A Wedding on the Beach

by Holly Chamberlin

  “At least Chuck was there,” Allison pointed out. “If Marta hadn’t been able to get to the hospital in time he could have delivered Leo.”

  “Hey,” Chuck said. “I deal with the heart. I’m no obstetrician.”

  “But aren’t you required by law to help someone in physical distress, even if what’s required isn’t your specialty?” Bess asked. “Isn’t that part of the Hippocratic Oath or something?”

  Chuck laughed. “That’s not exactly how it works. And nowadays the original Hippocratic Oath is taken more as a rite of passage. It’s been replaced by continually updated codes of ethical conduct, and that’s a good thing. People will sue for malpractice on the shakiest grounds. Those of us in the medical profession live in absolute fear not so much of making a mistake but of being thought we did so purposely or due to negligence.” Chuck shuddered. “That said, I’m not in the least bit eager to deliver babies without a full operating theater of sterile instruments and specialists to back me up!”

  “As much as I love and trust you, Chuck,” Marta said, “I’m very glad you weren’t called upon to bring Leo into the world.”

  “Knowing Leo, he probably would have fixed me with one of those critical stares he seems to have mastered in utero and begun to lecture me on exactly what I did wrong.”

  “He does seem to know an awful lot of stuff the average twelve-year-old doesn’t know,” Bess added. “Well, there’s your answer. Leo isn’t average. Which is not to say that Sam and Troy are below average!” Bess added hastily.

  “I have no need to equate one of my children to the other, Bess,” Marta said sharply. “Each is an individual and that’s fine by me.”

  “This is the best reunion we’ve had so far,” Bess blurted, and immediately felt awash in embarrassment. What a ridiculous thing to say! Why did she insist on ignoring painful truths, like the fact that Chris wasn’t with them? Like that fact that Marta had just spoken sharply to her and had taken offense at something Mike had said in all innocence?

  No one commented on the statement. Nathan gave her a small smile. Bess wondered if her friends had suddenly become so used to her spouting inane statements they no longer cared to remark on them.

  “Remember one of the times we went into Boston to that great French bistro we loved?” Chuck said suddenly. “They had the best brunch and the prices were doable for broke college kids.” Chuck looked to Nathan. “That particular day there was an anti-nukes protest rally going on—Pakistan had just staged five nuclear tests in response to India’s staging three—and a reporter from one of the local news stations was stopping people on Boylston Street to get their opinion of the situation. Anyway, Chris managed to get himself noticed—”

  “He basically put himself face-to-face with the reporter!” Mike interrupted with a laugh.

  “Yeah, and . . .” Chuck looked to Allison and then shrugged. “Never mind,” he said. “It’s not a particularly interesting story.”

  “Go on, Chuck,” Allison urged. “It is a good story, even if it does show Chris in less than a flattering light.”

  Chuck shrugged elaborately. “I can’t really remember any more . . .”

  “I can.” Allison turned to Dean and Nathan. “Chris has always liked to hear himself talk. The reporter asked his question and before he knew what hit him Chris unleashed a veritable dissertation on nuclear disarmament. We had to drag Chris away. He was so excited to see himself on TV that night, though he was pretending it was no big deal. At a little before six o’clock we gathered in the common room. Chris was so keyed up he was trembling.” Allison smiled. “And it all amounted to nothing. The clip was less than a heartbeat long. All that was left of Chris’s learned lecture were the words ‘I don’t know.’ He was so disappointed. We all thought it was hysterical. What did he expect, the station’s editors to air his entire speech and the phone to start ringing with offers of a TV presenter’s contract?”

  Allison’s final words were delivered in an unmistakably mocking tone. Bess felt a bit sick. She remembered that long-ago evening. At the time, Allison had been very solicitous of Chris; she had not laughed.

  “You’re right,” Dean said after a moment. “It is a good story, if somewhat . . .”

  “Pitiful,” Allison said firmly. “It illustrates Chris’s need for attention. And,” she added more softly, “his need for a devoted audience, a dedicated fan, someone to worship him.” Allison stood abruptly. “I’m off to bed,” she said.

  The others soon followed, leaving Bess alone on the back porch with Nathan. They sat quietly. Bess’s mind was whirling.

  It had been unpleasant to hear Allison speak negatively about Chris. Shouldn’t loyalty function in retrospect? Did the impending divorce negate the wonderful years of Allison and Chris’s relationship? How would Chris feel if he knew his soon-to-be ex-wife was mocking him to his friends?

  How did Mike feel about the way in which Marta had mocked him that evening?

  “You okay?” Nathan said, taking her hand in his.

  “Yes,” Bess said automatically. “No, I don’t know.”

  “How about a stroll on the beach?” Nathan suggested. “It’s a clear night and we can count the stars.”

  Bess smiled gratefully. She really loved this man. She took his hand and together they went out into the night.

  Chapter 26

  Just saw the most amaze sandals. One pair in my size. Sale ends tomorrow.

  This message was followed by three heart emojis.

  Marta frowned. She wondered why Sam hadn’t contacted her father. Maybe she had and for once Mike had said no to her indirect request for money. Well, Mom was saying no, too.

  As Marta dressed for the day in a pair of chinos and a striped Breton top, she wondered (not for the first time) what sort of role model had she been for her daughter. She had tried to act according to what she believed she was—a feminist. A woman who made her own choices consciously; a woman who kept informed about politics and social issues and who acted on her informed views by voting and by being an active member of her local community; a woman who embraced and owned her power from her home base and who believed that good parenting was key to a successful adult life; a woman who respected the choices of other women. A person who believed that men were equally as valuable as women who were equally as valuable as men. End of story.

  But how had Sam seen her mother? Recently she had been talking about going on to law school “like Dad,” about having a career “like Dad,” about earning lots of money “like Dad.” Did Sam see her mother’s role in the family as less important than her father’s role? Would she view her mother as merely a broodmare when Marta announced her fourth pregnancy at the age of forty-two?

  Forty-two. Marta peered into the small mirror over the dresser. Did men other than Mike still consider her attractive? (Assuming he considered her attractive and not just convenient.) She hadn’t thought about that question in years—if ever. The fact was that Marta wasn’t particularly interested in sex and never had been; while she enjoyed sex with Mike, she was rarely the one to initiate an encounter and could probably give it all up right then and there without a backward glance of longing.

  Marta frowned and turned away from the mirror. Given the fact that she had never identified closely with her sexuality, she found it a bit disturbing that because of her three children she was seen by most people (she assumed) as someone whose sexual function had determined her role in life. She became pregnant. She gave birth to children. She raised children. She would see them off into the world and then she would . . . She would what? What then would be her function? How would the world define her? How would she define herself? How had she been defining herself all these years?

  The unpleasant truth was that Marta needed sympathy. She couldn’t remember ever feeling quite so isolated. And it bothered her. She wasn’t alone, not really, she knew that, but she was alone all the same. Bess didn’t need a bombshell dropped on her just days before her wedding. And she certainly
couldn’t tell Allison and expect sympathy. As for Chuck, he had enough on his plate getting used to life with a new baby. Marta believed her complaint was valid—every person’s pain was real—but she was very aware that not everyone would see it that way. And too often women could be harshest to other women, which was another reason Marta was dreading telling her at-home friends about the pregnancy. She had no doubt that at least a few of them would have something snippy to say about it; though the remarks probably would not be made to her face, she would hear them secondhand and thirdhand.

  “How could she be so careless? I’m sure it was unplanned.”

  “Why on earth does she want to go through another pregnancy at forty-two?”

  “She’ll never get her body back, such as it is.”

  Marta had never let other people’s small-mindedness bother her. Wasn’t one supposed to grow surer of oneself as one aged, to care less about the ill-informed and prejudiced opinions of others, to disregard the merely curious and uncaring scrutiny of one’s neighbors? Clearly, Marta thought, she hadn’t yet reached the point of real independence and self-confidence. More was the pity.

  The room was beginning to feel claustrophobic. Marta headed downstairs. She found Bess and Allison in the kitchen, breakfast things spread out on the counter.

  “Did I tell you guys I’ll be hyphenating my name?” Bess said when Marta had joined them. “Bess Culpepper-Creek. I think it has a ring to it.”

  Marta shrugged. “I never felt very strongly one way or the other about Kennedy. And I got tired of people asking if I was related to the Kennedys. Exchanging it for MacIntosh was an easy decision.”

  Bess turned to Allison. “Do you think that after the divorce you’ll go back to using your maiden name?”

  “The idea never occurred to me,” Allison admitted. “I was Allison Longfellow for the first twenty-one years of my life—even though Longfellow wasn’t the name of my birth parents—and I’ve been Allison Montague for just about as long. I . . . I don’t know who I am now.”

  “Maybe it’s time for a new Allison to emerge,” Bess suggested. “Phase three. The next twenty-one years, after which time you can move on again.”

  Marta rolled her eyes. In spite of being a loving person, Bess could be so dense at times. One look at Allison was all it took for a person—even a stranger—to see that the last thing she was prepared for was the start of a jaunty new phase. Marta refrained from making a withering comment and changed the subject. “The guys are planning a night out,” she told her friends, “ever so thoughtfully leaving us in charge of the baby.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind,” Bess said.

  “Of course, you don’t. Because you’ll leave the actual babysitting to me.”

  Bess laughed. “I can’t deny that,” she said.

  Maybe, Marta thought, she should open a day care center. That was probably all she was seen as good for these days, corralling young children, changing diapers, cleaning up vomit, doling out snacks, soothing teething toddlers.

  “Marta? Bess asked if you wanted some coffee?”

  Marta faked a smile for her friends. “No, thanks,” she said. “I’m fine.”

  Chapter 27

  The town of Kennebunkport was teeming with young honeymooning couples. The women, neatly dressed and perfectly coiffed, spent an extraordinary amount of time staring down at their left hands. The men, just as neatly dressed and perfectly coiffed, stood tall, shoulders back and chests out, guiding their wives along with a firm hand. Good thing, Allison thought. Those young women were bound to trip and fall if they kept gazing at their engagement rings instead of paying attention to where they were going. Still, in Allison’s eyes the couples were sweet, heartbreakingly naïve, and charmingly optimistic.

  And they were getting on her nerves.

  Allison ducked into Abacus; she had been to the Portland branch of the gallery but never to the one in Kennebunkport. It was a wonderful place with a wonderful selection of fine arts and crafts, but haunted by the images of those happy young couples on honeymoon, Allison found that all she could really see as she looked into glass cases filled with the work of contemporary fine jewelry designers was an image of her soon-to-be ex-husband.

  She wondered if Chris ever thought with fondness of their early days together, or if he was still totally enmeshed in anger, unable to cut through the ever-tightening bands of bitterness and blame. And if that were the case, how had he managed to kill all warm, compassionate feeling for the woman who had been his companion for over twenty-one years? Was it an ongoing struggle to keep those warm, compassionate feelings from reviving at the most unexpected times? Did Chris find himself suddenly thinking kindly of his wife, reminded of her by the scent of lilac, Allison’s favorite flower, or a song heard in passing? Did he ever feel pity for her poor feet, plagued with bunions, or did he now think of her physical imperfections with a shudder of contempt? Did he wonder if she was still prey to those awful nightmares, the ones that woke her violently in the dead of night, the ones that compelled Chris to take Allison in his arms to quiet her?

  Allison left the gallery. She would return another time when her mind was clearer. On her way back to the main street, a young couple just ahead of her stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to hug. How blissfully ignorant they are, Allison thought as she slid past them. They thought they were on top of the world. Well, maybe they were, but no one stayed there for long.

  So, how did the death of love and affection come about? Did it really happen in a thunderclap moment? Was the decision made in that thunderclap moment legitimate? Or would the decision eventually show itself to be fatally flawed, a reaction instead of an action? Surely upon reflection any reasonable person would reconsider his sudden declaration of love or hate to see if it felt valid.

  But that was the trouble, Allison thought, scanning the street for a quiet spot to rest. Chris was not a reasonable person. At least, he hadn’t been a reasonable person when he had rejected her. He had been in the grip of a grief strong enough to distort every thought and feeling. Did that excuse the horrible things he had said to her? Allison didn’t know.

  She spotted a low stone bench in the small alley between a souvenir shop and an ice-cream parlor and made for it. At least there she might be somewhat safe from the rough sea of self-absorbed loving couples swarming the streets. But thoughts could be jostled one way or another, too, and now, perhaps inevitably, they turned to her assistant, Greg, a young man Allison considered as she might a brother, with affection and hopes for his future.

  Just twenty-five, Greg had graduated with a degree in art history and was a darned good photographer in his own right. He had been with his girlfriend for over four years and they were planning to marry the following spring. Allison had observed them together on numerous occasions; they were clearly the best of friends, laughed often, and when one spoke, the other paid close attention. These were all clear signs of mutual love and respect.

  Of course, Allison thought gloomily, that was how she and Chris had once been. At least, that was how Allison remembered them to have been in the old days, before the quest for a viable pregnancy had taken over their lives. Allison hoped that Greg’s marriage to Elena would be a happy one, free of the taint of old sorrows that refused to die, full of warm—

  Sudden shouts of laughter startled Allison. Coming down the little alley from the direction of the sidewalk was a bride and groom, a photographer, and a small wedding party. As they swarmed past her on their way to the waterfront that lay beyond the alley,

  Allison sat rigidly. The bride’s wide tulle skirt brushed her knees. One of the groomsmen stepped on her left foot. He did not seem to notice.

  Finally, the group was out of sight if not out of hearing. Allison put her hand to her head. Why had she come into town in the first place? Why hadn’t she stayed in her cozy bedroom or ventured only as far as a secluded section of the beach that lay virtually at the door of Driftwood House?

  Allison got up from the stone b
ench and, walking with a slight limp, made her way toward her car.

  Chapter 28

  Allison had gone for a drive; Marta, Chuck, and Dean were all around somewhere, though Bess had no idea where; and Mike and Nathan were off exploring the Rachel Carson Wildlife Refuge in Wells.

  Bess, alone in the den reviewing Kara’s latest correspondence, realized that she felt a bit lonely. Clearly, having found her soul mate did not serve to negate moments of sadness or anxiety or, well, loneliness. Bess had always known that life with Nathan would go on much as it had been going on without him but still, at times the reality felt like a total surprise.

  A cool breeze drifted through the room. Bess got up from her desk to stand at the open window. For so many years of her life she had been focused on—obsessed with?—the idea of finding that one person with whom she would be totally in sympathy. And she had found that person in Nathan. And he had found that person in her.

  But had he felt the same way about his first wife? Maybe Maggie had been his soul mate for the time they had shared together. If that were true, did Maggie still exist for Nathan as someone of seminal importance? He had told Bess that his first marriage was a good one and that the experience had allowed him to be open to marrying again after Maggie’s death. If that were true, then in some way Bess had Maggie to thank for bringing Nathan into her life.

  Earlier, she had mentioned these musings to Marta. Marta had laughed. “All that matters,” she said, “is how Nathan treats you in the here and now, not what happened with someone else years ago. Anyway, once you’re married you won’t have the time to overthink the big stuff. You’ll be too busy negotiating the day to day.”

  Bess suspected that Marta was right. The closer she got to her wedding day the more she felt she knew so very little about what marriage entailed. She had never even lived with anyone for any length of time and now she wondered if she was starting the whole living together thing too late, sharing a bathroom, waiting dinner until the other got home from work, watching a movie you really didn’t want to watch because everyone told you that spending too much time alone could be bad for a relationship.