“A simple pasta primavera with salad and bread.”
Chuck frowned. “No dessert?”
Bess laughed. “Would I do that to you? Of course, there’s dessert!”
Chapter 47
Marta shot awake. Her mother’s ringtone. She threw off the sheet, leapt out of bed, and snatched the phone from the top of the dresser, where it was charging.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, rubbing her temple.
“Don’t panic, everyone’s fine,” her mother replied. “It’s just that Troy had a nightmare around three and we had a devil of a time getting him back to sleep. He’s been awake again since five—your father and I have been up with him—wanting to talk to his mother. I held off until a decent hour before calling.”
“Put him on,” Marta directed. “Troy? Tell Mommy what you saw in your dream.”
“I saw a monster,” he said. “It had all these eyes and they were red.” There was a little catch in Troy’s voice, but he soldiered on. “There were long things sticking out from him and they were waving at me, but not in a nice way.”
“You know monsters can’t hurt you,” Marta said soothingly. “I know when they pop into your head at night they seem pretty scary and it’s okay to wake up and yell at them to go away and leave you alone. And they will go away because in the end they’re make-believe.” Marta frowned. Or something like that. She was talking gibberish.
“Okay, Mommy,” Troy said. “I’m going now.”
Suddenly, Marta was back on the phone with her mother.
“He hasn’t watched any TV he shouldn’t have or seen any images on the computer that might have frightened him,” Mrs. Kennedy assured her daughter. “At least, I don’t think that he has.”
“You can’t police every moment. Does he want to talk to me again?”
“Troy?” her mother called. “Do you want to say goodbye to Mommy?”
Marta heard her younger son call, “Bye, Mommy!”
“Your father is making pancakes. I guess all is going to be well.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Marta said. “I’ll check in later.”
Marta turned toward the bed to see that Mike was just waking. “What’s wrong?” he mumbled.
“Nothing. Troy had a bad dream, but he’s fine now.”
Mike raised himself against the pillows. “Leo better not have been showing him those creepy video games he plays, the ones with the mutant beasts with six eyeballs on stalks and claws like broadswords.”
“That’s it! It was Leo. Darn the kid.”
Mike stretched his arms over his head. “I’m sure he didn’t scare his brother on purpose. Well, almost sure. I’ll have a talk with him when we get home.”
Marta felt an unexpected and very pleasant surge of appreciation course through her. “You’re a good dad,” she said feelingly.
“You’re a good mom. Hey, here’s an idea. Let’s spend the day on our own, drive somewhere pretty, have a lobster roll, hang out by the water.”
Marta considered. Not once since they had arrived at Driftwood House had they taken time to be alone together. Maybe that was exactly what was needed. And maybe, just maybe, she would then find the courage to be honest about how finding herself pregnant again at the very time in her life she was needing to make a change was causing her to feel.
“Sounds like a plan,” she said. “The others can do without us for a few hours.”
“Good. We’ll leave right after breakfast. Bess said she was making waffles this morning and I don’t want to miss those.”
* * *
To Marta’s surprise, Mike was the one to suggest that for the duration of their date neither of them talk about the new baby or the kids. “Let’s just focus on us,” he suggested. Marta had felt an immediate loosening of the anger and tension that had been building up inside her. Maybe, she had thought, smiling at her husband and fastening her seat belt, maybe today they would turn a corner and head back in the direction of the contented marriage they had so recently left behind.
Things went well. They took back roads rather than the busy Route 1; they stopped at an antique shop that looked particularly promising (Mike collected old tools); they visited the famous Nubble Lighthouse in York; they decided to splurge on lunch at M.C. Perkins Cove in Ogunquit. Well, Mike decided. He had to persuade Marta, but she didn’t really protest.
After a delightful meal of a watermelon salad with feta cheese and pickled red onions for Marta, and M.C.’s famous cheeseburger and fries for Mike, they picked their way to a spot on the rocks that tumbled into the rolling Atlantic.
“This is fantastic,” Mike said. “We really should spend more time just you and me.”
Marta smiled. “Like the good old days?” she said.
There was no one to demand their attention. For the time being, neither of them was needed by friends or family or colleagues. They sat side by side in comfortable silence. The sun was warm on their skin. Seagulls swooped overhead, cawing their raucous caws. The water glittered like a proverbial scattering of diamonds. And after a time, calmed by the beauty of a June day in southern Maine, Marta realized she was ready to tell Mike the truth. They had agreed not to talk about the pregnancy today, but this was different. This was something even bigger. She knew she could trust Mike with her feelings. She had always known that. He had never seriously disappointed her. Not since they had been married. He would help her as he always had.
“Mike,” she began. “There’s been something on my mind, something I think I need help with, and I—”
Mike turned abruptly to face her. “Sorry, Marta,” he said. “Did you say something? I was distracted by that schooner. Do you see it? What a beauty!”
And as quickly as the impulse to speak had come, it left. The moment was lost. “Yes,” Marta said carefully. “It’s beautiful. Let’s go back to Driftwood House now. I’m feeling tired. Maybe it was waking up to that call from my mother. I was in the middle of a dream.”
“Of course,” Mike said quickly. “You need your sleep.”
Because you’re pregnant. Again. It’s what you do. Have babies.
They climbed to their feet. Mike took Marta’s elbow as they made their way over the rocks toward the parking lot, though Marta, always sure-footed, was perfectly capable of managing on her own. Mike should know that, she thought. But she did not pull away.
Chapter 48
“It’s me,” Allison said.
Her assistant, Greg, laughed. “I assumed. How’s it going?”
Allison spent the next few minutes giving Greg an edited rundown of the happenings at Driftwood House and then asked him for a detailed rundown of what was going on at the studio. After a moment or two Allison noted that life back in Chicago was chugging along very nicely without her, and suddenly she realized just how tired she had been for the past two years. Being on vacation was good.
Greg went on to outline a new project they had been offered; earlier Allison had read the job scope he had forwarded. The money was good and the client was one she had successfully worked with before. “Let’s accept,” she said when Greg had given his take on the work. “And why don’t you take the lead on the project,” she suggested. “You’re more than ready and you’d be doing me a favor.”
Greg was thrilled and grateful for the opportunity. “You won’t regret your decision,” he promised before they ended the call. Allison felt sure that she wouldn’t. She wondered if she might like a partner in the business sooner rather than later. It was something to consider going forward, as was the possibility of leaving Chicago for good. She could, for instance, move back to the Boston area. She would be closer to Marta and Bess; she could visit either one whenever the impulse struck. It had been so long since she had been in charge of her own life. Since Chris’s walking out she had been struggling to believe she had the competency to make decisions on her own, ones that benefited her before others.
But there was time later to think about such big changes. She decided to seek out Chuck, Dean, and the baby. Sh
e had noticed that Chuck and Dean were very affectionate toward each other and it pleased her. She wondered how the men would deal with a big crisis—and they would have to at some point, every couple did. She suspected they would stand or fall together.
After a brief search, she found the Fortunato-Williams family camped out near the bottom of the stairs that led down to the beach. Like any family that included a baby, they had brought with them an enormous amount of gear. Allison fought back a wave of sadness. She had once looked forward to happy days at the beach with Chris and their child.
“May I join you?” she asked brightly. If you acted happy, you might just become happy. Or so it was said.
“Of course!” the men chorused.
Allison sank onto the large blanket spread beneath a colorful sun umbrella. She noted the two diaper bags. A cooler. A stack of folded towels. A massive pile of toys. The baby was propped in a traveling seat of some sort, wearing a large sun hat and wee sunglasses. “How’s Thomas today?” she asked.
“Chillin’,” Chuck said. “I think he’s going to be a beach bum when he grows up.”
“What will you do when people start to call him Tom or Tommy?” Allison asked.
“Correct them,” Dean said. “I hate when people assume a nickname.”
“But if Thomas doesn’t mind?” Allison asked.
“It’s his life, or it will be,” Chuck said firmly. “If he wants to be Tom or Tommy, that’s his call.”
Dean frowned, but let the matter drop and reached for one of the three tubes of sunblock by his feet.
“So, what have you been up to this morning?” Chuck asked, offering Allison a bottle of water.
“I’ve been thinking about my future,” Allison replied. “For example, do I want to stay on in Chicago? Do I want to take on a partner in business?”
“Good questions,” Chuck said. “Any answers?”
“Not yet. But at least I’m asking myself the questions.”
Dean nodded. “Step one, often the most difficult.”
“And you know what else?” Allison said suddenly. “If things continue to go well with the business, I could even take a leave of absence to work on a book project. I have a few in mind, as a matter of fact, all of which would require me to travel. I even know an editor who said she’s eager to offer me a contract on delivery of a solid proposal.”
Dean nodded. “That sounds awesome.”
“Indeed, it does.”
“You know, there are very few positive things about this divorce,” Allison went on musingly. “Very few. But one positive thing might be the freedom it will afford me. An all-consuming thing like a book project would have been out of the question while I was married to Chris. I would never have left him for months on end. And Chris . . .”
“Say it, Allison,” Chuck said gently.
Allison gave him a grateful smile. “Chris wouldn’t have allowed it. He would have been nice about it; in fact, his forbidding me to go away on my own would have been neatly disguised as a very strong suggestion, one based in concern for my safety.”
“It makes me angry to hear this.” Dean frowned. “I’m sorry, Allison, but it does.”
Chuck sighed. “Chris isn’t a bad man, Dean. You have to understand that.”
Allison laid a hand on Dean’s arm. “I know hearing about his control over me is difficult, but I let him have that control. Even when I began to understand that the dynamic wasn’t healthy, I didn’t try to put a stop to it. Not really.”
“Relationships,” Dean said with a wry smile. “Can’t live with ’em, can’t live without’em.”
At that moment, Thomas let out a wail that caused all three of the adults to jump.
“Snack time!” Chuck announced.
Allison laughed and got to her feet. “I think I’ll go back to the house for one myself. Thanks, guys. See you later.”
Chapter 49
“Anyone for a glass of fresh brewed iced tea?” Nathan asked.
“Yes, please,” Dean said, moving toward the kitchen. “It’s about caffeine time.”
“If you’re tired,” Chuck said, “you could join Thomas in a nap.” He was sitting at the dining table, idly flipping through the local paper. “Nothing nastier in here than a drunk and disorderly tourist at one of the bed and breakfast places in town.”
“That’s Kennebunkport,” Bess said with a smile. “Iced tea, Chuck?”
“Sure.”
He rose from his chair and what happened next happened so quickly, Bess wasn’t quite sure how to describe it afterward. One moment Chuck was firmly on his feet. The next he was hurtling in the direction of the occasional table that marked the edge of the living area.
“Chuck!” she cried as Dean dashed forward.
Somehow Chuck managed to stop his forward motion before he hit the floor, but not before his head made contact with the edge of the occasional table. Dean grabbed his arm and helped him to stand.
“I’m such a klutz,” Chuck said with a weak laugh.
“You’re bleeding.” Dean’s voice was tight.
“Head wounds bleed a lot, don’t panic.” Chuck leaned closer to the mirror over the offending table. “It’s not too deep, but I probably should have it stitched.”
“You might have a concussion!” Bess said worriedly. “Should I call an ambulance?”
“No need,” Chuck replied, turning away from the mirror.
“This is all my fault,” Bess went on. “I should have made sure the edges of that rug were properly held down. I know there’s some two-sided tape somewhere in the den. I’ll go look right now!”
“It was an accident, Bess,” Chuck said firmly. “It was no one’s fault, certainly not the rug’s.”
“Can we leave Thomas with you while we go to the local emergent care?” Dean asked, already moving toward the door.
“Of course, you can,” Nathan said. “He’s in good hands.”
“We’ll be back as soon as possible,” Dean said unnecessarily as he and Chuck left the house, Dean still holding Chuck’s arm.
“Have the chocolate ice cream ready,” Chuck called over his shoulder. “My mom always brought out chocolate ice cream when one of us got a boo-boo.”
Bess turned to Nathan. “Do you think he’ll be okay?” Her heart was still pounding uncomfortably.
“He left under his own steam,” Nathan said, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “He’ll be fine.”
Heavy footsteps on the stairs to the back porch announced that Mike had returned. “Where are Chuck and Dean off to?” he asked casually. “I just saw them driving off. I waved, but they didn’t see me.”
“Chuck stumbled and cut his head on that occasional table,” Nathan explained. “He says it’s nothing much but needed stitching.”
“Yikes,” Mike said. “Dean will take good care of him, I’m sure. They leave the baby here?”
“Yes,” Bess told him. “Where’s Marta?”
Mike shrugged. “No idea. The minute I turned off the engine she got out of the car and headed in the direction of the beach. We came home early because she said she was tired but . . .” Mike laughed. “Marta is her own woman. I gave up years ago trying to . . . Well, I never did try to keep track of her. I’ve always loved the fact that she’s so independent. Anyway, see you guys later.”
Mike lifted a hand in a wave and headed for the stairs.
“Do you think things are all right between Mike and Marta?” Bess whispered when he was out of sight.
Nathan sighed. “Now don’t go imagining trouble, Bess.”
“I’m not imagining anything,” Bess protested. She felt anger course through her and she didn’t like it. Chuck’s fall; Marta’s moods; Allison’s unhappiness. “I just use my eyes and ears.”
“I’m sorry,” Nathan said. He reached for her and Bess hesitated for a moment before going to him. “Your intuition isn’t to be questioned.”
“It’s okay,” Bess murmured, her cheek pressed against Nathan’s che
st. “I know you just don’t want me to worry unnecessarily.”
“I don’t, but it’s wrong of me to tell you what to think or what to feel. Why do we men do that? It’s a stupid knee-jerk thing. I’m sorry.”
“You’re forgiven.” Bess pulled away from her fiancé. There was something she needed to know. “Nathan,” she said. “What do you really think of my friends? Be honest. I can take it.” At least, she thought that she could.
“I like them,” Nathan said promptly. “They’re proving human beings and that makes me more comfortable than if they were the paragons of virtue you’d made them out to be.”
“I did?” Bess asked, eyes wide.
Nathan smiled. “I’m exaggerating. Don’t worry, Bess. At least, not about me.”
“Okay. But I’d better check the freezer for chocolate ice cream. I’d hate to disappoint Chuck.”
Chapter 50
It was after three o’clock when Marta finally returned to Driftwood House. She had gone to the beach and tried to find some peace of mind after her failed date with Mike, but instead all she had found was a depression of spirits.
A stupid schooner.
The moment she came through the door of the back porch, Marta noted Chuck and Dean next to each other on the love seat and the others grouped around them. There was a small, neat bandage on Chuck’s forehead.
“What happened to you?” Marta asked as she joined her friends.
Chuck explained his accident.
“Will there be a scar?” Bess asked worriedly.
Chuck gingerly touched his forehead. “I doubt it. The kid who did the stitching did a good job. I say ‘kid’ because he looked about twelve years old.”
Marta looked toward Mike. He gave her a smile, but it didn’t seem to reach his eyes. The room was heavy with a sense of tension. Or maybe, Marta thought, the tension was all hers.
“Dean and I have something to tell you. Now it’s nothing tragic,” Chuck went on quickly, looking specifically at Bess, “so don’t freak out. It’s just we’d rather you know the truth than have you waste time wondering if your old pal Chuck is getting clumsy for no good reason.”
A Wedding on the Beach Page 21