“Has he talked to Allison?” Nathan asked.
“I don’t know. Poor Chris. Poor Allison! Today must be so hard on them.”
“Hey.” Nathan gently tugged Bess to a halt. “Remember who this day is about.”
Bess smiled up at her husband. “You and me. Me and you.”
* * *
Nathan had gone off with Simon for a catch-up conversation. They managed to see each other only once or twice a year, though Bess imagined that with her and Nathan living in Stockholm the men might be able to spend more time together. Bess liked Simon and she wondered why he wasn’t yet married. Hmm, she thought. Maybe she could find someone for him!
Somehow Chuck had located a softball and was playing catch with Chris. Like they had in college, Bess thought. Teammates. Roommates. Friends.
The children’s performer was a huge hit, and not only with the kids. Dean was sporting a purple balloon crown on his head. “I am Dean, Duke of Driftwood House,” he announced as he paraded the lawn with his son, who clutched a small balloon dog in his fat fist. Bess’s brothers-in-law also wore crowns, as did several of Bess’s colleagues.
Shoes and sandals had been abandoned as people danced on the grass to the jazz and blues tunes being performed by the band. Marta had been commandeered by Bess’s brother-in-law Gus, who, Bess was surprised to learn, could really dance. Allison was busy circling the yard, taking pictures but staying well out of the way of the hired photographic team.
Suddenly, Bess spied her mother making her way toward her. Mr. Culpepper, Bess saw, was deep in conversation with Howard Fanshaw. Bess wondered what the two men could possibly have in common. Her mother told her. “They’re talking mulch.”
Bess nodded. “A topic that unites all homeowners. Are you getting enough to eat, Mom? Have you tried the lobster dumplings? The tomato tartlets are awfully good, too.”
“Bess, don’t worry about me, I’m fine.” Mrs. Culpepper smiled. “Though I think your father has had enough of those little pancake thingies topped with caviar and cream for three people. Well, he works hard. And this is a lovely chance for the family to be together and celebrate.”
And we should do that more often, Bess thought. It’s up to me to make that happen and I’m ready to do it. “I can’t tell you how much I love the bag, Mom,” she said. It hung from Bess’s right wrist; the beads sparkled in the sun. “I’ll treasure it always.”
“It was my pleasure to make it. You’re a lovely bride.”
“All mothers must say that to their daughters.”
“And all mothers mean it.”
Bess hesitated. There had been something on her mind these past few days, but she wasn’t sure if now was the right time to mention it. But there was no time like the present. “Mom,” she said, “I have to ask you something. Last year, when you refused the money I offered to repair the roof. Why didn’t you accept my help?”
Mrs. Culpepper folded her hands before her. “Your father and I weren’t raised to take money from our children.”
Bess sighed. “But, Mom, it wasn’t as if you wanted money to take a luxury cruise. You needed a new roof. It was a necessity. Which is not to say I wouldn’t do my best to send you and Dad on a cruise if you wanted,” she added hurriedly. “The point is, what is family for if not to be there in the tough times?”
“We didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” her mother said quickly. “And the bank was willing to lend us what we needed. Well, most of it.”
“Okay, but next time, if you and Dad need a new boiler or if you just want a nice long weekend away, just the two of you, promise that you’ll come to Nathan and me. Please.”
Her mother nodded. “All right. I promise.”
“Good.” Bess felt herself beaming. “Now, have you had a piece of cake yet?”
Mrs. Culpepper laughed. “I’ll have one right now if it will stop you worrying about me.”
Bess watched her mother approach the dessert table and select a slice of the vanilla cake with strawberry filling. And as she did she was overcome by a feeling of deep gratitude for all her mother had done for her. Bess had been a shy kid, not bullied as much as ignored because she confused most of the other kids in tiny rural Green Lakes, with her quirky clothing and her nose always in a book that most certainly hadn’t been assigned at school. Whenever she was left off the guest list for a classmate’s birthday party or excluded from schoolyard games, it was her mother who would assure Bess that her time of inclusion would come when she left Green Lakes for college and met people from other places and walks of life. Matilda Culpepper had known that true happiness for her oldest daughter lay elsewhere, far from the ancestral home. She had probably known that even before Bess herself had, as far back as when she had been forced to rely on her oldest daughter to help care for her younger two.
How could she have forgotten that her mother had always been her champion? If Mrs. Culpepper had at times suggested that Bess give up her quest for a professional life in Portland and move home to Green Lakes, it was not because she didn’t understand that Bess was different from her younger sisters or because Mrs. Culpepper was trying to control her oldest child. It was because like any doting mother she was concerned for her child’s safety and security.
And her sisters. They were pretty great, too. Bess vowed to really get to know Mae and Ann, the siblings who had missed her when she had gone off to college, even though they had later chosen not to visit her in Portland. And she vowed to get to know their children, as well. Well, maybe once the children were grown. Watching all seven of them swarming across the lawn, stuffing their mouths with cake, shouting for no apparent reason other than the fact that they had lungs and could shout, dodging adult guests with only inches to spare, and shedding clip-on ties and patent leather Mary Janes as they went . . . Well, it was all making Bess feel a bit queasy. And her blood pressure might just have jumped into an unhealthy range watching Gus Jr. fling a Frisbee in the general direction of the house for which she had paid so much money. Ann’s oldest daughter, Lily, caught the Frisbee and Bess’s blood pressure returned to a healthy level.
A quick glance around at the adult guests confirmed the fact that the party had achieved its own momentum. If Bess Culpepper knew how to do one thing, it was to throw a party. Just as she was congratulating herself on this latest success, however, she spotted the founding member of her book group, looking overwhelmed. In one hand, Barbara held an empty plate on which rested a fork and a spoon. In the other she was juggling a glass of wine and her purse. Barbara would be eighty-five come autumn, and Bess had noted that she had become the tiniest bit frail and mildly confused at times.
“Let me take that empty plate for you,” Bess said, striding over to her.
“Thank you, dear,” Barbara said with obvious relief. “This is such a wonderful event! I expect we’ll be talking about your wedding at our next meeting rather than the book we’re supposed to be discussing!”
Barbara moved off toward another member of their book group.
“You’re not supposed to be on duty,” a voice said.
Bess turned to find her assistant, Kara. She looked smashing in a periwinkle silk sheath dress and her hair worn up in a neat French twist. Diamond studs twinkled on her earlobes. “I can’t turn it off,” Bess said with a laugh. “I need to be sure that everyone is enjoying himself.”
Kara smiled fondly. “I know. It’s what makes Joie de Vivre the success it is. And it’s also what makes you such a good boss.”
Bess hesitated but only for a moment. “How would you feel about sharing that responsibility?”
“What do you mean?” Kara asked, her expression keen.
“I’ll fill you in on the details when I get back to Portland, but let’s just say there’s going to be a change at Joie de Vivre and I’m going to need you more than ever before.”
Kara beamed. “Count me in!”
Another guest called out to Kara and she moved off to join her.
Bess remembered
how badly she had felt the other night, insulting herself for her love of being a hostess, for caring so much about every little detail meant to make a person happy. Accusing herself of being obsessed, of having compulsive needs.
The thing was, she didn’t want to change. She didn’t want to become someone who didn’t care so very much. What else might she lose if she lost her porous nature, the very thing that allowed her to feel such immense sympathy for and empathy with others? Would she lose her sensitivity to beauty and her appreciation of art and nature?
It didn’t bear thinking about. Bess wanted people to be happy and while in the future she would keep in mind what both Allison and Marta had said about her tendency to “interfere,” as well as about her not having the power to compel happiness and not always knowing what it was that would make a person happy—she would also joyfully continue to provide bowls of favorite candies in bedrooms and scented candles in bathrooms and to perform the small, thoughtful gestures that could make such a positive difference in a person’s daily life.
Bess thought once again of that strange wind that had come out of nowhere one night two weeks ago as she and her friends were gathered around the dinner table. Allison had surmised it was a conspiracy of moon and sea to create a storm to disturb their complacency—such as it was.
Ha! Bess laughed. Sometimes a gust of wind was just a gust of wind.
Chapter 107
Ann and Mae zoomed in on Marta as she stood on the periphery of the dance area, watching Bess and Nathan’s friends Lisa and Howard Fanshaw do a unique version of The Twist.
Bess’s sisters wanted to know about Marta’s children. Was Sam seriously dating anyone? Was she planning to go to college or to settle down and get married after graduation? Did Leo play sports? Did he have a little girlfriend? What was Troy’s favorite television show?
Marta answered their questions. Yes, Sam was seeing someone, but not seriously, and most certainly she was going to college and maybe to law school after that. No, Leo did not play sports. (He thought ball sports were stupid, but Marta kept that bit of information to herself.) He did not have a girlfriend. He did not want a girlfriend; he was only twelve and had better things to do with his time than date. (That was a direct quote.) And Troy didn’t have a favorite television show because he didn’t watch television. He wasn’t allowed to. He loved to read, though. He had been reading since he was five.
Ann shook her head. “My Lily is boy crazy, has been all her life. I just hope she doesn’t get herself in trouble. Tildy doesn’t care one way or the other about boys and I hope it stays that way for a good long while. But she does love babies. Jacob’s a little ladies’ man—he’s seven. He’ll have the girls lined up around the block waiting for a date! As for Little Owen, well, at three all he’s interested in is that cartoon, what’s it called, the one with the pink chicken.”
“What about your children?” Marta asked Mae.
Mae chuckled. “I can’t get my Gus, he’s ten, to sit still long enough to finish his homework. He never had much interest in school. His daddy is pretty sure he can get him a job at the hardware store once he graduates high school, if he doesn’t quit when he turns sixteen, and it’s my bet that he will. Alan, he’s five, he does all right in school, though the teacher says he’s bored and maybe should be in a private school. How we could afford that is anyone’s guess! Dennis, of course, is only two. He and Little Owen are angels once you put them in front of the TV. You can walk away and get all sorts of things done and they won’t even know you’re gone!”
Marta nodded. She didn’t know what to say to the women regarding the brief picture they had painted of their families. Both were so different from her own. She had, however, noted that all of Bess’s nieces and nephews were clean, happy, and decently dressed. “They all look very healthy and festive,” she said, hoping the words sounded appropriately complimentary.
The sisters thanked Marta and went off in search of their husbands. Ann was worried that Walt hadn’t gotten enough to eat, and Mae was worried that Gus had eaten too many sweets. “I don’t want him to get the diabetes,” she said. “It runs in his family.”
Bess really was cut from a different cloth, Marta thought when Ann and Mae had gone. No wonder she had difficulty bonding with her sisters. Still, blood was thicker than water (not always but often a good thing) and Marta hoped that over time Bess would grow to feel more united with the other members of her family. They were good people. Bess was a good person.
A shout of laughter caused Marta to look in the direction of the bandstand. A very dapper man was leading Mrs. Culpepper in a rather wild two-step. But Marta was more interested in who was standing a few yards beyond the dance area. Chris. Marta sighed. It was impossible to miss the look of despair on his face as he watched Simon, Nathan’s friend, in animated discussion with Allison. There was no denying that Simon was an attractive man. He was tall and well-built. His hair was thick and silver and swept back off a strong, tanned face in which dark eyes sparkled.
It was good for Allison, Marta thought, to be reminded that she was a young, attractive woman, soon to be single—if Chris couldn’t work a miracle and get Allison to reconsider the marriage—and that she had a long life ahead of her. As for Chris, Simon’s attentions to his soon-to-be-former wife might just spur him on to attempt that miracle. But that was not Marta’s concern any longer. She had said what she could say.
Marta made her way toward the bottom of the yard, where Mike was having a grand old time playing with Bess’s nieces and nephews. The sight warmed her heart. She knew that if she could do it all again she would do exactly the same as she had done. She would never trade all she had—Mike and the children and the life they shared together—for any other scenario. And there was no point in feeling ashamed that for a brief period of time she had felt a yearning for a life she might have had if she had made different choices. That was part of being human, having to negotiate curiosity, the thirst for the “what if,” the temptation of the foreign, the lure of fantasy. There was nothing to be proud of in behaving well in a cozy, nonthreatening atmosphere, but you could feel proud of having resisted temptation or despair when confronted with it, no matter its source.
Marta shook her head fondly as Mike threw himself onto the ground and the kids piled on top of him, laughing and squealing. She hoped he hadn’t hurt his back taking that fall; he wasn’t as young as he used to be—none of them were—and . . . Marta caught herself and smiled. If he pulled a muscle during the horseplay she would nurse him back to health. Still, she was glad he had shed his suit jacket and his tie. The pants were going to need immediate dry cleaning, and the shirt would need a presoak if it had picked up grass stains.
Marta let her gaze wander. Ann Culpepper—Marta realized she had never bothered to learn Ann’s married name—was making her way toward her husband with two cups of coffee. She handed one of the cups to Walt and he leaned down and kissed her cheek. Marta saw Ann put a hand to her pregnant belly and smile. A good mother, Marta noted. Kind and loving.
Raising children, Marta knew, was a very special task. Lots of people with advanced degrees and significant careers were appallingly bad at it; being a successful parent took talents and strengths not taught in schools or rewarded with money or public acclaim. Besides, there was not enough money in the world to properly compensate a parent for doing a good job of being a mother or a father. But it would be nice, Marta thought, if the stay-at-homes got a healthy stipend for their pains!
“Marta!” It was Mike calling from under the pile of children. “Help! I’m being devoured by tickle monsters!”
Marta laughed. “You’re on your own,” she called back. She thought of Sam, and Leo, and Troy, and of this new baby, and she recalled a few lines from the song Bess had chosen to mark her special day.
“It really is a wonderful world,” Marta whispered feelingly.
Chapter 108
“I’m so glad Nathan and Bess found each other. It’s been so long since I
saw him smile this way, as if happiness was truly his once again.”
Allison nodded. “I’m glad, too,” she said to Simon. “I have a good feeling about this marriage.”
She liked Simon. He was intelligent and amusing and undoubtedly good-looking. If he had time before his return to England and wanted to see her again she might very well say yes. She could always postpone her flight to Chicago. Greg could handle the business on his own for a few more days. He might actually welcome the opportunity.
Suddenly, Allison caught sight of Chris looking at her and was almost amused—almost—to realize that he might be a bit jealous. Simon, too, had become aware they had an audience. “I think your ex-husband wants a word with you. Sorry. Soon-to-be ex-husband.”
“You don’t have to go,” Allison said earnestly. She didn’t owe Chris anything beyond common courtesy. Not really. Not much, anyway.
Simon smiled. “That’s all right. I’ll see you later.”
The moment Simon began to walk away, Chris started toward her.
“Do you think we could take a walk along the beach?” he asked when he was close enough to be heard without shouting.
Allison didn’t hesitate. There was nothing to be gained by being rude or even politely dismissive. For all she knew this might be the last time she and Chris would come face-to-face. Better to make a neutral memory than a hostile one. Besides, she still had a feeling that they had left something unfinished the morning before.
“For a few minutes,” she said. “I don’t want to miss anything important.” Allison indicated the camera slung around her neck.
Chris nodded and side by side they walked down the lawn to the stairs that led to the sand and then to the water’s edge. Allison wondered who among their friends had watched them go.
When they reached the water’s edge, Allison turned to face the man she had married so joyfully so many years ago. She noted the familiar curl of hair around his ear; his beautifully shaped hands; his eyes more violet than true blue. A surge of fondness tinged liberally with passion swept through her. She hadn’t noticed these beloved things about Chris at dinner the other evening or the following morning on the beach. Both times she had been so tightly wrapped in her own anger and efforts at self-preservation.
A Wedding on the Beach Page 37
