A Wedding on the Beach

by Holly Chamberlin

  No, Marta thought. Of course not. Those pre-parenthood people no longer existed. But what about the post-parenthood individual, if you could posit such a being?

  Marta breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Allison approaching. Bess was right. Thinking could drive you crazy.

  “That cat is amazing,” Allison said, sitting to Marta’s right. “I wish I knew if he has a home.”

  “Looking for a familiar?” Marta asked.

  Allison shrugged. “Maybe.” She paused and then went on. “All morning I’ve been thinking about the time I insisted on going to that memorial rally back in college. The one for the local teen killed by his classmates.”

  “I remember,” Marta said. Her stomach knotted. Why, oh why, was Allison bringing up that dreaded weekend now? Did she in fact know that Chris and Marta had betrayed her only weeks later? Was Allison taunting her?

  “Chris was sure things were going to get violent. He begged me not to go.”

  “I remember,” Marta said again.

  “It meant so much to me to show my support for that boy and his family, but Chris acted like my decision to attend the memorial was a personal insult or a betrayal of our relationship. It took so long before things were normal between us again, and they only got that way because I was so tired of feeling like the bad guy I apologized, but for what exactly I don’t know. Following my conscience?” Allison shook her head. “He was always so protective.”

  “He was bullying and possessive,” Marta corrected. And if he had been so worried about Allison’s safety, why hadn’t he gone with her to the memorial?

  “Yes, in some ways, he was. I see that now. But I let him be that way. He’s not entirely to blame.” Allison paused and Marta waited with trepidation for her friend to go on. “I’m ashamed to admit this, Marta, but there might have been a bit of defiance in my decision to finish that project I was working on before taking a few days of bed rest. You must think me an awful person.”

  “Nothing of the kind,” Marta said firmly.

  Allison shook her head. “Well, there’s no way to change the past.”

  “Yes,” Marta said softly, looking at the specks that were Chuck and Dean, at the gently rolling wavelets reaching shore. “There’s no way to change the past.”

  “Well, I think I’ll head back to the house,” Allison announced, getting to her feet.

  “I’m going to stay put,” Marta said. Though being alone with her thoughts wasn’t a particularly pleasant prospect, it was more appealing than spending another moment with the friend she had betrayed.

  Chapter 39

  Allison had looked for the big gray cat on her way back from the beach, but he was nowhere in sight. She hoped he would return. She had never felt such an affinity for an animal before. They had stared at each other for a long moment, during which Allison had felt that they were truly communicating. Suddenly, the cat had sprung off the branch on which he had been perched and raced off into a stand of bushes.

  Now, a few hours later, Allison came down from her room, showered, and changed. Nathan and Mike were in the backyard grilling steaks; Chuck and Dean were supervising. From the backyard came cries of “Turn it, turn it!” and “How can you stand it so rare?” The women were lounging in the living area. Bess had put out cheese, crackers, olives, and wine.

  “How many men does it take to grill seven steaks?” Marta asked.

  Allison smiled as she took a seat in one of the many comfortable chairs. “Is there a punch line?”

  Marta shrugged. “I’m too lazy to come up with one.”

  “Do you know if Chris is seeing someone?” Bess asked.

  Marta sighed in exasperation. “Really, Bess?”

  “It’s okay,” Allison said. “I have no idea. None of the people we know in common have said anything about Chris and other women and honestly, I’m grateful.”

  Marta frowned. “I understand what you’re saying, what good would it do to know if Chris is dating or not, but it must feel horrible knowing that people are keeping things from you, even if their motives are good. I’d be tempted to shout, ‘Just tell me already! I know you’re dying to!’ Of course,” Marta went on, “that sort of behavior wouldn’t leave me with many friends, would it?”

  Allison smiled. “Probably not.”

  “So,” Bess said, after taking a sip of her rosé, “have you thought about dating?”

  “Absolutely not,” Allison declared.

  “It’s too soon anyway,” Marta added. “I’d think you’d want to wait at least until the divorce is final.”

  Allison shook her head. “It’s not that,” she said. “It’s not about time, too soon, too late. It’s that I can’t imagine being with anyone but Chris. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to imagine that.”

  Bess smiled. “Never say never.”

  “Why? Why can’t I know my own mind?” Allison demanded, leaning forward. “Why do people need to push optimism on others? That kind of thinking—‘maybe I will meet someone great one day!’—isn’t relevant for me. Maybe it is for other people, but not for me. Don’t discount what I say because you don’t like it or it’s not the attitude you think you would adopt in my situation.” Allison sat back in her chair and took a deep breath.

  “I’m sorry,” Bess said quietly. “I was just . . . I was just saying what you say when a person sounds defeated and hopeless.”

  “But I don’t see myself as defeated and hopeless,” Allison argued. “And even if I did, that’s my business, if not necessarily my choice. Not everyone is fixable. Not everyone is going to have a happy life. That’s reality.”

  “She’s right, you know,” Marta said, looking pointedly at Bess. “Life is nasty, brutish, and short, at least it often is. You just have to make the best of what you’re given and shoulder on.” After a moment, she added in a mutter: “Nice advice if you can take it.”

  “But you can change or refuse to accept what you’re given,” Bess protested. “You don’t have to just sit back and accept that heartbreak is your lot in life.”

  “Not everything can be changed for the better, Bess,” Allison said with a frown. “Don’t be so naïve. I hate when you go on like that, it’s so stupid!”

  There was yet another moment of stunned silence. Allison sighed and pushed her hair back with both hands. “Look,” she said, “I’m sorry I said that. If you need to be all Pollyanna-ish, fine, that’s your right. Just don’t try to foist that sort of soggy thinking onto everyone around you.”

  “I didn’t mean to—”

  “That’s your problem, Bess,” Marta interrupted. “You don’t think before you speak. Not everyone wants to hear what it is you have to say. You need to learn when to keep quiet.” Marta got up from her chair and excused herself to fetch a sweater.

  “We sort of ganged up on you there,” Allison said when Marta had gone. “I’m sorry. You do forgive me, Bess, don’t you? I really didn’t mean to sound so harsh.”

  Bess smiled a wobbly smile. “Of course, I forgive you,” she said. She got up and headed toward the dining area. “Time to set the table.”

  Allison sat where she was, nursing a glass of wine. Poor Bess. She took so much on herself, with her inordinate sense of responsibility for other people’s happiness. She deserved great happiness of her own. But that was the thing. Not everyone got what she deserved.

  “Let me help,” Allison called out to Bess as she rose from her chair.

  Chapter 40

  The steaks had been perfectly grilled to each person’s specifications. There had been a slight tussle among the men about who was ultimately responsible for the success, with Mike and Chuck vying for supremacy. In the end, laughter had won the day with each of the men agreeing that together they had nailed not only the steaks, but the corn on the cob as well. If it was corn from New Jersey, the Maine season being later in the summer, it was no less delicious for that.

  That afternoon Bess had dashed out to pick up two freshly baked raspberry pies from a local
bakery. They had been immensely popular, though there were a few slices left over. A few small slices.

  Dean had retired early with Thomas. Nathan was working in the den. Mike had gone down to the beach for a solitary nighttime stroll, leaving Chuck and the women lounging on the back porch. The air was clear and the stars bright. For the billionth time, Bess vowed to learn some basic astrology so that she could identify the popular constellations. Not that naming them would make the constellations any more beautiful.

  Allison looked contemplative. Marta seemed miles away and that was unusual for Marta, Bess thought. She was most often hyperalert to the moment and ready to comment on it.

  Bess had thought about what Allison and Marta had said to her before dinner. You don’t think before you speak. Don’t be so naïve. Did she really engage in soggy thinking? Well, maybe she did, but so what if she was optimistic and believed that what she had to say could be helpful to her friends? Quand-même, right? Onward and upward. Plus, there was leftover raspberry pie in the house. How low-spirited could a person remain with that sort of pleasure at hand?

  “Listen to this.” Chuck indicated the gossip magazine he had been reading. “It says here that there are more billionaires under the age of thirty now than ever before. I wonder if that’s right. I’m not sure I trust a rag like this to be telling the truth.”

  “It’s not a rag,” Bess protested. “It’s meant to be fun.”

  Chuck frowned and tossed the magazine onto a side table. “And vicious and poorly written. Still, I suppose the bit about the baby billionaires might be true.”

  “Who needs billions of dollars?” Bess said with a shrug. “I think we’ve all done remarkably well in achieving what we wanted to achieve in our lives and so what if we’re not rolling in the dough.”

  Allison made no comment.

  The subject of money seemed to have brought Marta back from wherever it is she had gone. “Speak for yourself,” she said. “I’ve got college tuition to consider.”

  “Leaving college expenses out if it, I’m with Bess. In fact, there’s been only one big disappointment in my professional life,” Chuck said. “I’ll never be entirely sure why I didn’t get the position I went after at our rival hospital. Maybe I just wasn’t considered good enough for the job.”

  “But that’s the luck of the draw,” Bess argued. “It doesn’t mean you did anything wrong.”

  Chuck nodded. “You’re right. I know I did my best. Not getting the job was a disappointment, that’s all.”

  Bess smiled. “Not one of us is a failure in any way that I can see!”

  “Mike could use some prodding when it comes to ambition. He does okay but . . .” Marta laughed harshly. “I’m one to talk. I don’t have a career, floundering or otherwise.”

  Bess had never heard Marta criticize Mike’s career. As far as she knew, he was very successful by anyone’s standards. And there again was that note of discontent regarding Marta’s own life path....

  “I’d say raising three kids is a career and a half,” Chuck corrected. “Don’t knock yourself, Marta. And you keep Mike in line, which is no small task. Do you remember that hideous sweatshirt he practically lived in? It went from bright green to olive to mud-colored and covered with stains before he gave up on it.”

  “He didn’t give up on it,” Marta remarked dryly. “I made it disappear. You’d think he’d care, the way he was attached to it, but he never said a word when it went missing. I don’t think Mike has ever noticed what it is he’s putting on.”

  “Don’t tell me you lay out his clothes for him?” Chuck queried, a smile playing about his lips.

  “What do you think?” Marta replied.

  Until then Allison had been silent. “What about Chris?” she said now; the note of bitterness in her voice was unmistakable. “Isn’t he a failure as a husband? Walking out without even an attempt at a genuine conversation that might lead to reconciliation?”

  “I know what he did was painful,” Bess said earnestly, “but the actions that result from emotional distress can’t be classified as failures.”

  “How else can they be classified?” Allison demanded. “Chris left me when I was at my most vulnerable. He turned his back on me and on everything we had built together for over twenty years.”

  Marta nodded. “Amen.”

  Chuck shifted in his seat but was silent.

  “But Chris did try, didn’t he?” Bess asked. “Even if he failed in the end that doesn’t mean all the earlier efforts he made to be a good husband are now meaningless.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it does. Maybe one spectacularly cruel action does cancel out all the kind actions that went before it.” Allison laughed. “Of course, that means that my getting in the car that day in spite of Chris’s asking me not to negates all the good things I did for him as a wife.”

  “You going to work that morning to complete an important assignment and Chris’s filing for divorce are not at all equivalent,” Chuck declared fiercely, leaning forward toward Allison.

  “Chuck is right,” Marta said.

  “Well, I just can’t accept that good deeds done out of love and kindness can ever be discounted. At the time, they mattered. They made a positive difference.” Bess looked from one to the other of her friends. “Maybe I’m being naïve—I’ve been called that often enough by people who seem to think it’s an insult—but I won’t change my mind about this.”

  “Then we’ll just have to agree to disagree,” Allison said resignedly. “As far as I’m concerned, both Chris and I screwed up majorly.”

  Chuck rose suddenly. “I’m going to bed.”

  “A good idea,” Marta said, getting up from her seat. “I hope Mike doesn’t get lost out there or do something foolish like wander into the ocean and drown.”

  Bess saw Chuck give Marta a quizzical look. It had been an odd thing to say, and not a very complimentary one. If Allison heard Marta’s remark, she chose to ignore it.

  “I’m coming up, too,” she said. “Good night, Bess.”

  Bess remained on the back porch after the others had gone. This most recent exchange with her friends had disturbed her. She had never heard Allison so bitter. She wouldn’t have been surprised to hear such sentiments from Marta, but never from Allison. Where Marta could be quick to condemn, and Bess just as quick to acquit, Allison was usually the one to suggest a period of thoughtfulness before coming to a conclusion, and when she did reach a conclusion it most often involved a good deal of sympathetic feeling. Now she was as down on herself as she was with her soon-to-be former husband and that sort of attitude couldn’t be healthy.

  A sudden memory of that mysterious big wind that had arisen seemingly out of nowhere the first night they had all been gathered at Driftwood House came to Bess. It had seemed to presage a storm and in a way, it actually had. With a shiver that had nothing to do with the night air, Bess realized that starting her married life in such close proximity to a marriage at its end made her feel sick. Sick and determined. She would show her friends the right way to be married. She would never talk about Nathan in the critical way Marta had talked about Mike that evening. She would never abandon her vows as Chris had done. Even Chuck and Dean must have it wrong in some way. She would keep her eyes open, observe carefully and . . .

  Bess dropped her head into her hands. She was ashamed of her descent into self-righteousness. And into cliché. She wondered if every bride-to-be felt the smug certitude that she and she alone knew what it would take to be the perfect wife. She owed it to her friends, to Nathan, and to herself to get over this dark and unpleasant mood.

  Another slice of raspberry pie might help. Bess got up and went to the kitchen. Maybe, she thought, Nathan would like one, too.

  Chapter 41

  Marta had left the house that morning with no particular plan in mind other than to wander. She hadn’t realized that proper sidewalks could be rare in some areas of this semirural neighborhood, but she had worn sturdy sneakers and given her hab
it of being alert to her surroundings, she wasn’t particularly worried about being hit by a careless driver when she was forced to walk in the road. The sun was strong but the humidity low. Occasionally she passed another walker and they greeted each other with a nod and a smile or, more rarely, a verbal exchange. “Good morning.” “Nice day.” “Hello.”

  Mike had gotten back to Driftwood House the night before not long after Marta had retreated to their bedroom. He found her already tucked under the covers, reading a book on her Kindle. His hair was tousled from a day of ocean breeze and salty air; it made him look much younger than his forty-two years.

  “What are you reading?” he had asked as he began to strip off his clothes and toss them into a corner.

  It was a perfectly innocuous question, but it had struck Marta as annoying and interfering. She had bit back a snippy reply. “John McCain’s last book,” she said.

  Mike had smiled. “I’ve been meaning to read that. What do you think of it?”

  If I could be left alone to read it, Marta had thought, I could form an intelligent opinion. What she said was: “It’s good.”

  Mike had gotten into bed, kissed her cheek, coughed a few times, and was asleep. But Marta’s attention had been shattered. She abandoned the book and sat staring at the closed door, her mind racing with unhappy thoughts, until finally, more than an hour later, she had felt ready for sleep.

  That morning Marta had woken with a dull headache. Mike was already up and whistling as he shrugged on his robe. “Another perfect day,” he said brightly. He had gone off to shower and by the time he returned, Marta had left the house. She had not left a note saying where she had gone.

  So, there she was, wandering along tree-lined roads, past quaint houses and stately homes and perfectly tended gardens but noting very little of the appealing scenery. Every so often a dog would bark from behind a fence; otherwise, the morning was quiet, allowing Marta to ponder the very reason for which the old friends had gathered this June. Marriage.