A Wedding on the Beach

by Holly Chamberlin

  “But no one’s life is in perfect shape,” Bess exclaimed, “so that would mean that no one is equipped to give advice, but how could we live without it? How would children learn anything if someone wasn’t suggesting they do A and not do B if they want to succeed and be well-liked?”

  “Sometimes talking to you is like—” Marta laughed. “Forget it.”

  “Sorry,” Bess mumbled. “I didn’t mean to make you upset. I hope that your friend is okay, whatever happens.”

  “And I’m sorry if I sounded snappish.” Marta rose from her seat. “I’m going to lie down for a while. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

  “Is it the mattress?” Bess asked worriedly. “I could—”

  Marta cut her off. “You could what? Buy a new mattress? Bess, don’t be ridiculous. You’re not responsible for everything. Besides, the mattress had nothing to do with it.”

  Alone on the back porch, Bess put her head in her hands and sighed. For the first time ever, the idea of elopement sounded wonderful.

  Chapter 44

  Marta hadn’t entirely lied to Bess. Something did hurt but it was her head, not her back, and the pain wasn’t physical. She had gone to her room to reset her attitude, but to no avail. Before half an hour had passed she was in the kitchen making a cup of tea.

  Bess was nowhere to be seen. Marta felt bad for snapping at her. She just felt so smothered in Driftwood House. She wished she could run off to Portland for a night, but married women didn’t just go off on their own, not without consequences. Some marriages might allow for solo overnights and even lengthy vacations, but not Mike and Marta’s marriage. Besides, Marta knew that her own worst enemy would travel with her. Like Milton’s Satan had so memorably said, “Which way I fly is Hell; myself am Hell.”

  Marta heard footsteps on the stairs from the second floor and a moment later, Allison appeared, her travel art kit slung over her shoulder. She set the kit on the island counter and went to the fridge, where she retrieved a bottle of water.

  “May I ask you a personal question?” she said. “I know this is out of the blue.”

  Marta’s stomach dropped. Did you sleep with Chris when we were in college? “Yes,” she said. “All right.”

  Allison tucked the bottle of water into a pocket of her bag. “Did you ever have a miscarriage?”

  Marta breathed a silent sigh of relief. “No,” she said. “My pregnancies were ridiculously trouble free.”

  But everything changed. Hadn’t she said as much to Bess? Suddenly, Marta was seized by a feeling of panic. Why should this fourth pregnancy necessarily come to an easy fruition like the first three had? People’s luck ran out. At some point in a person’s life things could go bad and they could continue to go bad. That’s just the way it was.

  “Marta?” Allison said. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, sorry. My mind went off there for a moment. . . .” Marta managed a smile. “It’s apt to do that a lot lately. Old age.”

  “Really, Marta,” Allison scolded, “we’re only a few months apart and I certainly don’t consider myself old.”

  “Sorry.” Marta shrugged.

  “Look,” Allison went on, “I would never ask this in front of Bess, but I’ve wondered if you had trouble bonding with your children when they were born. I know it’s not uncommon for a mother to have some difficulty at first. I’ve read all about postpartum depression.”

  “With Sam,” Marta told her, “it was just like it was supposed to be. The second I saw her I was head over heels in love. Maybe it was because she was my first child and I was so relieved the birth had gone well. Then again I know women who had trouble connecting with their first-born and chalked it up to outright terror at what lay ahead.”

  Allison smiled. “I wouldn’t be surprised if instant terror was far more common than instant adoration.”

  “With Leo,” Marta went on, “it was different. Remember how I developed a fever right after he was born? That tiny hospital near our ski lodge didn’t have the greatest rating in the country. I hardly knew who I was, let alone who the baby was. But once the fever passed I was duly in love.” Martha smiled. “And then there was Troy. I admit that by baby number three much of the novelty had worn off—do I sound like a terribly cold person for saying that?—but I was smitten. Calmly, without obsessively cooing over his little nose and his little toes.”

  Allison smiled briefly. “I was so looking forward to . . . to the little nose and the little toes.”

  “I’m sorry,” Marta said. “I really am. And I totally understand why you wouldn’t want to talk about this in front of Bess. She’d be horrified to learn I didn’t fall instantly in love with Leo in spite of my off-the-charts fever.”

  “I don’t know how she maintains that innocence. Is it purposeful? Or is it, well, natural, for lack of a better word? You’d think that by this time in her life she wouldn’t be so shocked by stuff the rest of us accept as part of the human condition.” Allison shrugged. “Maybe Bess is the lucky one among us. It might be nice to have a seemingly never-ending ability to bounce back after adversity as hopeful and optimistic as ever.”

  “Has she ever experienced real adversity?” Marta wondered. “She was pretty broke for a few years after college, but none of us were making any real money.”

  “I don’t know,” Allison admitted. “Her parents and siblings are all alive and well. She never had her heart broken, not really. And she’s always been perfectly healthy.” Allison picked up her travel art kit and slung it over her shoulder. “I want to catch the light before it fades. Maybe my feline companion will make an appearance. I’ve decided he must belong to someone because he looks awfully well-fed. Maybe today I’ll ask around the neighborhood.”

  When Allison had gone, Marta continued to sit alone in the kitchen. She suspected that Allison’s questions about miscarriages and maternal love were part of the healing process and not just idle curiosity. And the questions had made her think. How would she feel about this baby when he or she was born? Would she love the child at first sight? At second or third? There were women whose postpartum depression was so bad it prevented them from thinking normally for months after the birth. Some women even experienced postpartum psychosis. Given her troubled feelings about the pregnancy, would she be more likely to suffer an emotional breakdown after the baby’s birth?

  Marta rubbed her temples. If only she could get away on her own for just one night without giving rise to outrageous speculation. It wouldn’t necessarily solve anything, but it might help her achieve a calmer state of mind. Then again, she might return to Driftwood House more miserable than before.

  “Marta?”

  It was Mike. “Oh,” she said. “Hi. I didn’t hear you come in.”

  He came forward, a frown on his face. “Do you have a headache? I could rub your temples for you. Do you want a cold cloth?”

  “No,” Marta said, mustering a smile. “Thanks. I’m fine. Just fine.”

  Chapter 45

  Allison was curled up in the living area, sipping a glass of wine. She had had a very productive afternoon sketching. Massive tangles of green and brown seaweed, glistening in the sun. Shifting clouds. Best, a strikingly beautiful woman with long silver hair, had obligingly agreed to let Allison make a quick character study of her as she sat perched on a particularly interesting rock formation at the top of the beach. Allison was looking forward to reviewing the sketches and working up one or more into a finished drawing.

  Bess suddenly appeared from the direction of the den, dramatically wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. “I’m so relieved,” she announced. “The children’s performer just confirmed; she had a bad cold and was afraid she’d have to cancel the wedding. She’s doing balloon animals and crowns, magic tricks, and face painting. The kids will love it.”

  “Why didn’t you ask one of your nieces or nephews to be in the wedding party?” Marta asked. She had just strolled in from the direction of the stairs to the second floor.

&n
bsp; Allison knew Marta was baiting Bess, who was not the warm and fuzzy person with children that she was with adults. “It’s all right, Bess,” Allison said stoutly. “No one is criticizing you. Besides, the kids will have a much better time if they don’t have to worry about messing up fancy clothes.”

  “That’s exactly what I thought,” Bess said as she dropped into one of the cozy upholstered armchairs. Her face took on an expression Allison knew all too well. Bess was about to come out with a doozy of a comment or question.

  “Allison,” Bess began, “do you ever think that, I don’t know, that maybe you weren’t meant to have a baby? That maybe God decided it wouldn’t be a good idea even if you and Chris thought it would be?”

  Marta looked apoplectic. Allison shot her a look that told her to keep quiet.

  “As much as I object to the idea of being a powerless plaything of the gods,” Allison said to Bess, “yes, I did wonder if maybe . . .” She laughed a bit wildly. “I can hardly admit what I thought! After all, my infertility was officially unexplained.” And that in itself had caused trouble. Weeks after the miscarriage, crazed with grief, Chris had accused Allison of never wanting to get pregnant in the first place. “All those years when no one could explain why you didn’t get pregnant. It was you. You were the reason. You willed your infertility!”

  Marta snorted in disgust. “The whole idea is ridiculous. And if a Higher Power did intervene to keep Allison from getting pregnant all those years, how do you explain the fact that she finally did get pregnant? The HP messed up? He—because it would have to be a He—looked away for a second and oops! Now Allison is pregnant so HP arranges for an accident to clean up his mess? That’s utter nonsense.”

  Allison nodded. “Nevertheless, I can’t help but think about the mind/body connection. You can’t deny that the mind is powerful enough to cause a person to get sick or to get well. People talk themselves into and out of all sorts of situations in life, from falling in love with a totally inappropriate person like a convicted serial killer to achieving an amazing feat like lifting a car off a person pinned beneath it. Maybe my unconscious mind, knowing that Chris’s obsession with his brother would interfere with our raising a healthy child, kept me from getting pregnant. Until it didn’t. I know. It doesn’t make sense and human beings hate when things don’t make sense.”

  “So, they create entire systems of mythology and metaphysical nonsense and comfort themselves with outlandish notions of elaborate rewards after death.” Marta frowned. “Too bad avoidance doesn’t work for everyone.”

  “I believe in God,” Bess said defiantly. “Even if the idea of Heaven is outlandish, I don’t see what’s wrong with believing in the outlandish. What better sort of thing to believe in? And I don’t think I’m avoiding the bad stuff. I just don’t think that bad stuff is all there is in the end.”

  Allison smiled kindly. “If believing in something outrageous brings you a degree of comfort in this difficult world, good for you.”

  “Just don’t try to push your outrageous beliefs on others,” Marta added. “Like me. I prefer to face life head-on with no illusions to lull me into a stupor of complacency.”

  “You know I would never try to make you think about life the way I think about it,” Bess protested. “I respect your choices.”

  “I’m not sure belief is a choice,” Marta said quietly.

  But Allison heard her friend.

  “I’d better start dinner,” Bess announced. “Tonight, we’re having chicken pot pies from Mainely Poultry. And a salad on the side for the healthy among us.”

  Marta rose to follow Bess. “I’ll make the salad,” she said. “One of my biggest successes as a mother has been getting my kids to enjoy eating salad.”

  When her friends had gone off, Allison wondered. Chris blaming her inability to get pregnant on the power of her will. His obsession with his brother. The way he had abandoned her in her time of need. All of these things and more gave weight to the argument that to reconcile with Chris under any circumstances would be crazy. But what if Chris was to conquer his demons and they were to reconcile, true loves reunited? Would she be able to sustain the relationship without slipping back into an attitude of resentment and anger? Would tension invariably creep in and spoil a pleasant meal in one of their favorite restaurants in Little Italy or a walk along the Lakefront Trail or even just an evening home watching a new favorite television show on Netflix? Any time Chris displayed concern for her safety or well-being, would she worry he was once again trying to control her in a misguided effort to assert mastery over the chaotic world that had snatched his little brother away so brutally? Whenever she displayed her independence, something Chris had fought against from the very start of their relationship—she knew that now—would he accuse her of betraying their bond? Would he walk away again or threaten to?

  It seemed possible, maybe even probable. A reconciliation might have to exclude a revived romantic relationship.

  Allison frowned. Why was she even thinking about reconciliation? In spite of the love she bore Chris, it wasn’t what she wanted, not now.

  It really wasn’t.

  Chapter 46

  Bess was in the den the next morning after breakfast while the others were enjoying the good weather. She was due to FaceTime with Kara in a few minutes. Until then she was tapping a pencil against the edge of the desk in what was even to her an annoying tattoo.

  Not much about this reunion was going as she had hoped it would, not with tempers flaring, people taking offense where none was meant, partners criticizing each other face-to-face. What must Nathan think of her friends? They certainly weren’t matching the description Bess had painted for him. They were showing themselves not as a harmonious unit but as a divisive, bad-tempered lot. The charms Bess had selected to give to her friends the night of the wedding were decorated with the image of an anchor. The anchor symbolized stability, trust, and assurance. How did that symbol reflect some of the behavior she had witnessed these past few days?

  Bess looked at her computer screen. Time for Kara. Bess was looking forward to getting her assistant’s impression of the favors she had ordered for the wedding. Each guest would receive a small, rectangular box made of naturally weathered wood. Inside the box, he would find a bar of soap made by two sisters who worked from their home in nearby Biddeford. It was, Bess thought, a gift both practical and attractive.

  “Your favors arrived,” Kara informed her boss. Her tone was wry.

  Kara showed Bess four glass coasters with the names BETTANY AND NED inscribed in red glitter across each.

  “Have you ever seen anything so tacky and impractical?” she asked with a laugh. “How do you balance a glass on a lump of glitter? Good news is that the soaps you ordered from Reverie are here and they’re lovely.”

  “Those aren’t even our names!” Bess cried, horrified.

  “It was obviously just a mix-up in mailing,” Kara said easily. “Some spacey assistant put the wrong address on the wrong box, nothing more.”

  “But this is a disaster!” A storm to shake up our complacency . . .

  “Look, Bess, relax.” Kara spoke sharply. “It’s just a mix-up. The wooden boxes are already on the way. Now, I’m ending the call and when I next touch base all will be well. Goodbye.”

  The screen went blank. Bess realized that she was breathing heavily. She knew she was overreacting—the problem really wasn’t a problem at all—but . . .

  Bess heard the front door open and footsteps cross the foyer. She wanted to see a friendly face. She hurried from the den to find that the friendly face belonged to Chuck. He was carrying a bag from the local bookstore.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked immediately. “You look agitated.”

  Bess told him about the glittery coasters. “Kara said she’s handled it, but . . .”

  “Pre-wedding jitters take all forms,” Chuck said. “Come on, let’s go sit out on the back porch. It’s too nice a day to be inside.”

  Wh
en they were settled side by side in two of the white wicker chairs, Bess turned to her friend. “Chuck,” she said, “are you happier being married to Dean than you were when you were an unmarried but committed couple? It’s just that so many people say that marriage is just a piece of paper, a bit of legal mumbo jumbo no one really needs.”

  “What’s going on, Bess?” Chuck asked with a frown. “Is it more than just pre-wedding jitters?”

  Bess sighed. “A few days ago, I was fine with the idea of getting married,” she said. “More than fine, I was elated. Now . . . It’s not that I don’t love Nathan, I do. Nothing about my feelings for him have changed. It’s just . . .”

  “It’s just that ever since Allison told you the truth about her divorce you’ve been having second thoughts. And you’re using her traumatic tale and the silly mix-up with the coasters as an excuse to consider canceling the wedding.”

  Bess felt a rush of relief. Chuck was so clear-sighted. “I guess you’re right,” she admitted, feeling a bit foolish. “I just wish Allison hadn’t told us the whole awful story!”

  Chuck smiled. “But curiosity was killing you, Bess. More than any of us you wanted to know.”

  “Yeah, so I could fix things for Allison and Chris.” Bess laughed ruefully. “What arrogance! I can’t believe I really thought I could bring about a miracle just by having them both at my wedding.”

  “In someone else’s case, it would be arrogance, but not in yours, Bess.”

  “What then? Stupidity?”

  “No,” Chuck said firmly. “Good-heartedness. A genuine desire for your friends to reconcile.” Chuck took Bess’s hands in his and looked her square in the eye. “Bess, you’re meant to be marrying Nathan. I know it. Don’t let Allison’s experience put you off living your own life. That would be—well, to be blunt, that would be stupid. Promise?”

  Bess smiled gratefully. “Promise.”

  “Good. So, what tantalizing meal do you have planned for us tonight?”