No Wedding Like Nantucket

by Grace Palmer

  He finally let go of her and stepped back. “Everything all right?”

  She smiled up at him. “I just missed you. That’s all.”

  He frowned—she knew he didn’t believe her—but he didn’t press the subject. She appreciated that more than he would ever know. She wasn’t sure how to put her feelings into words just yet.

  She turned to face the living room. Grady was playing video games on the couch. Alice was reading a book. She went over and pressed a soft kiss onto her head, then his. She lingered for as long as she could get away with without offending either one. They were almost past the age where they craved Mommy’s love, so she was glad that they let her do this now. She needed it badly. She needed to smell her kids and her husband, to feel their body heat, to see them blink and breathe and laugh. It mattered so, so much all of a sudden. She was blessed. She didn’t need the dream house or anything else at all, so long as she had these things.

  “Do you guys want to go get ice cream?” she asked suddenly, jangling her keys. “Mom’s treat.” Pete was an automatic yes, she knew.

  Grady and Alice both looked up at her. “On a school night?” Alice squealed.

  “Our little secret,” she replied.

  Both of them looked at each other, then back at her with huge smiles on their faces. They dropped what they were doing and sprinted to put their shoes on at the door. Holly rested her head on Pete’s shoulder while she watched them squabble to get ready. She could already tell that this stupid, silly moment would be one that she remembered forever.

  At the ice-cream place, Holly got pistachio with sprinkles. Pete got chocolate with chocolate syrup. Alice and Grady both got the most violently rainbow-colored flavor they could find. Holly let them get large sizes, too, so they were both over the moon.

  On the way back home, she cranked the song playing on the one CD she kept in her car—“Bohemian Rhapsody” by Queen. She’d been playing it since the kids were born, for a moment just like this—when everybody sang together. Grady and Pete teamed up for the low parts while Alice and Holly did the falsettos. They all sang the hook at the end at the top of their lungs, as a Nantucket summer breeze blew in through the open windows and the sweetness of ice cream hummed on their tongues.

  A sudden memory hit Holly like a runaway train. She was in the car on a night like this. It was before the kids were born, so it was just her and Pete. He was about a year out from college and working a dead-end corporate job he hated. She was a secretary in the vault of a bank. They were young and in love and poor as all get-out. She remembered this moment specifically because Pete had won a raffle at his office for a free dinner at some steakhouse in town. On the way back, they were driving and singing along to the radio, buzzing with wine and free food and each other. They’d pulled into the parking garage of the crummy apartment they were staying at while they searched for somewhere better that wasn’t outrageously expensive. It was pitch dark—the lights never worked in here. When Pete killed the engine, she grabbed his wrist and looked at him, though she couldn’t see much.

  “I have to tell you something,” she said that night. Her eyes were glistening.

  “Lemme guess,” he said. “You’re joining the circus.”

  She giggled. “Strike one.”

  “Your long-lost great-great aunt just left us a billion-dollar inheritance.”

  “Ooh, good guess. Strike two, though.”

  “You’re pregnant.”

  She bit her lip, then smiled. “Bingo.”

  He did a double take. His jaw fell. “No way.”

  “Hit it out of the park, babe.”

  “Stop.”

  “The crowd’s going crazy.”

  “No.”

  She hesitated. Then a car rounded the corner and lit him up with its headlights and she saw that he had a smile stretching from ear to ear.

  “You’re happy, right?” she asked.

  He put a hand on the side of her face and pulled his forehead up to touch hers. She felt his breath on her lips, warm and fragrant with the tang of red wine.

  “I’ve never been happier, Hollz.”

  That was how she felt now. Like she’d never been happier.

  They made a blanket fort when they got home. Pete and Alice read books. Holly and Grady played video games together until all of them were drooping. One by one, the kids and then Pete fell asleep. Holly was the last one awake. Eyes lidded with the weight of the sugar crash, she looked around and saw the rising and falling chests of her family as they slumbered.

  She smiled to herself. Then she fell asleep, too.

  16

  Brent

  Just after dawn on Thursday morning.

  Three days until Eliza’s wedding.

  “I’m dying. For real. This is the end. Bury me here.”

  “Quit your whining, Marsh. If you were dying, you wouldn’t be able to talk so dang much.”

  Marshall was hunched over, hands on his knees, taking in huge, gasping breaths like he’d just run a marathon. Brent stood by with his arms crossed over his chest, watching his melodramatic friend ham it up for an audience of—well, it was just Brent and Henrietta here on the beach with him. It was just a few minutes after dawn on Thursday morning. They had been out on the sand and loosening up before the sun finally peeked over the horizon.

  Marshall straightened up and took in one more slow, aching inhale, as if it was the last one he’d ever get to take. “When did you become the Flash?” he asked.

  Brent chuckled. Henrietta pawed the sand impatiently. “We ran a mile in twelve minutes. I wouldn’t exactly call that ‘top speed,’ amigo.”

  His best friend fixed him with the most utterly serious stare he could muster. “I am extremely confident that what we just did was a world record.”

  Brent rolled his eyes and checked his watch again. “C’mon, we got three more miles at least until I let you call it quits.”

  Marshall’s jaw dropped. “Three more of those? You are out of your mind, Triple B. Wait, where are you going? Don’t start running again!”

  But Brent and Henrietta were already a few yards away down the beach, settling back into a gentle jog and laughing under their breath as Marshall scrambled to catch up.

  It had become a new morning routine. Or rather, it was going to be, as soon as Marshall quit being such a whiny little crybaby about the whole thing. Brent would’ve thought, after years of hauling in fish, scrubbing hulls, and doing all the other little manual tasks that running a charter fishing business required, that Marshall would be more physically fit. He had been wrong. Marshall was sucking wind within seconds of setting off on this morning’s run, which he intended to be the first of many. But he was still jabbering as per usual, so Brent didn’t take him too seriously just yet.

  They made their way another two and a half miles before Marshall stopped talking altogether and just started staring at the horizon as they plodded ahead, like a shell-shocked soldier coming home from the battlefield. That was when Brent knew that he was nearing the end of his rope.

  But it was such a beautiful morning that he thought it was a shame to give up so early. There’d been a lot of talk around town about this Hurricane Brenda that seemed to be bearing down on Nantucket. Brent figured, if they were going to get jacked up by a vicious storm like that, he might as well enjoy the pretty weather while it lasted.

  Marshall agreed—right up until the point when he didn’t. At long last, Brent slowed to a walk and then stopped. Marshall promptly collapsed on the ground like he’d been shot by a sniper. Brent laughed and stood over him.

  “How we doin’, Marsh?”

  “Tell my mother I love her.”

  “You gonna be able to walk home?”

  Marshall cracked open one eye and glared at him. “Just make sure the Med-Evac helicopter has room to land, okay?”

  Henrietta licked the salty sweat off his face. Marshall didn’t have the energy to push her away.

  “He’s not getting up anytime soo
n, is he?” Brent asked her. She whined, which he interpreted as agreement. Sighing, he took a seat on the sand next to his buddy and looked out across the water. “It’s a beautiful place we live in, ain’t it, Marsh?”

  “Mmf.”

  “We’re lucky to be here.”

  “Urgh.”

  “Sun is shining, breeze is blowing, summer is in full effect.”

  “Blargh.”

  He glanced over. “You’re not gonna puke, are you?”

  “No comment.”

  “Well, at least we’re speaking in full sentences again. C’mere, girl,” he said to Henrietta. She came over and laid her head in his lap for him to pet. “I’m thankful for you, too,” he said, leaning down to kiss her between the ears. “You came into my life at the right time.”

  They sat in silence and enjoyed the morning for a while. Gradually, Marshall revived and struggled back upright. By now, the sun was well above the horizon and it was time to get the day started. The two men clasped hands and pulled each other to their feet.

  Marshall dusted himself off and squinted around. “Can’t wait until we do this again next year.”

  “I think you mean tomorrow, friendo.”

  He blanched. “I’ll consider myself lucky if I can even walk tomorrow,” he protested.

  “You’re a lucky guy. And either way, you’re getting three miles done with me. Bright and early.”

  “You are the bane of my existence, Triple B.”

  “I love you too, Marsh.”

  Together, they trudged up the beach towards the pathway that wound between the dunes. Henrietta ran ahead, in an unusually good mood compared to how unfriendly she’d been lately. She still had a lot of energy, since they hadn’t done the five or six miles that Brent normally ran. Marshall wasn’t quite ready for that.

  “What’s on the agenda today?” Brent asked.

  “Well,” Marshall began, scratching his chin, “after this little warm-up we did, I was thinking we’d tackle five thousand push-ups, ten thousand squats, a million chin-ups, then some—”

  “Wait.” Brent froze. “Did you hear that?”

  “Over the sound of my own physical excellence? I don’t think so.”

  Suddenly, Brent realized the source of the yelping noise he’d just heard. He looked around. Henrietta must have run past the bend up ahead. He took off sprinting.

  When he rounded the corner, he saw her lying on her side and whining.

  He also saw the quick flash of a snake slithering back into the underbrush.

  “Henrietta!” He bounded over and fell to his knees next to her. The sounds coming out of her throat were garbled and pained. His eyes scanned over her and saw two pinpricks of blood on her belly.

  Marshall came lumbering around the bend moments later.

  Brent looked up and made eye contact. “She got bit by a snake,” he said. “We need to her to the vet. Now!”

  The ride to the veterinarian’s office was rushed and horrible. Brent sat in the back seat with Henrietta on his lap. She’d stopped making noise altogether. Her chest was still rising and falling, so he knew she could still breathe, but he swore he could sense the poison spreading throughout her body. If he could find that snake, he’d chop it into a billion pieces and scatter them in every corner of the planet.

  But first, he needed to make sure that his favorite companion would survive.

  “Drive faster, Marsh!” he barked.

  “I’m going as fast as I can, B. We’re almost there. Is it a left or a right here?”

  “Left! Left! Go left!”

  Marshall wrenched the wheel around and then they squealed into the parking lot. Brent was out of the car before it came to a full stop, bearing Henrietta in his arms. He kicked the door in lieu of knocking, over and over until someone finally answered.

  “Hi, yes, we heard you—” the vet began, but Brent was already pushing his way through.

  “Snakebite,” he said through the haze of his panic. “You gotta hurry!”

  Fear had a firm handhold on his guts and was squeezing the life out of him. He laid Henrietta down on the cold metal examination table where the vet, Dr. Lena Dawson, directed him. She had snapped into business mode immediately when she saw the look on Brent’s face.

  “Her, here. You, there.” She pointed towards a chair through the doorway into the other room.

  “No,” he said immediately. “I’m staying with her.”

  Dr. Dawson shook her head. “I can’t do my job if you’re in here hovering. Go sit.”

  Marshall had come in behind him. “C’mon, B,” he said softly. “Just come sit.”

  Brent let Marshall lead him away. The door closed behind him. The two of them sat down in the rigid waiting room chairs. Brent stared between his feet, face white. Marshall patted him on the back once or twice, then they fell silent.

  Half an hour passed in the blink of an eye. Brent hadn’t moved. Had hardly breathed, as a matter of fact. How much loss was he going to have to take in his life? Every time he thought he was through the worst of it, he got beaten back down. Henrietta was innocent. She was a good dog, the best dog. She deserved better than this. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her. He prayed that Dr. Dawson knew what she was doing.

  Finally, the door swung back open. Dr. Dawson reemerged, stripping off rubber gloves.

  Brent looked up, eyes full of equal parts fear and hope. “Please tell me she’s okay,” he said immediately.

  Dr. Dawson smiled. “She’s going to be fine,” she said. “I gave her a mild sedative, so she’s sleeping a little bit for right now. Didn’t want her to be distressed with all the chaos going on.”

  Brent buried his face in his hands. He wanted to cry. But this was neither the time nor the place. He took a deep breath, stored away his relief for later, and looked up once again.

  “Thank you,” he whispered.

  “It’s a good thing you got her here so quickly.”

  “That’d be my doing, ma’am,” Marshall said. He raised his hand like a kid in class. “Best driver north of the Mason-Dixon Line, or so I’ve been told.”

  Brent looked over at his friend in disbelief. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say Marshall was flirting with the vet.

  He glanced back over to Dr. Dawson and saw, to his even greater surprise, that she was laughing. “Is that a fact?” she said. “Well, the dog is certainly lucky to have the two of you, then.”

  Brent thought about being mad for a second. But then he thought better of it. Henrietta was going to be just fine—the doc had just said so. The worst had passed.

  So instead, he took stock of the situation. Dr. Dawson was tall, slender, with dark hair pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail. Between that, the glasses, and the white lab coat she was wearing, she had a whole “competent professional” vibe that he figured Marshall found attractive.

  For his part, Marshall was sweating like a pig after their morning run, but hey, the guy did have a certain kind of motormouth charm, right? And Brent knew how lonely his best friend felt sometimes. For all that people like Marshall—friendly and charismatic—seemed to be casual buddies with everybody, they often didn’t have many folks they could truly talk to and connect with on a deeper level. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad thing at all.

  That being said, he wasn’t going to sit around while they made goo-goo eyes at each other. “Can I go see her?” he asked.

  “Go right ahead,” Dr. Dawson replied. “I’ll wait out here for you.”

  Brent swept in, leaving the doc and Marshall together outside.

  Like she’d said, Henrietta was asleep on the exam table. She was breathing slowly and easily, much better than the rapid-fire shallow breaths she’d been taking in the car ride on the way here. He saw that the area of the snakebite had been shaved and smeared with a white ointment that was peeking out around the edges of the bandage. He let out a sigh of relief. It was one thing to hear that she was going to be okay, and another thing to see it.


  Bending over, he buried his face in her neck and took a deep breath. She smelled like her: like sandy beach and dog and sunshine. He was glad she wasn’t going anywhere.

  He hung out in there for a little while, petting her softly and watching her sleep. His fear gradually receded back to where it had come from. He heard the muffled voices of Marshall and the vet outside. Eventually, he opened the door and stuck his head back out.

  “Can I take her home?” he asked.

  Dr. Dawson was next to Marshall in the seat that Brent had vacated. She looked up at him and nodded with a smile. “I’ll need to see her again tomorrow for some follow-up exams. But she should be good for the evening. Just keep a close eye on her, all right?”

  Brent gave her a thumbs-up. Then he picked Henrietta up gingerly and took her out to the car. “Let’s go home, girl,” he whispered in her ear. He could almost swear she smiled at that.

  Brent didn’t leave Henrietta’s side for the rest of the day. He took her to Rose’s instead of his apartment, so he could bring her outside if she felt like running around. But she kept sleeping for a long time. When she woke up around sunset, he put some food and water out for her. She didn’t eat much, but he made sure she drank enough to stay hydrated. Then she went back to sleep.

  Rose came home shortly after. He explained everything that had happened.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, babe!” she exclaimed. She’d pulled him into a tight hug. “I’m glad she’s going to be okay.”

  “Me too,” he murmured. “But I think I’m gonna sleep down here tonight, just so I can be close to her.”

  Rose nodded. “Yeah, of course.”

  She cooked dinner for her and Susanna. She offered Brent some food, too, but he wasn’t very hungry, so he passed.