“Would you go back if she’d have you?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said promptly. “I would. But I don’t know why she would have me back, not after what I’ve done to her. And she’s so, so angry. I don’t know how to defend against anger that intense.”
Marta put her hand on Chris’s arm for a moment. “Don’t defend against her anger,” she advised. “Just accept it. It’s real, it’s powerful, and it’s justified. Look, Chris, you’ve dominated Allison all along, and I’m not saying you did it intentionally or with any evil purpose in mind. But you’ve been selfish, and Allison was so head over heels in love with you she allowed her life to take the form you chose for it. But now Allison is well on her way to becoming her own woman, and if you want her back in your life you’re going to have to accept her terms. Let her talk. Just listen. Don’t make assumptions about what she does or does not feel, about what she will or will not do. Just. Listen.”
Chris looked at the ground. For a moment, Marta wondered if she had said too much. She really had no idea what Chris could tolerate hearing at this point. She looked toward the beautifully tended boats for a moment and then back to her friend, but still Chris said nothing. Finally, he nodded.
“I’ll try,” he said, his voice raspy with emotion. “I really will try. If she’ll let me. To be honest, I don’t have much hope for a future together. So often life doesn’t give you a second chance, especially not when you’ve blown the first run-through so spectacularly.”
“I don’t think life works that way,” Marta argued. “I don’t think you’re necessarily punished for having screwed up—or necessarily rewarded for doing things right, for that matter—and though yeah, you might have screwed up in your marriage, there was no maliciousness in your behavior or your motives. Just . . . just pain.”
“And fear,” Chris said quietly. “A very ignoble motive if ever there was one.”
Marta sighed. “Oh, Chris. I wish I knew what to say to make a real difference for you. Look, I’m going to head back to the house. Are you coming?”
“Why should I?” he asked. “I’m not sure anyone there would be glad to see me.”
Marta didn’t argue this statement. She wasn’t sure, either. “Okay,” she said. “Your call. Get yourself something to eat,” she advised before turning to walk away. “You look a little peckish.”
Chris smiled. “Peckish? I haven’t heard anyone use that word in ages.”
“Hungry, then. Have a lobster roll or an ice-cream cone. And, Chris? I’m sorry for the loss of your child. I really am.”
Chris bowed his head. Marta turned and walked away. It might have been better if she had left Chris alone in the first place. But she had said what she had said genuinely and maybe some of her advice would prove helpful to her old friend. She could only hope.
Chapter 90
Allison had settled on the back porch with a cozy mystery—the sixth or was it the seventh she had read since coming to Maine?—and a glass of iced tea. She had decided not to tell the others what happened between her and Chris. Something still felt unfinished between them. She was sure of it. To speak now would be to speak precipitously.
Bess, she was sure, was dying to know what had happened but probably just as eager to avoid asking. She had looked downright hangdog earlier, but Allison had been in no mood to scold. In fact, Bess’s sending Chris in pursuit might have been the best thing that could have happened. Without being put on the spot like she had been, Allison might not have had the courage to seek Chris out and speak her mind.
The screen door behind her opened and Chuck appeared, Thomas against his hip.
“Allison, could you keep an eye on Thomas while I pop in the shower?” he asked.
Allison put aside her glass and gladly accepted the baby. He sat upright on her lap, his slim neck miraculously supporting his big baby head. Allison gently brushed his cheek with her fingertip and Thomas smiled his gummy smile. She hoped Chuck would take his time showering. It felt very pleasant to be sitting there with a little one on her lap.
And in that moment Allison knew something for sure. Crystal clear. As much as she had wanted the baby she had lost—and she had—she knew now that if she never became a mother she would be all right. It wasn’t that her maternal instincts had died with the child, though in fact they had mellowed in intensity over the years of dashed expectations and shattered hopes. It was more that her instincts of self-preservation had come into their own at long last.
Holding wee Thomas, with his lovely long eyelashes and his bow-shaped mouth, Allison knew as sure as she knew her own name that motherhood was no longer necessary for a complete life. In fact, she might have ceased to need or even to want a child years ago, but she had gone on with the pursuit in order to please Chris and to fulfill a promise she had made to them both, to have a family. Until the end, the sacrifice had largely been worth it.
Thomas pointed his wee chubby forefinger at a little bird that had alighted on the porch railing. “What a pretty birdie!” Allison said. She smiled. She was closer now than ever to making peace with the reality that was her new life.
Sitting on the back porch with Thomas, Allison realized something else. The pity and softness she had felt for Chris almost from the moment they had first met was in fact an almost maternal instinct, an instinct that somehow went hand in hand with an attitude of subservience. Maybe that was the norm; maybe maternal love was fundamentally a love of service, the most unconditional love there could be. But maternal love for a fellow adult was not a great idea. She knew that now and she would never forget it.
The sound of the screen door alerted Allison to Chuck’s return. “Daddy’s squeaky clean,” he announced. “And Thomas looks very contented sitting on your lap.”
Allison smiled. “I think he is. And I’m very contented to have him here.”
Chapter 91
Bess was startled for the second time that day by Chris’s sudden presence.
“You’re back,” she stated. She had seen no one on her way from the house down to the gnarled and blasted tree where she now stood.
Chris nodded. “Yeah, I’m back.”
Bess did not ask if he had found Allison that morning. If Allison had wanted her to know she would have told her earlier.
“When I first saw this tree,” she said to Chris, “I couldn’t imagine why the owners of the house had left it here. It seemed an eyesore. But now . . .” Bess shrugged. “Now I like it. It seems necessary.” She did not tell Chris how many hours Allison had spent sketching the tree, enthralled by its odd beauty. In a way, maybe the tree had kept Allison better company than her friends had been able to. The tree and that big gray cat.
Suddenly, Bess felt uncomfortable. And angry. Why hadn’t Chris stayed back in Chicago? He was going to ruin everything now. She had seen the strain poor Allison was under at dinner the night before. And as for what Bess herself was going through, trying to manage everyone’s moods and needs and . . .
“You shouldn’t have asked me where to find Allison this morning,” she blurted.
“You didn’t have to tell me,” Chris countered.
Bess flinched but went on. “It was awful, your leaving Allison. I don’t know how you could have done it, Chris, I really don’t.”
“You weren’t there,” he said mildly. “You don’t know all the details.”
“I know enough. I know that you promised to love and cherish Allison forever and you broke that promise.”
Suddenly, the expression on Chris’s worn face turned dark. “My God, you can be self-righteous!” he said.
Bess felt a flicker of conscience but only a flicker. “I’m not being self-righteous,” she argued.
Chris ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Look, I know you feel bad for Allison—and maybe even in a stray moment you’ve felt bad for me, too—but please, Bess, stay out of it. You’re not helping anything by reading me the riot act.”
But Bess could not seem to stop. “It was really t
errible of you to make Allison promise she wouldn’t tell any of us what happened. When she first came here she was a wreck. I could hardly look at her without wanting to cry.”
“Wait a minute,” Chris said with a short laugh. “Are you mad at me for hurting Allison or for ruining your fairy-tale wedding and reunion?”
“Both! Your silly behavior has made a mess of everything, Chris.”
Chris laughed harshly. “Silly? I’d hardly call what I’ve been through these past two years silly!”
“I didn’t say that what happened was silly. I said your actions have been—okay, silly is the wrong word. Let’s call them petulant and self-serving.” The moment the words were out of Bess’s mouth she regretted them. She wanted to apologize. But she didn’t.
“It’s not too late for me to leave,” Chris said flatly. “Your big day doesn’t have to be spoiled by my presence.”
“Don’t get all martyr with me,” Bess cried. “I’m not the one who’s done anything wrong!”
“Perfect Bess. She never says or does anything to hurt anyone.”
“Well, I don’t! At least, not intentionally. I mean—” Bess couldn’t go on. She felt sick.
Chris shook his head. “Look,” he said, “let’s just forget we had this conversation. This is your special time and I’ve already screwed it up enough. I’ll show up for the wedding if you still want me to and then I’ll be on my way.”
“Of course, I want you to be there,” Bess said wearily, but she wasn’t sure she meant it. To say yes seemed the easier thing to do. Maybe not the wisest thing.
Chris nodded and walked toward the house and the road beyond. She guessed he was heading back to town. And maybe to the airport from there.
Bess moved closer to the shattered tree and leaned against it. She had never, ever had an exchange like the one she and Chris had just engaged in. She felt ashamed. How could she have said the awful things she said? She had been downright mean and absolutely nothing was made better by being mean. Ever. And Chris was right. Even though Allison had shared a lot of what had led to the split, she hadn’t shared all. No one ever did.
Suddenly, Bess cringed. Had she transferred the anger she felt toward herself for having betrayed Allison twice in as many days onto Chris, an easy target? It was possible. But was it likely?
No. She was a self-aware person. She made it a point to know her own mind. She never took out on others her own frustrations and . . . Bess cringed again. Yes, she thought. She did. Everyone did.
It was called being human.
Chapter 92
Marta was within yards of Driftwood House when she suddenly saw Chris walking swiftly toward a blue rental car parked at the curb. She called out. He turned but looked reluctant to speak to her.
“Why did you come back to the house after all?” she asked when she reached him.
Chris swallowed hard. “I don’t know. It was stupid. I . . . I had a fight with Bess. It was bad.”
Damn, Marta thought. “Are you all right to drive?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m fine. Thanks, Marta.”
He hurriedly got behind the wheel and she watched him drive away. She realized she didn’t want to face any of the others, not at the moment. She turned toward the beach. It was crowded with people, not wonderful for solitary contemplation, but then again maybe she had indulged in enough solitary contemplation for the moment. Marta went halfway to the water’s edge; the sand there was dry and slightly packed, making walking easier than it was closer to the small dunes and large rocks at the top of the beach.
Marta must have walked close to half a mile when she came upon a young woman holding an infant against her chest. The woman was wearing a diaphanous dress in a particularly pretty shade of pale yellow. Marta stopped. She wasn’t sure why she did.
“How old?” she asked.
“Two months,” the young woman said proudly. “He’s my first.”
“What a head of hair,” Marta said with a laugh.
“Can you believe he was born with it? You know, until I finally saw little Joey for the first time I never realized just how amazingly powerful women are.” The young woman shook her head. “Men have nothing on us, I mean nothing! They can’t give birth to and then feed another human being!”
Marta smiled. Mike would agree. It was one of the reasons she had always loved him. His respect for women was real. “I have three kids,” Marta told her. “Seventeen, twelve, and seven.”
“Awesome! My husband and I hope to have at least three.”
Awesome. Marta smiled. “I wish you the best,” she said feelingly. “Cherish every moment with your son. It’s all worth it.”
Marta moved on, leaving the young woman gently stroking her baby’s hair. She hadn’t gone more than ten feet or so when it hit her. It finally hit her. She felt a surge of strength and joy, a physical and emotional rush of power and glee. Marta laughed out loud.
“I am having another baby,” she said to the sky, sand, and sea—and to whomever happened to be within hearing distance. “Awesome, indeed.”
Marta’s pace became jaunty. Would it be tempting fate, she wondered, to admit that she felt proud of herself? Proud that her body was still capable of this amazing feat, proud that it had already brought three wonderful human beings into this world? To hell with it! She would feel proud! And she would do everything in her power to protect and nurture this wee life inside her and then to deliver that life safely into this big, beautiful world!
“I rock,” she said to the blue waves, to the white clouds, to the gray beady-eyed seagull stalking her footsteps in hopes of a scrap of food. “I seriously rock.”
A middle-aged woman came striding toward Marta, one of those frighteningly intense power walkers.
“I’m having a baby,” she announced to this stranger. “Isn’t that great?”
The woman averted her eyes and stepped up her pace. Marta laughed. So what if the world thought she was nutty or unhinged? She was happy and happiness was so rare that it could appear to others as nuttiness, naïveté, or even, in extreme cases, as pitiful. Marta knew she was eminently sane, the antithesis of naïve, and the furthest thing away from pitiful there could be.
There was no time to waste. Marta reversed direction and ran—as best she could—back toward the house Bess had so thoughtfully rented for her friends. Within less than fifteen minutes she was charging through the door. She found Mike in the kitchen, a small lamp and a pile of wire and tools spread out on a counter.
“Mike,” she announced, “I’ve got to talk to you.”
“Can’t it wait?” he asked, looking up with a frown. “I promised Bess I’d take a look at this lamp. It keeps shorting and—”
“No,” Marta interrupted. “It most certainly cannot wait. Come on.” She grabbed his arm and marched him out to the backyard. Mike went along unprotestingly, probably in shock. She brought them to a halt beneath the leafy maple tree and let go of his arm. Mike’s expression was wary. Poor Mike, Marta thought. What I’ve put him through!
“What is it?” he asked.
Marta took a deep breath and felt a smile spread across her face. “Don’t interrupt me. Let me say it all. I’m glad we’re having this baby. I love you and I love Sam and Leo and Troy and I love little Boy or Girl as-yet-unnamed. I’m going to be a mother again and you’re going to be a father again and it’s great! In fact, it’s awesome!”
Mike’s expression grew even more wary before outright suspicion began to take its place. Finally, he said, “But what about a career?”
“I’ll make a career for myself,” Marta said. “I know I can do it. Well? What do you have to say?”
“I’m happy, of course,” Mike said readily. “As long as you really mean what you say, that you’re happy, too.”
“I do mean it.” Marta felt a tear come to her eye and she reached for her husband’s hands. “I’m so sorry, Mike. I should have trusted you with my feelings right from the start. I don’t know why I co
uldn’t.”
“I’m still kind of shaken by what you said the other night,” Mike admitted. “I felt that maybe the real reason you were unhappy was because the baby was mine. That maybe you no longer loved me.”
Marta released Mike’s hands and threw her arms around him. He held her tightly. “I’m sorry I accused you of being selfish,” she whispered fiercely. “It’s not true and it never was. You’re the most generous man I’ve ever known and if my sincere flattery goes to your head so much the better. You deserve to be praised for all you’ve sacrificed for me and the kids.”
“That may or may not be, but I do apologize for my complacency,” he said. “I guess I have a lazy streak that’s gotten a bit out of hand. You’ve spoiled me, Marta, but you’re not the one at fault. In the future, I swear I’ll pay more attention to what you’re saying and not take for granted that you’re always going to be content with the current status quo.”
“Thank you,” Marta said, her words choked with tears. Without releasing her hold on him she stepped back in order to look him in the eye. Her dear husband.
“I asked Bess a while back to define ‘soul mate’ for me,” he said. “I guess I felt that I was losing you in some way. Maybe I was picking up on your unhappiness about the baby, but I saw it as unhappiness with us. The thing is, I know that you’re my soul mate. Am I yours, Marta, or is that too much to ask?”
“No,” she assured him. “It’s not too much to ask.”
“Answer me this,” Mike said suddenly. “Why were you thinking it has to be one way or the other, a baby or a career? We’ve done babies before. We’re pros. Together we can define what it means for us both to be working parents. You’re not alone, Marta.”
“I won’t forget that ever again,” she promised.
Suddenly, Mike’s face took on a look Marta knew all too well. It was a look that meant a trip to Home Depot was in order. “You might want a home office,” he said, excitement tingeing his voice. “We could possibly build onto the garage, maybe put a second story. Or, and I’d have to check the zoning codes, we might build a new structure in the backyard. We could make it look like a cute little cottage! Another option might be to—”
A Wedding on the Beach Page 33
