Both women had unknowingly chosen nearly identical clothing—dress shorts and a well-tailored short-sleeved shirt. Claire wore leather loafers, Amanda heeled sandals.
They debated the soups and salads on the menu before they both boldly declared they were going for the good stuff—pasta. It would be her meal for the day, Claire said, and Amanda happily concurred with the little pact. They had a couple of hours before they were scheduled to meet with the cake designers. They could take their time, order a bottle of wine. God, it really was almost like a date. But then, last night in the desert had seemed a little like a date too. It was really just her imagination running away with her or loneliness, Claire told herself, because it had been so long since she’d been on any kind of date.
They placed their order—Claire the vermicellial pomodoro, Amanda the casonzei con stracchino e pere—and agreed to share samples. Amanda protested but only mildly when Claire ordered an Amarone—a rich red wine that cost a small fortune.
“Have you ever been to Venice?” Claire asked, because she could picture Amanda there, exploring, checking out the remarkable architecture. Closer to the truth, she could picture the two of them there, having a romantic dinner in a restaurant much like this, taking a ride in a gondola with a gondolier singing romantic songs in Italian.
Amanda shook her head sadly. “I’d love to one day. What about you?”
“I haven’t and would love to as well. Mostly Ann and I traveled within North America. And since then, I—” She stumbled a little. She hadn’t planned on mentioning Ann, and yet she’d said the name so effortlessly, as though every part of her life were an open book for Amanda. “I, ah, haven’t really been anywhere since, except for medical conferences.”
Their bottle of wine arrived, the waiter pouring them each a glass with a flourish.
“Oh,” Amanda gushed after a taste. “This is wonderful. I’ve never tried an Amarone before. God, I don’t think I could ever afford to, but I’ve always wanted to. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Until last night, I think it’d been a couple of years since I ordered a bottle of wine at a restaurant. It was nice.” The delis and roadhouse restaurants she typically frequented when she didn’t feel like cooking either didn’t serve liquor, or didn’t serve any worth drinking. She’d missed this. And missed eating with someone. “I need to be thanking you. This is lovely. I’d forgotten how special it is to eat out at a nice restaurant and to enjoy a nice wine with a meal.” She raised her glass to Amanda. “The company makes all the difference.”
“Thank you and I agree. Great food without great company is just food and not an experience to remember.”
“You’re so right.”
Amanda settled an appraising gaze on her. Her eyes exhibited curiosity but mostly sympathy. Claire expected her to make a comment about Ann’s death, but instead she said, quietly, “What was she like?”
Have you got all afternoon? Claire wanted to ask. She began to smile as she started speaking about Ann. “She was kind of the opposite of me. Real outgoing. Made friends easily. Liked to try new things. Got us to do things like cycle around the island of Cape Breton in Canada, hike up Mount St. Helens, go on a wine tour in the Napa Valley. And oh my, she loved to dance. She even signed us up for ballroom dance lessons once.” Claire remembered the women’s dances Ann would regularly drag her to. An adept dancer, Ann wouldn’t sit down all night, and soon Claire would find herself having a good time too, trying to keep up. Ann was the one who’d brought such joy to Claire’s life for more than a dozen years. She’d been her light, the true north in her compass.
“She sounds like a marvelous woman. Did she work with people?”
“How’d you guess?” Claire’s smile broadened. “She was an elementary school teacher, and in the summers she’d volunteer to do activities at a home for seniors. She always said she didn’t want to restrict herself to working only with kids. She liked people of all ages.”
“Were you together a long time?”
“Ten years when she got her diagnosis. Two more after that.” It would be fifteen years now if Ann were still alive.
“I’m so sorry.”
Claire shrugged and looked away. “I had twelve wonderful years. I guess that has to be enough.” For her it was. She’d had her one true love. Twelve years with a soul mate were more years than most people ever got.
The food arrived. Claire’s dish was angel hair pasta with chopped tomatoes, marinara sauce and fresh basil and garlic. Amanda’s was ravioli filled with roasted pear, parmigiano-reggiano and tossed with asparagus and stracchino cheese. It smelled divine, almost too good to eat, but it wasn’t long before they were shoveling forks into it and trying each other’s. The wine suited the meal perfectly, and Claire yearned for the lunch to last all afternoon. And evening, for that matter.
“I know I’m out of line saying this,” Amanda said after a while. “But you seem, I don’t know, incomplete being alone.”
“Unhappy you mean?”
“Partly, yes.”
In her soul, she was lonely, and that must be what Amanda perceived. Amanda was alone too, and yet it didn’t seem like a source of sadness or emptiness for her. Claire’s aloneness was sharp and more painful, like a piece of her was missing. “I think,” Claire answered slowly, “that when you’ve been with someone for a long time, someone you’re close to and in love with, a part of you is gone when they’re gone. I feel like half of me is missing.”
“That makes sense. I didn’t have that with Jennifer, but I can see that it’s true for you. But you can remake the part of yourself that you still have, don’t you think?”
Claire took a long, deliberate bite of food before she spoke. “I guess so.” But you have to want to, she felt like saying. And then you have to figure out how to do it. “It’s not easy,” was all she could manage. It was especially not easy doing it alone. Regaining herself was a mountain to scale, and most days she simply didn’t feel up to it.
“You’re right. Starting over is never easy, no matter what the circumstances.”
Claire was reminded that Amanda, while perhaps adapting much easier to being alone, had had to rebuild her life too. Divorce was never easy, she supposed, even in a short marriage. “It’s been hard for you too, hasn’t it?”
“Nothing like what you went through. I haven’t been grieving, like you. I’ve just been feeling stupid for being so—”
“Human?”
“Yeah. For being a stupid human.”
“You’re awfully hard on yourself, do you know that?”
“Yes, I guess I do know that. I guess I’m a bit of a perfectionist; I hate failure. But you’re pretty hard on yourself too, in my opinion.”
Claire studied her glass and its ruby red contents. “All right, how about this. How about we make a deal that we’ll stop being hard on ourselves for at least the rest of this week?”
Amanda’s quiet laughter made Claire want to agree to anything. “Deal,” Amanda said, raising a questioning eyebrow. “How shall we seal it?”
Claire stared at Amanda’s mouth with what she imagined was obvious hunger; she couldn’t help remembering last night in the car, when they’d nearly kissed. Unless it was all a figment of her overactive imagination. She had wanted the kiss to happen, she knew that much, and the urge had so shocked and disgusted her that she’d had to take half a sleeping pill when she got back to her room. Surely Amanda wasn’t about to suggest kissing on their deal. No, that was just fantasy talking. And foolishness. Kissing Amanda had the abstract quality of something distant that she was never going to reach, and so now she allowed herself the luxury of wondering how it might really feel. Would a kiss simply make her want more? Would it send her into a kind of paralysis? Scare the crap out of her? Make her feel like she was betraying Ann?
Claire tipped her wineglass at Amanda and hoped like hell she hadn’t read her thoughts. “Let’s drink to it.”
“You got it.”
After they dra
nk a toast, Claire remembered the wedding cake. “Oh, crap, aren’t we supposed to be talking about cake designs?”
“Did you do your homework?”
“No,” she answered guiltily. “I tried to think about it as I fell asleep, but I don’t have an artistic bone in my body.”
Amanda reached for her purse and pulled out pieces of paper. “Luckily I do.” She spread the pieces on the table. “I like this one the best.” She pointed to a careful sketch she’d done of a four-layer cake, each layer meticulously decorated to look like an elaborately wrapped present. Each succeeding layer was smaller than the one below and positioned at an off angle. On the top was a fancy bow that would be made of frosting.
“Wow Amanda, that’s incredible!”
“You like it?”
“Yes, I think you did a great job, and I know Shannon will love it. How’d you come up with that?”
“I don’t know. I was thinking how life is full of surprises, you know? And gifts. And that it’d be great to have a theme of gifts.”
“Well, I think it’s absolutely perfect.”
“Thanks. I’m so glad you like it. You kind of inspired me, actually.”
“I did?”
Amanda looked shy as an adoring blush worked its way up her neck. “I feel like getting to know you this week has been a gift. And a lovely surprise. Thank you, Claire.”
Claire felt a hitch of emotions in her throat. No, she wanted to say, you’re the lovely surprise.
Amanda cleared her throat nervously and nearly dropped her fork. “I’m going to tell my aunt tomorrow, by the way.”
It took a moment or two for Claire to figure out what Amanda was talking about. For an instant, she thought she meant she was going to tell her aunt how they’d become special friends. “Wow, that’s really great. I’m proud of you for doing that, Amanda. And I know it will be fine.”
“Well, I hope I don’t chicken out.”
“You won’t.”
“How can you be so sure?”
Early on Claire had pegged Amanda as the kind of woman who always held up her end of a deal. She was responsible, good to the core. She’d do the right thing. “Because you know it’s the right thing to do, that’s why you’ll do it.” In fact, maybe Amanda’s bravery would rub off on Shannon and she would tell Dani her own bit of heartbreaking news, if she hadn’t already. Secrets ate away at relationships, and Amanda’s secret had eroded the close relationship between aunt and niece. Perhaps after tomorrow the two of them would be able to bridge that gap again. She and Ann had never kept secrets from one another, and she had trouble imagining what it would have been like if they had.
“Yes. You’ve convinced me it’s the right thing to do. Thank you for that, Claire. Thank you for giving me the courage.”
Claire’s heart opened further toward this young woman who had so quickly become a friend. “You already had it in you, believe me. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Maybe just be there for my aunt if she needs to talk about it.”
“Of course. And I’m here anytime you need to talk too, okay?” Day or night, she wanted to add, but she was afraid the comment might sound like some kind of cheesy come-on.
Amanda’s eyes misted over. “How did I get so lucky finding you?”
No, Claire thought. I’m the lucky one.
Chapter Nineteen
Dani
She knew something was wrong from the tone of Jordan’s text. It was simple enough: Need to get together tonight, just us. She had enough history with Jordan to know it was a rare—in fact, almost unheard of—plea for help. Jordan needed her. She immediately withdrew from the group’s plan to see a Cirque de Soleil show, earning a few words of irritation from Shannon, and texted Jordan back to meet her at the Monte Carlo casino at eight o’clock.
Dani liked the Monte Carlo because it was upscale but quiet and less ostentatious than some of the others. One look at Jordan—dour, unsmiling, uncommunicative—and Dani led her to a ten-dollar, single deck blackjack table. They wouldn’t have to talk right away, and there was the added bonus of a young, sexily clad woman dancing on a small stage not more than fifteen feet away. Cards and eye candy. A perfect distraction that was sure to boost Jordan’s spirits.
“You must really be worried about me if you’re putting me at a ten-dollar table,” Jordan quipped but there was no humor in her voice.
“I don’t want you to lose your life savings if you’re in some kind of funk.” It also wouldn’t hurt Dani’s pocketbook as much.
They played blackjack silently for a while. Jordan’s luck was awful and she was down seventy dollars within minutes. Dani’s was much better, for a welcome change. As Jordan lost, Dani won, and soon her chips were stacked in neat little columns a few inches away from Jordan’s shrinking and chaotic pile. The losing, understandably, seemed to darken her friend’s mood. Dourly, Jordan ordered a vodka straight up with a slice of lemon.
“Aren’t you drinking anything?” she asked in astonishment after Dani ordered a Diet Coke and lime.
“Nope. I tied one on pretty good with my sister last night. I need to behave tonight—let my liver breathe a little before tomorrow night’s big bachelor party. Speaking of which, I think the group’s a little scared of what you might have planned.”
“They should be. Wimps.”
“So. What do you have planned?”
“Oh no. You’re not getting anything out of me, no matter how many drinks you ply me with.”
They chatted for a while about nothing of consequence, played a few more rounds. Jordan knocked back a second vodka and began to get a little loose around the edges. She started paying more attention to the dancer than to the cards, and her losing streak continued.
“Hey,” Dani urged. “Alcohol and cards don’t mix. Remember our little golden rule?”
“Screw that. I don’t care if I lose anyway.”
That was a new one. Jordan took her card playing very seriously. Usually. And she loved to win.
“Why don’t we color up and go sit in the sports lounge for a while?”
She had to somehow get Jordan talking about what was wrong, because watching her lose at cards and get drunk wasn’t very appealing. Or helpful. Theirs wasn’t a friendship of many heart-to-heart talks—each reacted awkwardly to touchy-feely conversations and typically tried to avoid them—but clearly Jordan was in some kind of free fall. Dani was the only one who could help her right now, if indeed she could be helped, and it might take a small miracle.
They claimed a couple of big leather La-Z-Boys in the sports betting lounge. The wall of television screens broadcasting hockey games, basketball games and horse races would give them all the privacy they needed. Two women in deep discussion was no competition with what mattered to the die hard sports fans scattered around the lounge, loudly urging on their teams or their horses.
“Okay my friend. What’s going on?”
Jordan stared at her benignly, sipping her third vodka and lemon. She wasn’t going to give it up easily.
“Please tell me there was a good reason you got me in shit with my soon-to-be-wife tonight. Somehow I don’t think she would be convinced that sitting here with you watching six hockey games trumps a Cirque de Soleil show.”
Jordan shrugged, but Dani could see the slow gathering of courage in her eyes. Her face crumpled a little but she struggled to remain stoic. It wasn’t in Jordan’s DNA to cry or fall apart. She said simply, “I guess I needed to talk.”
“Okay.” It was not the time to make a joke and certainly not the time to tease her best friend about this sudden and unusual need for verbal intimacy. Jordan was upset and Dani wanted to help. “Will you tell me what’s wrong?”
Whatever was tearing Jordan up inside was slow to come to the surface. With effort, she shook her head sternly—the kind of bitter head-shaking that meant she was angry at herself. “You know, if you’d told me I was going to take one of those trips into space you can pay a billion dollars f
or, I’d have believed you before I would have believed . . . this.”
“What?”
“This . . . This falling in love bullshit. Or whatever the hell you want to call it. If that’s what it is.”
“What?” Falling in love? What the hell was she talking about? “Can you please slow down and speak English? Because whatever language you were just speaking, it kind of sounded like something to do with falling in love. And we all know Jordan Scott doesn’t fall in love. Ever.”
Jordan made a face. “All right, all right. Tease me about it. I deserve it. Yes, I said falling in love. And yes, as fucked up and hard as it is to believe, it might actually apply to me.”
It might just as well have been a two-by-four that had slammed Dani across the back, she was that shocked. This confession was going to take some time to digest. She’d never known Jordan to be in love before. Briefly infatuated, yes. In lust, for sure. But in love? Never. In fact, it seemed to go against Jordan’s basic principles. And yet, Jordan looked absolutely miserable, and only people in love could look this miserable. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
Jordan drew a long breath before she spoke, and then the words cascaded out of her like a bottle of vodka suddenly turned upside down. “Christ, Dani, it’s insane. Absolutely insane. It was supposed to be just a night of fun, or maybe two, I don’t know. She was gorgeous and sexy, and we wanted each other and it was so perfect, you know? No strings, no complications, just a good time. Except I suddenly started thinking about more than a couple of nights. I started thinking about bringing her to your wedding as my date. About spending time with her after that. About . . . Christ, I don’t know. I was getting the sweaty palms and the pounding heart and the dry mouth when I was around her. I mean, Christ!”
The Wedding Party Page 13