“Do you remember our wedding day?” she asked when Mike was settled beside her.
“Of course! How could I forget the cheese ball your mother insisted on having at the cocktail hour!”
“Not exactly the classiest touch,” Marta pointed out.
“I thought it was awesome,” Mike said. “It was when I realized how much I liked your mother. And I remember how touched I was watching you dance with your father. Touched and scared out of my mind. I thought, this man will pulverize me if I screw up this marriage.”
“Dad wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Marta protested.
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t taking any chances.” Mike turned to her, spilling a drop of coffee on Bess’s expensive sheets. He didn’t notice and Marta said nothing. “I’m still not,” he went on. “I don’t know where or who or what I would have been if I hadn’t married you, Marta. I really don’t.”
“The same goes for me,” Marta said earnestly, “so let’s not even think about it.” And then she laughed. “You know what I just remembered? That poor old couple who wandered into our reception thinking it was their great-nephew’s wedding. They couldn’t find their place cards and they were so agitated until you got wind of what was going on and came to their rescue.”
Mike shrugged. “All I did was bring them some champagne and when we’d had a good laugh about the mix-up I walked them down the hall to where their family had been going crazy with worry.”
“You were very kind,” Marta said. “You always were. It’s one of the things I love best about you, Mike.”
Mike put his coffee cup on the bedside table. “No one will miss us if we aren’t down right away,” he said.
Marta put her own cup on her bedside table. “You’re right,” she said, sliding closer to her husband. “No one will miss us.”
Chapter 99
Allison slipped back into her room, bathrobe belted tightly around her. She had encountered no one in the hall on her way to and from the bathroom. She thought she heard the murmur of voices as she passed Mike and Marta’s room, but she couldn’t be sure. She had no doubt that Bess, if not Nathan, had been up for hours already, eager to greet the day.
It was a bittersweet morning for Allison, though, as memories of her own wedding day insisted on making themselves noticed. The Longfellows, the Montagues, and Chris and Allison had booked into a high-end hotel in downtown Chicago the day before. The three couples had celebrated that evening with a dinner of prime rib, chocolate soufflé, and plenty of champagne. Chris had accompanied his parents back to their suite for the night, leaving Allison alone in theirs. She had barely been able to stand being without him; she had listened to the maddeningly slow ticking of the clock, counting the hours until she would become Chris’s wife.
Allison and her mother had started the big day with a light breakfast followed by a mani-pedi in the hotel’s salon. Later they were joined by Agnes Montague for lunch. And all that day Allison had longed to be only with Chris. It had been his choice, in a nod to tradition, not to see his bride until she appeared at the foot of the aisle, dressed in her finest.
The ceremony had taken place at three o’clock in the afternoon at a church chosen by Agnes Montague more for its stunning architecture than its homey familiarity. It was a traditional service, serious in tone, with appropriately soaring music. Allison was magnificent in a Candlelight Ivory peau de soie gown. Chris was desperately handsome in a bespoke tuxedo.
The reception, an elegant affair, had ended at midnight, after which Allison and Chris had changed into comfortable clothing and joined up with Chuck, Bess, Mike, and Marta, who had done the same. Together they descended on a late-night jazz venue, where they spent hours listening to the music and dancing. At six in the morning they piled into an old-fashioned diner for a breakfast of eggs, bacon, toast, and for Mike, an additional pastry. It had been, Allison thought, the best twenty-four hours of her life.
But that was then. This was now. This was Bess’s wedding day. Allison found her friend in the kitchen, full of nervous energy.
“Come with me to the nail salon,” Bess begged. “I don’t know why, but I don’t want to be alone for one minute today.”
“Sure,” Allison said, hurrying after Bess, who was already at the front door.
“What color are you going to get?” Bess asked as they got into her car.
“You know I only wear pale neutrals. Probably Ballet Slipper.”
“Why not get something different?” Bess suggested. “Just for the fun of it.”
It was difficult to hold out against Bess’s enthusiasm and Allison found herself choosing a gray-tinted lilac she thought would work well with her dress. Bess was disappointed Allison hadn’t chosen something bright, like one of the neon colors new to the salon that summer, but she hadn’t pressed her point. Allison was sure Bess had more important things on her mind. Like her own manicure, for which she had selected—yes, Ballet Slipper.
On the drive back to Driftwood House, Bess fretted about the details of the day. Would the bakery deliver the right order? The weather forecast was clear, but would a freak rain shower send everyone running into the house? (Bess had bought plastic mats to cover the better rugs against that possibility.)
“I wonder if the florist has been to the house yet,” she said, tapping her newly manicured fingers against the steering wheel. “I know Kara is on top of things and Marta said she would triple-check the delivery but . . .”
“But it’s your job to worry,” Allison said soothingly. “I’m sure everything will be fine.”
Indeed, the florist had been to the house in their absence. Marta had inspected the flowers according to Bess’s instructions and found everything perfect. Kara had directed the florist’s delivery people as to where garlands were to be draped and vases set out.
The bouquet Bess was to carry was a fairly simple one consisting of three sunflowers—one a traditional sunny yellow, the other a sunset orange, and the third, a bronze. Small yellow flowers and green-and-white leaves completed the outstanding look.
“What flower says Bess Culpepper better than a sunflower?” Allison asked. She took Bess’s hand in hers. “Bright. Cheery. And unashamed to be so!”
“It’s not sunflower season here,” Bess explained. “The florist had to hunt them down, but the added expense didn’t bother me. There was no way I was going to get married without sunflowers!”
Allison smiled. “I hope you remember today as truly the happiest day of your life,” she said earnestly. As I still remember my wedding day as the happiest day of mine.
Chapter 100
Bess and Allison had been back at the house for about half an hour when the sound of a car in the drive caused Bess to hurry to the door. But it wasn’t another delivery. It was her brother-in-law’s old station wagon that had pulled up to the house. Bess could make out Gus behind the wheel with her father beside him. In the backseat were her sister Mae and her mother. Behind them were crammed the kids. Ann, Walt, and their kids would, of course, have come in their own vehicle.
Bess ran out to greet her family. She hadn’t expected to see any of them before one o’clock, the time the celebration officially began. She hoped none of them had taken ill or . . .
Mrs. Culpepper was climbing out of the car. Bess embraced her warmly. “Mom,” she said, “I’m so glad you’re here. Is everything all right?”
Mrs. Culpepper, dressed in her usual summer attire of mid-calf cotton skirt and a short-sleeved blouse, laughed. “Everything is fine and I’m sorry to be disturbing you before we’re expected.” She handed Bess a shoe box Bess hadn’t noticed until that moment. “Your bag is inside,” Mrs. Culpepper explained. “It’s wrapped in tissue to protect the beading. I hope it’s what you wanted.”
Bess felt tears come to her eyes. “I’m sure it’s perfect,” she told her mother. And she believed now that it would be.
Mrs. Culpepper nodded and stepped back toward the car. “Well,” she said briskly, “we’ll be off to the m
otor lodge.”
“Don’t you want to come in for breakfast,” Bess offered. She didn’t really want them to go.
But her mother was already in the backseat. Mae waved excitedly at Bess. “You don’t need us underfoot,” Mrs. Culpepper called.
Bess watched as Gus maneuvered the wagon back onto the road. She thought about what she had said at dinner the other night, that maybe she should have invited her sisters and their children to stay at Driftwood House for a few days. And she realized now why she hadn’t. She had been afraid they would say no.
Slowly, Bess went inside the house, where she found Marta and Allison at the island in the kitchen.
“Who was that?” Allison asked.
“My mom,” Bess explained. She put the shoe box on the counter and opened it. In the midst of the pristine white tissue paper was her wedding bag, a small drawstring confection made of pure white satin with an artful sprinkling of pale yellow and orange crystals to work with the colors of the flowers in Bess’s bouquet. It was simple and elegant and, Bess thought, absolutely perfect.
“Wow,” Marta said. “It’s stunning.”
“The workmanship is superb,” Allison noted. “I had no idea your mother was so talented.”
“Neither did I,” Bess admitted. “She paid attention to every idea I provided, but then made the bag something far better. She made it her own.” Bess hesitated but only for a moment. “And you know what?” she said. “I’m going to wear the garter Mae lent me as my something borrowed. I know, I didn’t tell you guys about it because frankly, it’s horrid. But it was given in a spirit of love and that means a lot.”
Marta nodded. “And she doesn’t need to know about the bracelet Kara lent you.”
“Speaking of what you’ll be wearing,” Allison said, pointing to the clock over the sink, “it’s about time you started getting dressed and thought about doing your hair.”
Bess looked at the clock, as well. “You’re right. I’ve brought my dress into our room and Nathan’s going to use the small spare room at the end of the hall to get ready so I can freak out to my heart’s content on my own. You know, if a zipper gets stuck or something.”
“I’m packing a needle and thread,” Marta said. “Now, let’s get you ready.”
Chapter 101
Once Bess was dressed and Allison was dealing with the bride’s hair, Marta went to her own room to prepare. Bess had given her carte blanche regarding her dress—a very generous gesture, Marta thought. Surprisingly, Marta had found just the thing in her closet. Tiny sprays of green and yellow flowers were scattered across the cream-colored background of the dress, which came to just above her ankles. Long, billowy sleeves and a high neck with the tiniest bit of lace made the dress a more romantic style than Marta usually wore; she must have been in a strange mood the day she bought it, but there was no denying it looked good on her. Mike definitely thought so. And it had been on sale.
Marta took more than usual care with her appearance. She used product and a blow-dryer on her hair and while she hadn’t gone with the others to the salon that morning, she had painted her own nails neatly with a pale-pink polish. Her maid of honor speech was tucked into her bag, which she had borrowed from Sam for the occasion. Sam had worn the Art Deco, spring-green Lucite bag with clear Lucite handles to her prom a few weeks back; it had been a gift from her father. At the time, Marta hadn’t been happy about the expenditure, but now she was glad to have the opportunity to wear something that worked so well with her dress.
With a little advice from his wife, Mike had chosen to wear an impeccable lightweight navy suit with a sky-blue shirt and a slightly darker blue tie. Marta was pretty sure the tie would disappear soon after the ceremony. She just hoped Mike would remember where he had tossed the tie. She expected he wouldn’t and she would spend some time checking under tables and behind bushes before it came to light.
As she put on her jewelry—her modest and much-beloved wedding and engagement rings; her trusty Fossil watch; simple gold stud earrings—Marta thought about the call she had made to her mother and the kids earlier that morning.
“Please wish Bess the best from your father and me,” Mrs. Kennedy had said. “I sent a card to her Portland address. It should be waiting when she gets back.”
Sam had sighed. “Weddings are so romantic! Be sure to get a picture of the first kiss!”
“What does this guy do, the one Bess is marrying?” Leo asked. Marta imagined the frown of assumed maturity on his twelve-year-old face.
“He’s some bigwig in communications with Winter International.”
“Never heard of it,” Leo said dismissively.
Troy didn’t want to know anything about the wedding. He wanted to know if they could get a puppy like his grandfather’s Dachsund. Wanting at all costs to avoid a meltdown over the phone, Marta had relied on the “we’ll talk about it when Mommy and Daddy get home” put-off.
Marta gave her reflection one last approving look and went downstairs to join the others. Guests had begun arriving twenty minutes earlier. Marta scanned the back porch and yard. There was no sign of Chris so far, and Marta had heard nothing from him. She decided not to send an inquiring text. Chris might interpret it as pressure, and he had enough on his plate without Marta hounding him.
Suddenly, Marta felt overcome with emotion. The day Bess had been dreaming about for most of her life. Marta, who did not believe in God, nevertheless sent a prayer into the universe for her dear friend and the man she loved so completely. Let Bess and Nathan appreciate the love they’ve been given to share, she thought. There is no greater gift.
Then Marta went in search of Mike.
Chapter 102
Guests had been arriving for some time, many carrying gaily wrapped boxes and gift bags in spite of Bess’s request for no presents other than a donation to one of her favorite charities. The need for celebration, Allison thought, was very strong. A wedding was not only cause for the couple to cheer, it was an opportunity for an entire community of friends and family to break out of the day-today and to consciously remember that life was grand. At least, that it could be grand.
The majority of the guests were strangers to Allison. She guessed the average age to be forty-five, and the average income healthy. The Culpepper clan—all thirteen of them—stood out, but not as outrageously as Bess had hinted they would. Allison noted that Bess’s mother was a natural beauty, one of those lucky women with bone structure that didn’t quit.
Allison was dressed in a slim, mid-calf length slip dress in a soft minty green. She wore her long blond hair loose, and her only jewelry was a simple diamond pendant on a white gold chain her parents had given her on her graduation from college. She had managed to pin her nosegay—a miniature version of the bouquet Marta carried—onto the strap of her camera so that she could be hands-free to document the more casual and intimate moments of the day. Flat sandals completed her outfit.
Chuck and Dean had beautifully coordinated their outfits. No surprise there, Allison thought. Each man wore a linen suit in a shade of beige. Chuck’s shirt was pale yellow and his pocket handkerchief was lilac. Dean’s shirt was the exact same shade of lilac and his pocket handkerchief the same shade of pale yellow. The baby wore a pale blue romper with a short-sleeved white shirt underneath accented by a teeny lilac bow tie and yellow socks. One of Bess’s nieces, the nine-year-old Tildy, was hovering around the Fortunato-Williams family, entranced by little Thomas.
Allison couldn’t help but see that Chris had not yet arrived. Maybe he had decided not to come after all. For a moment, Allison felt real disappointment at the possibility of Chris’s deciding not to show. But only for a moment.
Before any more time passed, Allison made it a point to introduce herself to the photographer Bess had hired for the event and to explain why he would see her taking so many photographs. It was a stroke of luck that Allison and the photographer’s head assistant knew someone in common, so that her promise to stay well out of the way was
taken seriously.
When that task had been accomplished, Allison made a visual search for her feline friend, but he was nowhere to be seen. It was probably wise of him to stay far away from a bunch of shouting children and adults drinking more than they ordinarily did, Allison decided. A tail might get stepped on.
Indeed, the crowd was growing by the minute—and enjoying itself. For the thirsty, there was red, white, and rosé wine in addition to Prosecco. For those who preferred nonalcoholic drinks, there was fizzy water, pomegranate juice, and iced tea. Several people had already made a foray into the buffet. Allison wasn’t surprised. Lobster dumplings. Crab quiche. Pigs in a blanket. Cold shrimp. Roast beef. Tiny peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. There was something to tempt every appetite.
Bess had chosen to use restraint in terms of decoration. The tablecloths and napkins were snowy white against the green of the grass. Simple greenery garlands were strung along the buffet tables. The backs of the wooden folding chairs were decorated with a swath of shiny ivy leaves and a small white papery flower. Big bunches of sunflowers in various colors stood tall in old milk cans on either side of the stairs that led to and from the back porch, as well as at the corners of the temporary bandstand. It all made for a great background against which to capture the all-important human exchanges to come.
Or the ones that were happening right now, Allison thought, spying an older couple sharing a sweet kiss. She raised her camera to her eye and began to shoot.
Chapter 103
Earlier, Bess had stood before the full-length mirror in the room she was sharing with Nathan, and smiled. The dress she had chosen was a simple, strapless A-line gown rendered in pure white with a tasteful amount of white beadwork for visual interest. Her hair was done in a loose, tousled braid worn down her back; Allison had helped with the styling. On her feet, she wore custom satin flats with enough structure to prevent her from turning an ankle on the sand. To complete the look, she wore the Victorian filigree bracelet borrowed from Kara; her engagement ring; the aquamarine ring from Market Square Jewelers; and vintage clip-on earrings in gold and crystal. To the ribbon around her bouquet she had pinned the brooch that had belonged to Nathan’s grandmother. The wedding rings she and Nathan had chosen were simple gold bands.
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