by Amy Poeppel
“Mom,” said Isabelle, “if you end up hosting the wedding, we’ll all help get the barn ready.”
The wedding wasn’t the only thing making Bridget nervous. Waiting to hear back from the orchestra in London was painful. She almost wished she’d taken Randall up on his offer to make a call on her behalf, to give her some legitimacy.
“And anyway,” Isabelle said, “Juliette Stark says”—and she read aloud—“ ‘Expect to experience a significant reduction of stress levels.’ ”
“By eliminating all the foods I love to eat?” said Bridget.
“No, by walking, meditating, and doing humming exercises,” Isabelle said. “She swears by them. Also we can’t sit down when we eat.”
“What do you mean?” said Jackie.
“We have to pace.”
“And what’s the science behind that?” Bridget asked, trying not to sound snarky.
Isabelle flipped the book open to the index and then found the answer in the text. “Juliette says, ‘Sedentary eating leads to slower digestion, which leads to toxins lingering in your intestines and colon, which leads to cancer.’ Cancer!”
“I don’t think that’s how… anything works,” Bridget said.
“Whenever we want to eat something,” Isabelle said, “we have to swing our arms and walk. We have to move whenever we’re chewing, like we’re nomads.”
“Or cows,” said Kevin, taking another serving of pasta.
“And another thing,” said Isabelle, “Juliette says for the first week, we can’t use cutlery. We eat everything with our hands.”
“Like pizza?” Jackie asked hopefully.
“Only raw unprocessed foods. No meat, no sauces or dressings, and no dairy.”
“This sounds too extreme,” said Bridget, leaning back in her chair and feeling the waistband of her jeans digging into her stomach, “not to mention ridiculous.”
“Juliette says there are all kinds of things that make us sick that we don’t even know about. Even secrets can make us sick,” said Isabelle, landing on a page. “Juliette says, ‘Secrets damage the soul.’ What! Do you think that’s true?”
Yes, thought Bridget. That statement was, in fact, the first sensible thing Bridget had heard this Juliette person say. Maybe it was time to go on a health kick. Maybe she could get fit in the three weeks before the wedding. How else was she going to squeeze into that damn dirndl?
“Fine,” said Bridget. “I’ll do it.”
23
Will’s new hobby was categorizing every circumstance he encountered in a pro and con list in his head. As happy as he was to be in a relationship with Emma, he woke up one day at her house in the middle of August keenly aware that the con column of his life was growing uncomfortably long. He was, for example, having a tough time dealing with (1) the absence of a piano at Emma’s house and (2) the presence of Ronaldo at same.
Summer was always disruptive to his schedule, but never had he rescheduled so many lessons or passed along so many studio gigs to friends, and as a result, he was almost (3) out of money. For the first time ever he was ashamed to admit he had (4) no retirement account. His chaotic and unpredictable life as a freelancer had always suited him because he was his own boss, making his own schedule, but at his age, with so little to show, he wondered if he could change course and find a real job.
That morning, he was sitting at Emma’s kitchen table, finishing his arrangement of Synchronicity. This endeavor had turned out to be a challenge, and a very satisfying one. The piece, if he might say so himself, was turning out as well as the original. He hoped Edward would like it, but (5) what if he hated it?
Will needed to review his part of the piece, but without a piano, he was stuck. One look around Emma’s little house, and it was obvious that there was no place he could ever put one. Not that he was planning on moving in with her, but—as he and Bridget had agreed—Will was giving his future his full attention and consideration. And in his pro column of his life, there was (1) Emma.
They’d rehashed their early marriages together, laughing at their youthful stupidity and confessing the things that shocked them most about their past behavior. For Will it was his unwillingness to back out of his engagement, even though he’d already decided to get a divorce. For Emma, it was her obsessive focus on the wedding band, the seating arrangements, and the venue, while giving very little thought to the man she’d chosen or the institution of marriage. “I became a florist in my twenties just so I could have some kind of deranged control over my centerpieces. I spent an absurd amount of money and never asked myself if what I wanted was a party or a husband. As it turned out, I’m a big fan of parties.”
“And husbands?” Will asked.
“Not so much.”
She was a woman after his own heart.
* * *
His coffee cup needed refilling, but to reach the kitchen, Will had to get past Ronaldo, who was now perched on the back of a wood chair, posing in a variety of threatening stances. To say they were coexisting badly would be an understatement. Will hated to admit it, but he was scared of the unpredictable, noisy bird, his sharp beak, his flappy wings, and his murderous, prehistoric-looking talons. It was impossible to concentrate with the incessant noises and imminent threat of attack. Will hugged the wall to keep as much distance as possible between him and the creature.
Checking the time, he closed the door to the kitchen, refilled his coffee, and called Rebecca Goodwin, head of the music department at the prestigious boarding school that was right down the street in town. Will gave her a summary of his background and explained that he was seeking a steadier teaching job, possibly in the area. After telling him a bit about the school, she informed him that there was nothing available for the coming academic year but gave him a few leads (other schools with fancy, romantic names like Hotchkiss and Choate Rosemary Hall, and even the conservatory at Bard College). In a moment of sheer opportunism, Will invited her to Edward Stratton’s wedding so she could hear him play.
“Really?” said Rebecca, changing her tone. “Would it be all right if I bring my husband?”
Will didn’t see why not. “Sure. Bridget Stratton and Gavin Glantz will be performing the piece with me.”
There was a short pause. “You know, Will, it’s possible something might open up here before the school year begins. You never know.”
“Excellent,” Will said. “There’s a little confusion about the venue, but I’ll get an invitation to you soon.”
It hadn’t occurred to him that the wedding could be an audition of sorts. After they hung up, Will made another call, having a similar conversation with the music chair at Bard. And then another with Hotchkiss. By the time he was done, he’d invited six more people.
He opened the back door to take Hudson out. It was a pleasure—one for the pro column—to take Hudson out into Emma’s small yard in the morning, without even having to find the leash. It was so much easier than in New York, where he had to go down four flights of stairs, always remembering to bring a poop bag.
Hudson wandered around in the ground cover by the fence at the back of the yard, while Will sat in a wrought iron chair and enjoyed the sunshine. When they went back in the house, Will realized he’d left the back door open for no less than five minutes. For a heart-stopping moment, he thought Ronaldo might have escaped. He rushed back inside, relieved to see the kitchen door closed and Ronaldo perched in exactly the same place as before, displaying the same hostile body language.
“Phew,” Will said to Hudson. “How would we have explained that?”
Ronaldo responded by sticking out his chest and flapping his wings aggressively at him.
“Dude, settle down,” Will said. Keeping his eyes trained on Ronaldo, he sat on the floral couch and called Bridget.
“Hey.”
“Hi,” said Bridget.
“I need a piano and a printer and a favor.”
“I need food,” said Bridget, her voice faint. “Something really bad for me.
Bacon and eggs. Are you back?”
“Yes. Let’s go to the diner.”
There was a long pause, and then Bridget sighed. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Isabelle has me on a diet.”
“What for?”
“Not a diet exactly. A whole— Never mind.”
“Cock,” squawked Ronaldo.
He could hear Bridget laughing. “I take it the bird hasn’t warmed up to you.”
“He keeps stabbing his beak in my direction, and he’s got claws like… an evil antique bathtub.”
“Do you need me to come rescue you?”
“Please. Do you think I can leave the beast loose in the house?”
“No,” said Bridget.
Ronaldo flew across the room, swooping toward Will’s head and then veering away. “How do I get him in his cage?”
“Maybe it’s like dealing with a toddler.”
“Meaning?”
“You remember, Will: be the boss, don’t stoop to his level, but show kindness and understanding.”
“Right,” said Will. “I’m the boss.”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Kindness and understanding,” said Bridget. “And don’t die.”
Will hung up and looked at Ronaldo, who was on his special perch near his cage. As Will took one step toward him, Ronaldo spread his feathers out in all directions and then turned in a slow circle to show them off. “Yes, yes, you win,” said Will. “You have a much better body, and Emma likes you more, okay? Now, can you stop being such a dick about it?”
Ronaldo screeched at him.
Kindness, Will thought. Understanding.
Will took a deep breath and approached Ronaldo again. Using a calm voice, higher than his usual pitch, he said, “Come on, now, there’s room for both of us, don’t you think? I mean, maybe not in this house, but in life?” He lowered himself onto the arm of the reading chair. Ronaldo eyed him skeptically.
Will held out his pointer finger. “You want scritches?” he asked, using the expression he’d heard Emma use. He gently touched Ronaldo, first on the side of his neck and then on his head, gently stroking his bright blue feathers while he whistled Eine kleine Nachtmusik.
Ronaldo bobbed his head and made a sound like a coo. Will put his hand out, and Ronaldo stepped onto it. Will didn’t move, feeling the weight of him. “Hi,” Will said, trying to mask his fear with a casual pose. They stayed there, Will too afraid to budge and Ronaldo watching him. After several minutes Will slowly stood up and held his hand out toward the cage. Ronaldo went inside all by himself, and Will closed the door gently behind him. “Thank you,” Will said earnestly.
Ronaldo cawed back in a way that felt like a step backward, so Will continued to whistle Mozart until he heard Bridget’s car beep in the driveway. He picked up Emma’s disco ball key chain and his backpack and went outside with Hudson, feeling mildly victorious. “The bird and I have bonded,” he said, opening the back door for Hudson and helping him get his rear end into the car. He got in the passenger seat and put on his seat belt. “Finally. I think we really got somewhere today. I’m not saying we like each other or anything, but this was progress in our relationship.”
It occurred to Will that his avian drama was a triviality compared to what Bridget had been dealing with. “How are your dad and Lottie doing?”
Bridget started to back out of the driveway. “Lottie seems to like my barn, so I’m proceeding as if I’m hosting.”
“Will it be ready?”
“Ready enough.” There was an angry, grumbling sound, loud enough that Will could hear it over the car engine. “I’m hungry,” Bridget said, clutching her stomach.
“So eat something.”
“No. It’s my fifth day on the program, and the book says you adapt after six.”
“You sound like you’re in a cult.”
“I’m so woozy.” She ran her hand over her forehead.
“Wait,” Will said. He got his learner’s permit out of his wallet and showed it to her. “I’ll drive. I need to practice for the road test anyway.”
Bridget took the permit from him, smiled as she looked it over, and pushed him on his shoulder. “God, it’s about time,” she said, opening her car door.
They both got out of the car and walked past each other, Hudson watching them as they swapped places. Will adjusted his seat and mirror and pulled out onto the street, while Bridget buckled in and sat back, looking like she might pass out.
“Is the wedding guest list getting too long, or may I add a few names?” he asked.
“Who are you inviting?”
“I was thinking about our performance at the wedding. It could be… an audition of sorts, an opportunity. Since the press will be there, we could generate some good publicity for Forsyth, of course. But if we decide not to keep the trio, it could be a chance to have other people hear us play.” The truth seemed like the only way to explain it. “I’m inviting people who might be in a position to hire me to teach.”
“You already teach.”
“To teach here.”
Bridget didn’t answer, so he glanced over at her to gauge her reaction. “I’m considering the idea of a quieter life in a less expensive place with steadier work,” he said with his eyes back on the road. “A regular paycheck and benefits would be sensible at my age.”
She nodded her head.
Will decided he might as well tell her the rest: “And I may have to give up my apartment, so a move is likely imminent anyway.”
“Why?” Bridget said, sounding as horrified by the idea as he felt.
“I’m getting priced out once my lease expires. The building was sold.”
“Good God, Will,” she said. “That’s horrible. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s not something I’ve felt like talking about.”
She turned in her seat to face him. “May I say something? Do you want my opinion?”
“I don’t know,” he said, slowing down at the only stoplight in town. “I mean, I do, of course, but maybe not quite yet.”
“Fair enough.”
“Do you want my opinion on anything you’re thinking about?” he asked. “I’m happy to listen.”
Bridget seemed to consider that for a moment, but then said, “Actually no. I’m not ready to share yet either.”
“All right,” he said. “Then we’ll wait.”
He took a left and drove through the town, past the bookstore, wine shop, and grocery store. It had only taken twenty years, but he liked this little town.
“Would you mind if Gwen stays in your loft during the wedding?” Bridget said. “I’m assuming you’ll be at Emma’s anyway.”
“Of course,” he said. “I can clear out some of my things while I’m here.”
“No need to do that,” Bridget said. “It’s only for that weekend.”
Pulling up the driveway, Will slowed down to maneuver over the big pothole and parked by the garage. As they got out of the car, he marveled at the amount of work being done. There were men operating machinery out on the tennis court and workers in, on, and around the whole property. Most surprisingly, the barn itself was looking so much better. Not like new, not perfect, but marvelous, like a dignified old man, much like Edward himself, well-groomed and ready for company.
“Well, who wouldn’t want to have a wedding here?” Will said.
Bridget turned and smiled. “You think?”
“It’s a transformation,” he said. “It’s a miracle actually. Even I would want to get married here.” The project wasn’t yet finished, but everything from the landscaping to the bright, clean new windows, to the red color of the barn door looked ready to be photographed. “So which one of these Herculean young men are you sleeping with?” Will asked, handing Bridget back her car keys.
“Not a single one,” said Bridget, sounding a little defeated.
“It’s not too late,” Will said. “You still need to repave the driveway.”
&nbs
p; “You think the asphalt repairman is my guy?”
He shrugged. “It could happen.”
“Elliot’s not bad,” she whispered, pointing across the field to a man holding a clipboard.
“Which one’s Elliot?”
“The barn guru. I keep thinking he might ask me out, but he never does. He’s not my type anyway probably; he’s a little too timid for me.”
“Maybe he’s waiting until the job is done to make his big move.”
Bridget elbowed him. “At least my Realtor calls me from time to time.”
“Ew, Mark? No, he’s so pushy,” said Will. “Do I have veto power?”
“You don’t need to veto; he’s only interested in my house.”
They went inside, and Hudson found his favorite spot on Bridget’s couch as Will took his place at the piano.
Bridget sat next to him on the bench while he warmed up. “If it weren’t for you, this piano would never get played,” she said.
“Look,” he said, “the ever-sticky key.” And he showed her by pressing the A4 over and over.
“I rented a grand piano for the party,” she said.
“Good, the piece deserves it.”
“Can I see it?” she asked.
“Not yet.” He wanted to show her the finished arrangement but wanted it to be perfect. He played an A-flat major scale, warming up his hands. “I hate to add pressure, but you’re running out of time to tell the kids about Gavin.”
“I want to tell them when they’re together, so we’ll have to wait until Oscar comes back.”
“ ‘We’?”
“Of course ‘we.’ I need your diplomacy and calm demeanor. Please?”
Will nodded casually, but inside he was cheering, honored to know his presence in such an important moment mattered to her.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Bridget said, standing up. “Elliot and I are driving stakes into the ground to mark the new walkway to the barn.”
* * *
After Bridget went outside, Will got the arrangement out of his backpack and went through it note by note, making minor corrections. The violin part was especially beautiful, and Gavin would swoop in to play it, knocking everyone’s socks off. Will decided he would be gracious. He would shake Gavin’s hand and tell him how well he played. Will hoped, childishly, that Gavin would say something complimentary in return. When he reached the end of the piece, he proofread it once more, until he was satisfied it was correct. He didn’t want Gavin to call him out for an error in the score.