A Nantucket Wedding
Page 24
A chill ran through Felicity’s veins.
“That’s why I’m not coming to the wedding,” Noah said, and he stared at her as if daring her to object.
Felicity was stunned. Only moments ago she’d felt so close to her husband, she’d pitied him, wanted to soothe him, and only an hour ago she’d been so proud of herself, so optimistic because she’d gotten a job that according to Noah would be of no help at all.
She opened her mouth to argue, then stopped. She didn’t want to argue anymore. She had done all she could to help Noah. But Noah wanted Ingrid and he didn’t want Felicity’s family.
So now she was going to help herself. She was going to take a job, and she was going back for certification as a teacher, because she knew she could be an excellent teacher, and the world needed good teachers as much as it needed green food.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Felicity said. “We’ll all miss you.”
She stood up, set her empty glass on the coffee table, and left the room.
twenty-four
As the British Airways plane began its descent, dread gripped Jane. She was almost there. She had dozed, off and on, as they crossed the Atlantic, and now it was only one-thirty at home, but here it was seven-thirty, and the sky was full of light. It disoriented her. It made her head hurt.
Looking out the window, she saw nothing but clouds. She could not see land or sky, she couldn’t even see the plane’s wing. So this was what Scott saw before he fell. Only white. No way to tell where to put his foot, no way to guess at direction. No wonder he fell. How frightening for him! She was so sorry, she felt anguished, not just that Scott had gone off alone to hike an unpredictable path over a craggy, complicated mountain, but that he might have gotten lost in the fog on the mountain and taken the wrong way, and she had not been with him.
What kind of wife was she?
She wanted to wail with anger, but she didn’t want to frighten the man next to her, so she went to the tiny restroom and combed her hair and said to her reflection in the mirror, “You’re a terrible wife.”
When she returned to her seat, the landing process had begun, and before she knew it, the plane touched down with a reassuring thud. Then, the endless wait as the plane taxied toward the terminal. Keeping calm while passengers ahead of her filed off. The tortoise-slow line through Customs. She claimed her suitcase at the baggage terminal, got cash from the ATM, read signs, inquired at Visitor Services, and found the connection to the train to Bangor.
She boarded the train and found a seat with a table and room to stretch her legs.
Jane had placed her cellphone faceup on the table in front of her. For an hour or so, she gazed at the scenery the train passed through: farmlands giving way to evergreens, rolling hills becoming mountains with glimpses of streams running far below. Gradually, the train was enclosed in thick evergreens so that light flickered down through the trees. Even though she was tired and jittery with nerves, she tried to rest. She leaned against the seat and closed her eyes.
And saw Scott’s face.
She’d first seen him during a class on torts at Harvard Law. He was handsome, but that wasn’t why she kept looking at him. Something about him was so steady, so calm. He was a big guy, tall and broad-shouldered with big hands and feet. She thought he must have played football in high school or college, but later she discovered he’d been a rower. His movements were deliberate, economical. He didn’t doodle on the edge of his notebook, although if ever there were a course that inspired doodling, this was it. He didn’t shift in his seat, didn’t squirm or jiggle his foot. He kept his eyes on the lecturing professor and seemed unaware of anything else in the room.
When class ended and everyone stood up, gathering their books and laptop computers and backpacks, Scott’s first movement was to turn his head and meet Jane’s eyes. His look was so intense, and he had a crooked smile on his face, as if all during that hour he’d been aware of her scrutiny. Jane had blushed.
She’d been twenty-four then, no giggling girl, and she’d known from the moment she first saw him that she wanted to connect with him somehow. So she waited, pretending to organize her papers, while the classroom emptied and only she and Scott were left. He came across the room and said, “Hey. I’m Scott.”
“I’m Jane,” she said, and for some reason she laughed. “I sound like I’m in a Tarzan movie.”
“Tarzan. I always loved those movies. I always wanted to be Tarzan, swinging from vine to vine, free of social constraints.”
“Free of taxation,” she said.
“Free of clothes. Most of my clothes.”
“I don’t know.” Jane cocked her head thoughtfully. “If you actually were in a jungle swinging from vine to vine, wouldn’t you want some clothes? Especially some briefs? I mean, think of the bugs in the jungle, the snakes, the poisonous plants.”
“You sound like someone who’s traveled,” Scott said.
“Um, yeah, to Paris and Quebec. No poisonous plants there.”
“So you speak French.” His eyes were hazel, streaked with green and gold, with a strong edge of dark blue around the circumference.
“Not really. I can get by when I have to, but I wouldn’t say I’m fluent.”
“I can get by in Spanish and some Mandarin,” Scott told her. “So together, we could take on the world.”
“Mandarin? Wow. Have you been to China?”
“No, but I want to go there. I want to travel everywhere,” Scott said.
If that very moment he’d asked her to go with him to China or Rio or Russia, Jane would have gone. As it happened, he’d asked her to go with him for coffee. Coffee turned into a lazy dinner at an Italian restaurant, and then to bed at his apartment.
As a lover, Scott was unhurried and gentle, responsive to Jane’s body, tender and sweet. They were very good together, and as they spent the next day talking and walking and reading, it seemed as if they’d always been together. Were meant to be together. They spent every possible moment with each other after that first meeting, and Jane knew they were going to marry, even though Scott, deliberate and responsible as always, waited a full year to propose. And then Jane did follow him everywhere—to Death Valley for their honeymoon. She was the only person she knew who had ever been to Death Valley.
Scott thought Jane was beautiful. She had never told him how jealous she was of her younger sister, Felicity, who was always surrounded by guys. She’d even been anxious about Scott meeting Felicity—he’d see that he’d chosen the least lovely sister. But Scott had been unaffected by Felicity’s charms. He thought she was good-looking, but maybe—he didn’t want to make Jane mad, he’d said—maybe she wore too much makeup, maybe she was just a bit silly, and obviously Felicity was jealous of Jane’s good looks. Jane had laughed until she had a stitch in her side, and Scott had been puzzled by her reaction.
They were both ambitious, both hard workers who felt most in the zone when they were struggling with some legal document. Jane was hired by Mercer and Klein, and Scott was quickly snapped up by an equally prestigious firm, in the tax code law department. Their titles and salaries were commensurate, and they could schedule their vacation days together. Most years they didn’t go to Boston to share Christmas with Alison and Felicity and Noah and their children. They did go the year Alice was a newborn, because Jane knew her sister would take offense if Jane didn’t come to adore the baby and wait hand and foot on Felicity. That year Alison had put on the full Christmas extravaganza, with a tree so high it bent over at the ceiling, and so many presents they spilled out into the hallway. Carols on the CD player, gingerbread cookies and eggnog, pumpkin and apple pies. Roast goose—geese, three of them—because Alison knew how little meat was on a goose. Alice and Scott had gone to the Christmas Eve midnight church service with Alison and Mark, mostly, as they agreed later in the privacy of the bedroom, to get away from the baby, whos
e cries were ear-piercing. After that year, they’d felt free of family obligations, for a while.
Scott and Jane’s stepfather, Mark, had gotten along famously. Of course, Mark got along famously with everyone. Scott and Noah were more like oil and water. Noah’s hair fell to his shoulders, and for a few years he had a beard. Noah was very tall and thin; he looked and sometimes sounded like the leader of a cult. The first time they met, Scott had extended his hand for a conventional male handshake. Noah had instead clasped both hands around Scott’s and intoned, “Hello, Brother.” Jane, standing behind Noah, had put her finger in her mouth, simulating gagging.
As the years passed and Noah’s ideas gelled into an actual business with wealthy investors, he became less self-righteous and smug. He got his hair cut—because his children kept pulling and tugging it, he said—and he bought one good suit. He asked for Mark’s advice. He asked for Scott’s advice.
Still, always, after a holiday or a quick dinner when Jane and Scott were in New York, they returned to their own small household with relief. The pattern of their days was repetitive and soothing and sensual, too. It was luxurious to read the Sunday papers together, propped on pillows, on their iPads or e-readers, drinking coffee Scott made and brought back to the bed. At some point, they’d make love. Afterward, they’d go out for a long, leisurely Sunday brunch, and if it was raining, they’d visit a museum. If not, they took a stroll through Central Park. They met friends for dinner. They saw first-run plays. Sometimes, for a while, they went to their home office and worked. On vacations, they chose places that would take them away from the rush of the city. They hiked in Colorado and Utah. In Mexico, they ate caldo tlalpeno and drank tequila. In Death Valley, they ate rattlesnake and drank more tequila. They didn’t want to go to China and the Far East until Scott had polished up his Mandarin. Jane tried to learn a little of the language. She remembered sitting on the sofa with Scott, trying to say hello, and laughing until she almost fell onto the floor.
Scott was such a good man. Honest, reliable. He would never try to have sex with a married woman. Jane wanted to shake herself. She’d been so foolish, like a resentful child!
And then, her cellphone, lying in a blank rectangle on the table, vibrated. The caller ID number was odd—it was Welsh! Jane snatched up the phone.
“Mrs. Hudson? This is Derfel Aberfa. I am happy to report that your husband has been found and rescued.”
“Oh! Thank you!” Jane burst into tears.
“He was not far from the Crib Goch path. He slipped on the damp rocks and fell into a gap between boulders. He has broken his arm and sustained some hypothermia, but otherwise he is doing well.”
“Oh, I’m so glad, oh, thank you so much. May I speak to him?”
“He’s being treated at the Ysbyty Gwynedd. The hospital in Bangor. Are you in Wales yet?”
“Yes, I think so. I’m on a train from Manchester. We’re rocketing along tracks on the very edge of a mountain.”
“Yes, you are in Wales. So when you arrive in Bangor, take a cab to the hospital. Your husband is there, now.”
“How can I thank you? Is there a charge for your services?”
“Donations are always gratefully received. To rescue your husband took five team members, one S-92 rescue helicopter, and a team of Land Rovers over a period of five hours.”
“Oh, I had no idea—a helicopter!” For one hysterical moment, Jane wanted to ask if Prince William had flown it. Felicity would be thrilled! “Will I meet you at the hospital?”
“No. A rescue team liaison will be there.”
“Oh, good, but I wish I could meet you. You have been so helpful.”
“It was a group effort.”
“Yes, of course. Thank you. Thank everyone.”
When the connection to Derfel Aberfa was cut, Jane put the phone down and sobbed into her hands. Jane was aware that others in the train were staring at her as if she were an exhibit in a museum, and once she had herself more or less in control, she stood up and looked around the cabin. “My husband had a fall on Mount Snowdon. That was a liaison from the Llanberis Mountain Rescue Team. They found him and he’s waiting for me in the hospital with only a broken arm.”
Some of the other passengers applauded. Everyone smiled. Jane sat back down and began texting Felicity and her mother.
* * *
—
Alison found an empty slot in the short-term parking lot at Logan airport and neatly pulled in between two SUVs. She pulled down the visor, checked her hair, and sighed. Her dark hair always went hopelessly limp in the humidity. She dabbed on a gloss of pale pink lipstick, double-checked that she had her car keys in her purse. With this new car, she didn’t need to insert a key but simply put a foot on the brake and push a button. She kept trying to put the key in where there was no keyhole and every time she got in the car she felt as if she’d gone a little bit mad. She had to rearrange the habit of a lifetime, taking the key from the ignition, clasping it in her hand, getting out of the car, and locking it. Now she needed only to have the keys near her to start the car, but she had to have the keys in her hand to lock the car. A different pattern, different rhythm. It irritated her, and she was even more irritated at herself for minding so much. It made her feel old.
Well, she told herself, there’s a first-world problem if there ever was one. She stepped out of the car, smoothed the front of her dress, and headed for the terminal. Anya, the brilliant seamstress at Flore Bridal Gowns, was flying in today to fit Alison’s wedding dress. Anya was bringing Felicity’s and Jane’s as well, but Jane was over in Wales with Scott so the girls could try on theirs when they got to the island.
What an enormous relief it was that Scott was found with only a broken arm! Would Scott learn anything from his fall? Scott was so sure of himself, so unyielding, so doubt-free. Alison liked Scott, and she could see how Jane would love being with Scott. He was like a male Jane. But too much self-confidence was unpleasant; plus, it blinded people to the possibilities of other options.
Long ago, once she’d started playing around on the Internet, Alison had taken a test to see what personality type she was. Big surprise: she was a Nurturer. Nurturers were warm, loving, giving, forgiving, maternal, helpful, blah blah blah, but Nurturers were never Leaders. Leaders were strong, powerful, assured, capable of having visions and making those visions come true. Leaders didn’t care if they were liked or if they hurt someone in their steady advance toward their goals.
David was a Leader. Obviously. He had inherited a company and made it a financial success. He was powerful and assured. But he hadn’t had to step on anyone else’s fingers as he climbed the ladder to success. He’d worked very hard for years. David was, Alison decided, a Kind Leader. He was the one who wanted their wedding to be a great celebration for his family and friends. Alison thought Scott was a Leader, and so was Jane. Could two Leaders stay happily married through the years? They would all have to wait and see.
Today everyone was safe. She needed to stop her brooding and focus on this day. After all, it was going to be exciting, and it was almost her duty to enjoy herself! Anya would arrive any moment, bringing with her Alison’s wedding dress.
The plane was on time. Alison waited, as agreed, by the baggage claim. And there she was, coming down the stairs from the gate. Alison smiled and waved. Anya was a serious woman who seldom talked about anything other than the gown she was fitting. Alison thought Anya was originally from Russia, but there was a sternness about her that kept Alison from inquiring. It would seem intrusive.
“Hello, Anya,” Alison said. “How was the flight?”
“Very nice,” Anya replied. “The gowns are in boxes. They will be here.”
They waited, and soon two large boxes and one small suitcase came trundling around on the conveyor belt. Anya and Alison wrestled them off. They weren’t heavy, but they were large and cumbersome.
“Yes. Very well.” Anya was short and wide, with graying hair and dark eyes. Alison had seen Anya smile only a few times, all when Alison put on her gown and stood in front of a mirror in the marvelous dress.
It was a failing of Alison that she couldn’t sit quietly in the presence of another person. During the thirty-minute drive to the apartment on Marlborough Street, Alison worked hard to get Anya to talk, but finally gave up and babbled on about her wedding, the gowns, and Poppy’s decision to wear a floor-length pantsuit.
“Yes, Mrs. O’Reilly has contacted me. I will fit her outfit tomorrow,” Anya said. “Pregnant women’s bodies can change radically from day to day.”
Aha! Alison thought. A topic in common. “Do you have children, Anya?”
“No.”
Alison put on music. A light classical piece danced around the air for the rest of the drive.
In the apartment, Alison offered tea or coffee, but Anya was clearly eager to fit the dress. They went up to the guest bedroom, and together they lifted one large cardboard box onto the bed. Anya took Alison’s dress from its stiff plastic garment bag and held it out for Alison to step into it.
The beautiful dress transformed her. Anya zipped the back and fussed around, making adjustments to the skirt, the bodice. But Alison simply gazed at her reflection in the mirror. She’d never been one to wear a gown. And maybe this wasn’t even a gown, because it wasn’t floor length.
Whatever it was, it was the most beautiful thing Alison had ever worn. The fitted ivory satin top was elegant in its simplicity. The skirt belled out from the waist in a fall of ivory silk panels, ending just at her knee.
“Oh, Anya,” Alison said. “This is perfect.”