“If Chuck hadn’t stumbled this afternoon,” Dean went on, “we would have waited until after the wedding before telling you. Not that the fall was necessarily anything more than an accident . . .”
Chuck looked to Dean and the two men clasped hands. “About four months ago I was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease,” Chuck said matter-of-factly. “There’s no doubt about it; I had a second and a third opinion.”
Bess immediately burst into tears. Nathan put his arm around her and murmured a soothing word. Marta’s lips compressed into a frown. Allison sighed and put a hand to her mouth.
“What does this mean?” Mike demanded. “What can we expect?”
“Ever the fix-it guy,” Chuck said brusquely. “You can expect the same old Chuck.” Then he shook his head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be short. Sometimes it gets the better of me, this new reality. . . .”
“Why don’t you outline the basics for everyone,” Dean suggested calmly. “How the disease was diagnosed, what to expect as it progresses, the common treatment options. Facts often help calm frayed nerves.”
Chuck nodded and for the next fifteen minutes he spoke eloquently about his situation. “I’ve just about fully accepted this,” he said finally. “It’s the lot I’ve been given, but not the whole lot. I’ve also got a husband and a child who mean everything to me, and a career I love and dear friends and family to whom I’m devoted. No pity allowed, please.”
“We’re dealing with this as a team,” Dean went on. “We told Chuck’s family when we were all together last week on the Cape, we told my family before we left for the east coast, and we’ll tell our friends in L.A. when we get home. We have a great support system. We’ll be okay.”
“Of course, we will,” Chuck said brightly. “What I’m really worried about is ruining the wedding pictures what with this unsightly bandage on my forehead.”
Bess’s tears broke out anew. Nathan tightened his hold on her shoulders.
“Come on, Bess,” Dean urged, “stop the waterworks. You’ll give yourself a headache going on like that.”
Until then Marta hadn’t spoken. “I’m sorry, Chuck,” she said now, her voice tight. “This sucks for the both of you. But of all the people I know, you two are probably the best equipped to handle the situation with grace.” Marta smiled a pained smile. “No pressure there at all! Sorry.”
“Grace under fire, isn’t that the expression?” Chuck said, with a pained smile of his own. “Keep calm and carry on. And hide the messy breakdowns from the eyes of the world.”
“Chris doesn’t know, does he?” Allison asked. “It’s just that . . .”
“He’d want to know.” Bess’s words came out muffled; at the same time as she was speaking she was busy blowing her nose and wiping her eyes.
“We haven’t been in touch,” Chuck said. “Well, you guys know that. I could let him know but honestly, if he’s not interested in continuing the friendship it seems sort of harsh or at the very least odd just to drop the news on him. Hey, Chris, if you care, I’ve got this illness. Bye.”
Allison nodded. “I see your point. Anyway, if he doesn’t care enough to keep up with his friends he doesn’t deserve to know about their lives.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Chuck argued.
“Nor would I,” Mike added.
“I’m with Allison,” Marta said.
Nathan suddenly let go of Bess’s shoulder and stood. “I don’t know about you all, but I could use a drink.”
“Make mine a neat whiskey,” Chuck said. “It’s not five o’clock but what the hell.”
Marta briefly put a hand to her head; it was beginning to ache. No one got through life unscathed by nasty surprises. She looked at Mike; he was still wearing his determined, fix-it face, a face that masked the great love he had for his friends and family. Why couldn’t she allow him to comfort and advise her at this difficult moment? She had never had trouble turning to him when in need—not that she was often in need of support—so what made this moment in time so different from all that had gone before?
Nathan returned with a large tray on which sat a bottle of good whiskey, a soda dispenser, a small bowl of ice, and several glasses.
“Better than a Saint Bernard,” Dean pronounced.
Marta folded her hands in her lap so tightly that her fingers began to ache. She had never been much of a drinker, but at that moment she would have dearly loved to join her friends in a whiskey.
Chapter 51
The friends had eaten a meal of pasta with pesto sauce, bread baked locally, a caprese salad (with locally grown ingredients), and as no meal in Bess’s home was complete without dessert, bowls of chocolate and butter pecan ice cream. Allison had consumed more than she had been wont to eat in the past months; her stomach felt uncomfortably full, but the meal had been delicious and she had no regrets.
They needed a cozy evening, Allison thought, after learning of Chuck and Dean’s situation. The calm after the storm. Though that wasn’t quite right. The skies had opened around seven and were still pouring at nine. Nathan had lit a fire in the living area, where the friends were gathered. The baby was safely in bed.
“A roaring fire in the middle of summer,” Dean commented. “Who would have thought?”
Nathan laughed. “Anyone who’s ever been to Maine!”
“I love the sound of a crackling fire and the fragrance of burning wood at any time of the year.” Chuck looked down at the glass he held in his hand. “And the brandy doesn’t hurt, either.”
Bess nodded. “I love the sound of rain pattering on a roof. It’s so romantic.”
“Yeah,” Marta said, “except when it’s contributing to major flooding and the destruction of lives and property.”
Bess frowned. “Spoilsport.”
“Speaking of spoiling, what if it pours on your big day?” Dean asked. Once again, he and Chuck were on the love seat.
“Oh, I’ve got backup plans,” Bess assured him. “In fact, my backup plans have backup plans.”
“Isn’t there some old wives’ tale about rain on your wedding day bringing good luck?” Nathan asked. He was seated cross-legged on the floor; Bess was on his right side.
“There are a few tales, actually,” Marta told them. “One says that rain on your wedding day symbolizes the last tears a bride will shed for the rest of her life.”
Chuck laughed. “If only!”
“And there’s another tale,” Marta went on, “that claims the number of raindrops that fall on your wedding day symbolize the number of tears a bride will shed during the course of her marriage.”
“That’s more like it!” Allison winced. “Sorry. Just my opinion.” In fact, her own wedding day had been beautifully sunny and the tears to come, far too many. So much for old wives’ tales.
“Well, I don’t believe in any of that nonsense,” Bess stated.
Nathan grinned. “Yes, you do,” he said. “You live and breathe folklore and fairy tales and wisdom passed down from mother to daughter.”
“But I don’t plan my life around superstitions,” Bess argued. “I mean, I consult my horoscope and I use my crystals when I need . . . Don’t laugh, Marta! None of that is the same as mere superstition, though small-minded people like to think so!”
“There’s no need to defend your beliefs,” Marta said. “You’re among friends. Sensible, reasoning friends.”
Allison refrained from mentioning the ghostly experience she and Bess had shared at The House of Seven Gables all those years ago. For all she knew Bess had kept that a secret from Nathan, though why she would have done so was anybody’s guess. At any rate, she was glad the conversation was keeping its distance from Chuck’s illness and her divorce.
Marta shifted in the armchair she had chosen; it was nowhere near where Mike was perched, on the arm of the love seat. “I was just thinking,” she began, “how odd it was that you, Bess, the one who considers our reunions sacred, not to be intruded upon by passing boyfriends or girlfrie
nds, were the one to bring along that weird guy you were dating one year, what was his name, Terry or—”
“Taryn,” Mike blurted. “That was it.”
“Oh, why are you bringing him up now!” Bess wailed, putting her hands over her face.
“He spoke with this obviously pseudo-British accent,” Chuck told Nathan.
Bess dropped her hands. “It wasn’t obviously pseudo,” she argued. “I thought it was real.”
“Then how did you reconcile the accent with the fact that he told us he grew up in Baltimore?” Mike asked.
“I don’t know. He said he lived in lots of different places as a child. I guess I thought he just picked up an accent along the way.”
“Yeah,” Allison said. “From watching Downton Abbey!”
“I don’t think I ever knew where you met this guy,” Marta said.
Bess blushed. “Just around.”
“Come on, where?” Dean prompted. “A nightclub? In the veggie section at the grocery store? At the gym? But you don’t go to a gym, do you?”
“No,” Bess said. “I don’t go to a gym. Ugh. Okay, I met him in an old cemetery in the West End of Portland.”
“What were you doing in a cemetery?” Allison asked. “Unless you were attending a funeral.”
“There hasn’t been a funeral there in ages,” Bess explained, a bit grumpily. “It’s a really old cemetery. I was just walking through. I’m interested in the symbols on old headstones and the written memorials can be very touching. Anyway, I was there with my camera and he was . . . He was doing yoga. Later he told me he liked to do yoga out of doors. He said it was freeing.”
Mike frowned. “But why in a cemetery? Why not in a park? Isn’t that kind of disrespectful of the dead?”
Chuck shrugged. “I don’t see how. I mean, as long as he wasn’t reciting the Black Mass while doing downward-facing dog. That would be disrespectful of the dead and of people who devote their lives to yoga.”
“He wasn’t naked, was he?” Dean asked. “There is such a thing as naked yoga. At least, I think there is.”
“No!” Bess cried. “I’m not crazy enough to go up to a naked stranger in a deserted cemetery!”
“Okay, so he was wearing clothes. And you stopped to talk to him.” A grin played around Nathan’s lips.
Bess shrugged. “Yeah, he looked . . . nice.”
Chuck cleared his throat and looked at Nathan. “None of us thought he was nice. Whenever the check arrived after dinner this guy would mysteriously disappear. Ditto when it came time to clean up after a meal at home. And I know I can’t prove this, but I saw him cheat when we played Monopoly.” Chuck shook his head. “I should have called him on it.”
“So, how did this romance end?” Nathan asked.
“Can we just drop this, please?” Bess pleaded.
“Oh, come on,” Allison said. “It was years ago. What does it matter now?”
“That’s exactly my point!”
“It all came to a head when he made a pass at me early one morning before the others were up,” Allison said. “Can you imagine the nerve? Telling Bess what had happened was the most difficult thing I’d ever had to do. It was far easier to tell Chris what had happened. He, at least, doesn’t think that everyone is a saint until proven a sinner, unlike our innocent Bess.”
“I still feel awful I didn’t believe you at first,” Bess admitted. “Is that what always happens when a person learns that her lover has hit on her good friend? Disbelief in spite of the fact that you know full well that your friend would never say or do anything to hurt you?” Bess shook her head, then turned to Nathan. “I confronted Taryn,” she went on. “I asked him if he had tried to kiss Allison and his answer was to stare at me blankly. I knew then that he was guilty.”
“He left that day and was never heard from again. Isn’t that right, Bess?” Chuck asked.
“Yeah. Anyway, that’s all in the past. I just want to forget about everything that went before and be happy with now.” Once again Bess looked to Nathan. “I want to look to the future.”
Nathan smiled and took her hand. “I’m glad. Because that’s where I’m looking, too.”
Chuck raised his glass. “A toast to the happy couple.”
Allison raised her own glass. “To Bess and Nathan.”
“Remember how the night before graduation we made a pact to remain friends forever?” Bess asked suddenly.
Mike laughed. “What I remember is that we were drunk,” he said.
“Who knows what we said that night and why we said it.” Chuck squinted. “I seem to recall—very vaguely mind you—quoting from Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar while standing atop a table. Don’t ask me why I was doing such a thing. I mean, I like the play, but it’s not my favorite. And generally speaking, I prefer standing on a floor.”
“It doesn’t matter that we were drunk,” Bess argued. “We pledged to be friends forever and that pledge was made in good faith.”
“We were young and hopeful,” Marta said, “and let’s face it, we were ignorant.”
“What do you mean ignorant!” Bess cried.
“She means ignorant of the challenges life would throw at us,” Mike said hastily.
“Ignorant or not, we are still here together,” Allison pointed out, with a smile for Bess. “So, the pledge meant something after all.” To everyone but Chris, she thought.
“Why is it okay for people marrying to pledge to love each other until they die,” Bess asked, “but not just as valid for friends to do the same?”
“It’s just more difficult to pull off that sort of commitment outside of marriage,” Marta said. “Let’s face it, most people have several good friends. How do you make a serious pledge like the one you make in a marriage to a whole group of people? What if one friend feels closer to you than you do to her and wants a commitment you’re not prepared to give? No, the whole thing would be way too messy and chaotic.”
Allison laughed a bit grimly. “Ideally, your spouse is your best friend.”
“Yes, but surely not the same sort of best friend as your best friend outside the marriage,” Bess argued.
Nathan took Bess’s hand again and kissed it.
“Sometimes I’m not sure there is much of a difference,” Chuck said, “not once you remove the sexual and financial element, assuming of course you and your spouse share finances.”
“But the sexual and the financial elements are huge,” Marta said. “Those are probably the two most common reasons married couples stay together longer than they might want to. Aside from the issue of children, of course. The sex is good or at least it’s available, and it would be too costly to split.”
Suddenly, Dean took Chuck’s arm and pulled him to his feet. “As fascinating as this conversation is,” he said, “we’re off. Chuck should have been in bed long ago.”
“It’s only a small cut,” Chuck reminded him. “I’m not an invalid. Yet.”
Bess flinched. Nathan put his arm around her. Mike pat Chuck on the shoulder. Marta gave Chuck a quick peck on the cheek. I really do love my friends, Allison thought as she followed the others from the room. Flaws and weaknesses, skills and strengths. Even when they were driving her crazy they were hers, and that was all that mattered.
Chapter 52
Bess was doing laundry. Nathan had gone to the grocery store. She had no idea where the others had gotten to. She wasn’t entirely happy about their habit of going off without telling her where they were going and when they would be back. It wasn’t a control issue, Bess told herself. It was more an issue of . . . an issue of feeling unnecessary. Bess needed to feel needed.
As she folded towels and sorted socks, Bess replayed part of last night’s conversation. She was bothered by the others’ feelings about the pact of forever friendship they had made so long ago. They seemed—with the possible exception of Allison—to take it so lightly and yet, as Allison had pointed out, here they were twenty some odd years later. So why did they feel the need to d
ownplay the importance of their vow? Again, Bess thought of the symbol she had selected to represent her relationship to the others and theirs to her. The anchor. At the moment, it seemed to mock her idealism.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of jaunty whistling coming from the direction of the yard. Bess hurried from the laundry room and out to the back porch. Chuck was striding toward her, a bunch of wildflowers in his hand. “Another perfect day,” he said with a smile. He flopped into one of the wicker chairs on the porch and Bess sat next to him.
“Are you scared?” she blurted.
Chuck laughed. “Nice conversational intro!”
“Are you?” Bess pressed.
“Not so much for me, no,” Chuck said easily. “I’ve got a good medical team and the accumulated experiences of other people with Parkinson’s to help me face the future. But I am worried about what Dean will go through. We signed on for this marriage, in sickness and in health, but no one walks down the aisle—well, most people don’t—anticipating life as a caregiver while their spouse is still a young person.”
“But you,” Bess pressed. “What about what you’ll be going through?”
“You know me, Bess. I’ve always been a ridiculously resilient person. I seem to be able to just deal with whatever’s being thrown at me. I’m like my father in that way. In fact, it’s probably the greatest gift he ever gave me, his ability to take life as it comes.”
“I don’t know if I should mention this or not,” Bess said. She really didn’t.
“Whatever it is, you already have. Out with it, Bess.”
“Well, last night I was reading medical sites on the Internet and—”
“A dangerous enterprise for the nonprofessional,” Chuck interrupted. “But go on.”
“And this one site talked about hallucinations. It said that sometimes the medicines that are used to treat the physical symptoms of Parkinson’s can lead to auditory and visual hallucinations.”
Chuck took Bess’s hand in his. “First of all,” he said with a smile, “hallucinations are only a possibility and if I do experience them, well, the key is information and awareness. I try not to anticipate every unhappy possibility, and definitely not at the same time. That old advice, to take things one day at a time, makes a lot of sense. When you can pull it off.”
A Wedding on the Beach Page 22
