . . . or as perfect as Allison chose to see it as being.

  “Allison,” Bess said, breaking into her musings. “You’re in charge of salad.”

  Chapter 13

  Bess’s friends had spent the afternoon in a variety of ways: Chuck, Dean, and the baby napping; Marta on the back porch, scrolling through something or other on her iPad (when Bess had inquired what it was that was holding Marta’s attention, Marta had replied, “Nothing much”); Mike and Nathan taking an exploratory excursion to the HoneyMaker Mead Room in town.

  Allison had gone down to the old gnarled tree at the base of the yard and spent what seemed hours circling it, then sitting on the grass with her sketch pad and pencil making drawings. When Allison finally returned to the house Bess had asked her what she thought of the thing. “It’s very beautiful,” Allison said. “One of the most beautiful natural objects I’ve seen in a long time. It makes me think about the lightning-struck chestnut tree in Jane Eyre.” Allison had smiled. “I just hope it’s not a sign of turmoil to come.”

  Mike had been present at this exchange. He had laughed. “Beautiful? It reminds me of a weird little creature in one of Leo’s sci-fi comic books.”

  “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” Allison replied before going upstairs to her room, sketch pad under her arm.

  So far, Bess thought, the reunion was a success. She was sure that every one of them felt Chris’s absence but surprisingly, it didn’t seem to be creating an atmosphere of gloom. Bess was glad.

  For dinner that evening Bess had served clam chowder, crab rolls, salad, and of course, dessert. Again, much of the meal had been ordered in; Bess had no intention of spending hours in the kitchen, even with help from her friends.

  The baby had been put to bed before the adults sat down to eat, though his presence in the house was indicated by the baby monitor on the kitchen counter. “He’s got a set of lungs all right,” Dean had informed them. “It’s not like we won’t hear him if he bellows. But the monitors pick up the smaller signs of distress you could otherwise easily miss.”

  Bess had not lied to her friends earlier when she said that babies scared her. In spite of—because of?—her early life experience taking care of her much younger sisters, she really wasn’t comfortable around little ones. She eyed the monitor with trepidation, half expecting alarms to suddenly begin screeching dire warnings of impending disaster. If such a thing occurred she would dial 911 immediately and ask questions later. Better safe than sorry, especially with someone’s child. Sometimes, a burp was more than just a burp.

  “So, Chuck, how do you like living in La La Land?” Nathan asked when everyone had tucked into the meal.

  “It’s taken some real doing on my part,” Chuck admitted, scraping his bowl of chowder clean. “As a kid from a working-class neighborhood of Boston, life in Los Angeles is seriously alien. I mean, what happened to being able to run down to the corner store for a quart of milk? Now I’ve got to get into my car and get on a highway before I come across a grocery store.”

  “Poor you,” Dean said.

  “You must appreciate the good weather,” Mike pointed out. “No shoveling out from under mountains of snow!”

  “Oh yeah,” Chuck said. “The weather is fabulous. I think the biggest thing I had to get used to was the amount of time and energy people spend on their personal appearance. I grew up thinking a Red Sox sweatshirt was couture. I had to buy an entirely new wardrobe when I moved to the west coast! And what’s with the constantly changing fads in food? Can I please just stick with sausage subs every Tuesday and roast chicken every Saturday like my mother served?”

  “Chuck, you sound like an old man!” Marta cried. “In my day, everything was better and we were smarter and kids these days have no respect.”

  Chuck laughed. “I’m not that bad yet.”

  “Do you still call your sisters The Nina, The Pinta, and The Santa Maria?” Bess asked.

  “When I can get away with it.” Chuck looked to Nathan. “Their names are Maria, Theresa, and Christina, but it’s a brother’s job to be obnoxious.”

  Dean, who had consumed two crab rolls, turned to Bess. “So,” he asked, “any pre-wedding jitters?”

  “I’m actually pretty calm,” she stated. “As long as we don’t get a totally random hurricane, everything will be perfect.”

  “You know,” Marta said, “even if the caterer goes out of business at the last minute and the band all come down with the flu, the day will be perfect.”

  “Of course, it will,” Bess said, waving her hand dismissively. “I’ve got a backup caterer on call and a second band on retainer!”

  This was met with general laughter. “That’s my bride-to-be,” Nathan added. “Nothing escapes her attention, even highly improbable catastrophes.”

  Dean looked to Nathan. “No last-minute reservations for the groom?”

  “None whatsoever,” Nathan said robustly. “I’m marrying the woman I want to be marrying and not a day too soon.”

  Mike raised his glass and the others followed his lead. “I propose a toast. To marriage!”

  Bess shot a look around the table. For a moment, there was dead silence. Mike looked as if he wanted to slide under the table and never emerge. Marta put her hand on his and squeezed.

  “To marriage,” Allison said in a clear, if somewhat thin voice. “Long may it live.”

  “Hear, hear,” Dean added quickly.

  Bess stared down at her half-empty plate. With an unpleasant start, she realized that she resented the fact that the most important event in her life was being strained by the looming idea of divorce. How much worse it would have been if Chris had been there with them! Thank God, he had declined her invitation to the wedding. But as quickly as it had come, the resentment passed and Bess felt ashamed. Poor Allison. She was the one truly suffering.

  “Bess?”

  “Hmm?” she said to Dean.

  Dean raised the bottle he was holding. “I asked if you’d like more wine?”

  Bess managed a smile. “Sure, thanks. The white was recommended by one of my beverage vendors. I hope everyone likes it.”

  Mike chuckled. “I’d know rot gut if I tasted it, but other than that my palate is wasted on good wine. Now beer, that I can tell you about.”

  “There are several good craft brew pubs we could check out while you’re here,” Nathan said enthusiastically. “We could spend an afternoon in Portland and do a pub crawl. And when we’ve had our fill of beer and burgers we could stop for coffee at one of the local shops that roast on-site.”

  “Chuck hasn’t had a beer since one memorable night after acing his boards,” Dean said, failing to restrain a smile.

  Chuck grimaced. “Even thinking about it makes me woozy. I’ll let you guys do the pub crawl without me.”

  Mike met Nathan’s suggestion with enthusiasm and the two men were quickly involved in a discussion about the relative merits of popular trends in craft brewing, a subject about which Bess was surprised to find her fiancé knew anything at all.

  Bess glanced at the rest of the group in turn. Allison’s face wore a look of distraction. And there was something—different—about Marta, though for the life of her Bess couldn’t say what. Chuck seemed his usual phlegmatic self. Dean—

  “Oh!” Bess cried.

  Out of nowhere a big wind slammed the house; shutters banged and windows rattled.

  “Are we in for a storm?” Chuck asked.

  Dean shrugged and Marta pulled out her iPhone, no doubt to check the forecast.

  Bess glanced toward the back porch and thought of the shattered tree at the edge of the yard. What force wo
uld it take to uproot such a thing, when it had already survived death?

  “The sea is a mysterious force,” Allison intoned. “The moon, too, unpredictable in spite of what the scientists say. Maybe together they’ve conspired to cause a storm to shake up our complacency, that random hurricane you mentioned, Bess.”

  Dean laughed, though Bess was sure Allison had not meant her words as a joke.

  Suddenly, the wind died as abruptly as it had come. Bess felt a hand on her arm. It was Nathan’s.

  “Bess,” he was saying. “Should I put on a pot of coffee?”

  “Not for me,” Mike said. “I’ll be up all night.”

  “Nor for me,” Marta added. “But I wouldn’t say no to whatever sweet you might be serving.”

  “I think I could be tempted as well,” Dean added.

  Bess beamed and hurriedly got to her feet. All was well. The storm—if it had been a storm—had passed and there were brownies for dessert. “I’ll be right back,” she assured her friends. “You won’t be disappointed.”

  Chapter 14

  The day had dawned warm but not unpleasantly so. Chuck had taken Thomas with him to the outlets in Kittery. (Bargain hunting was a skill that couldn’t be learned at too young an age.) Dean, Nathan, and Mike had gone into Kennebunkport. There was a baseball game they wanted to watch, and Nathan had ascertained that a local Mexican restaurant doubled as a sports bar.

  Marta, at the beach with Bess and Allison, wasn’t sure if she was happy or not about being alone with the other females of the group. Women were smart. They sensed things. Would either Bess or Allison suddenly discern Marta’s secret? No, Marta told herself, more firmly than she believed. Why would anyone think she was pregnant again? Weren’t three kids enough? A perfect odd number, great for placement in photos, even when the parents were added to the picture, making another perfect odd number.

  “So, are your mom and sisters helping with the wedding preparations?” Allison asked Bess. Allison was wearing a linen sheath in a pretty shade of peach; her straw sun hat and large, Jackie O–style sunglasses hid a good deal of her face.