Better Than Your Dreams

by Dee Ernst

  The rehearsal dinner was scheduled for 8:00 p.m. on Friday evening, the rehearsal itself starting at six. I was worried about checking on the dinner space beforehand, but Patricia called to tell me she would go over there herself and make sure everything was perfect. Having rich friends was a wonderful thing.

  The church in Montclair was beautiful, one of those old stone buildings that looked like a Scottish castle, with stained glass and a dark, polished altar. Father McLaren was a rather tense sort, but he ran a good rehearsal. Everyone learned where to stand and how fast to walk. The usual complications—bouquet handoffs, candle lightings, getting to and from the podium—were ironed out with little fanfare. I sat in my designated pew and got teary every time Brian walked Miranda down the aisle.

  Tyler refused to take off his cape, and relinquished his laser gun only when he realized he couldn’t carry it without dropping the all-important rings.

  Father McLaren suggested that Ben and I walk down together and, upon arriving at the altar, turn and walk into our separate pews. The symbolism was too much for me, so I walked down the aisle escorted by Ethan.

  The organist was there, and so was the choir. They would sing in the guests, and sing them out again. They gave us only a sample, but they sounded magnificent. The harpist would play during the ceremony after the vows were said and during the candle lighting.

  There is absolutely nothing as useless during a wedding as the mother of the bride. I was grateful to Dominique, because as partner to the father of the bride, she was the only one lower than I in the pecking order. In fact, she didn’t even get a special escort. She took it quite gracefully.

  Of course, Carmella was there. She was recording the entire affair on her iPad to incorporate it into the final wedding video. She also double checked with the harpist and the choir. She had extra copies of the readings in case anyone forgot to bring theirs. She insisted that she would take over Tyler duty so that Dominique could walk down the aisle with the other guests.

  She also gave Ben a lingering hug and spent a few minutes whispering in his ear. He leaned down into her, nodding, and finally breaking into a smile.

  Something twisted in my gut. That had been my job, making Ben smile.

  Grace and Shadow, as honored out-of-town guests, hung out in the back row, watching. I knew that their attitude toward organized religion was one of general contempt, but they remained quiet and respectful throughout.

  Three run-throughs and we were finished. We piled into our cars and drove out to the Highlawn Pavilion.

  I had been worried that Shadow would not be appropriately dressed for the occasion, but he cleaned up very nicely in a double-breasted navy jacket and a subtle red tie. For what I was paying for this little dinner, I presumed he could have arrived naked, and no one would have blinked, but it was nice of him to put in some effort.

  Fortunately, Patricia was there as we arrived. She took one look at me and drew me into the ladies’ room, where she gave me a long, hard hug.

  “You’re going to be fine,” she insisted, handing me paper towels to blow my nose.

  I nodded. “I know. I apologized to Miranda for not being able to tell her how to have a good marriage. She said it was okay, that David knew how.”

  Patricia folded her arms across her chest. “Where did David garner all his wisdom?”

  “From Ben.”

  “Ah. Yes, that makes sense. But from you she learned how to stand up for herself, and how to get things done.”

  “How is that going to help her be a good wife?”

  “You can’t be a good wife if you’re a bad person. Fix your makeup.”

  “Ben is leaving for Maine after the wedding. He said we’d always be friends.”

  She had been pulling my mascara from my purse to hand to me, but froze. “Mona, tell him you’ve changed your mind, and you don’t want to be friends. Are you crazy?”

  “It was his idea, not mine. He didn’t think that any more could be said. Or done.”

  Her face softened. “Mona?”

  I grabbed the mascara. “Yes.”

  “Oh, Mona.”

  I sniffed and concentrated on my face in the mirror. After a few moments I turned to her. “Better?”

  She nodded. “Yes. Do you want me to stay? I can hang out in the bar.”

  I smiled. “Yes, I’m sure you can. But I’m fine. Can you come over early tomorrow? Help out?”

  She nodded again. “Of course.” She ran her fingers through her elegant bob and kissed my cheek. “I love you, Mona. You’re going to be just fine.”

  “I know.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL WEDDING.

  I did not cry.

  The ceremony was equal parts solemn occasion and joyous celebration.

  Tyler ran down the aisle wearing a cape, holding the pillow with those precious rings attached high over his head, screaming, “Yaaay!” The entire church burst into applause.

  The choir sang “Hallelujah Chorus” as the married couple left the altar.

  At the reception, David’s best man Roy, that rather wealthy young gentleman from Yale, gave a funny, poignant, and altogether amazing speech. So did Ben.

  I was incapable of speech. But I did not cry.

  Brian and Miranda danced together to “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.” They had practiced in secret—God knows when—and did something that looked like the jitterbug. They brought the house down.

  Carmella, working the event, had toned down her sex appeal. She had worn a gray smock like dress and remained out of sight most of the time. I’ve got to say, everything went beautifully. There was not a misstep all day.

  Ben and I danced just once. He came up to me halfway through the wedding and simply held out his hand. The last time we had danced, he had broken my heart. This dance could not fix that, but I let his arms go around me, and we moved slowly together, not even speaking, and the joy all around us kept some of the sadness at bay.

  I did not cry.

  Anthony caught the bridal bouquet. Ben caught the garter. I thought Anthony was going to hyperventilate himself into the ER, but Patricia managed to talk him down.

  The food was delicious, and I sipped champagne and managed to enjoy myself by watching all the guests. Everyone had a wonderful time. The bride and groom radiated the kind of happiness that frequently appeared in bridal magazines. People laughed and cheered and danced. Lily and Vinnie tore up the dance floor with a polka that had the whole room up and clapping. Tyler curled up and fell asleep under the bride’s table. My sister and I led the limbo.

  Did I mention Ben and I danced?

  Miranda changed into her going-away dress. She and David got into one of the many limos that Ben had hired for the day, and drove off to New York City, leaving their guests to dance and eat for another hour before Carmella had to ask the deejay to stop playing music.

  We were a small crowd, but mighty.

  Ben and I were the last to leave. We sat together in the empty, littered room. Finally he stood up and offered me a lift home. I shook my head.

  “Stay warm in Maine,” I said to him. My voice was steady. How could I sound so calm and reasonable? I wanted to race around the room, lock all the doors, and never let him leave.

  He exhaled loudly. “I’ll be too busy to feel the cold. Take care, Mona. I’ll see you in a few months.”

  We did not kiss good-bye. We didn’t even shake hands. I just sat there as he walked across the room, his rented shoes echoing throughout, until he was out the door and gone.

  My house was empty by Sunday afternoon. We all had a lovely breakfast out, Grace and Shadow, with Lauren and Jessica, and we all got along just fine. The girls headed back to their respective schools, and my sister and her husband headed west. Miranda texted me from her honeymoon night at the Pierre—they had enough money for a washer, dryer, and a new futon, so the next time I came up to stay with them, I’d be much more comfortable. The rest of the money would be put into savings. Th
at, I knew, was David’s idea. Miranda alone would have been buying designer sheets and fifty-dollar scented candles for the powder room. But my daughter’s text was full of hearts and happy faces. That’s why it was called a “honeymoon phase.” I prayed it would last for her.

  Ben texted me to say he had just crossed over into Maine and would be spending the night in Portland.

  Patricia called to ask if I wanted company. I said no.

  MarshaMarsha came over from next door and brought a baby casserole dish of her homemade macaroni and cheese and asked if I wanted company. I said no.

  I ate the mac and cheese, took Fred for a very long walk in the cold January darkness, came back, put on my favorite flannel pajamas, then went to bed very early.

  And cried myself to sleep.

  There was a lull.

  February has always been my least favorite month. Luckily it’s the shortest, because twenty-eight days is about all I can take of February. Leap years, I just slept through the whole extra day.

  My self-pubbed titles had taken off, and the next three titles were ready to launch. Sylvia had gotten a contract for the new books. A new publishing house, a new editor, and an amazing advance, so I took myself down to Florida for a long weekend with Patricia. We stayed on Longboat Key, because I loved the Gulf of Mexico. I spent four days lying in the sun, shopping, eating too much, and drinking. Way too much. By the time I returned back home, March had arrived.

  Luckily, the DeMatriano/Martel wedding went into full five-alarm mode, leaving me little time to sit around and miss Ben.

  Carmella started calling me. First—what about a shower?

  “Bridal shower? Are you suggesting that, as matron of honor, I throw a bridal shower for Lily? Doesn’t your father have sheets at his house?”

  “Of course, Mona. But Lily is a bride.”

  “She is also a woman with three different china services for twelve, and enough sterling silver to sink the USS Enterprise.”

  “Well, you could always do a lingerie shower.”

  Oh, my God. “No, Carmella. I am not throwing a lingerie shower. Why don’t I talk to her and see what she wants, okay?”

  Aunt Lily, as I had guessed, was completely uninterested. “Mona, that’s very thoughtful, but I can’t think of one single thing I need.”

  “That’s what I thought. But since I’m your matron of honor…”

  “Mona, dear, your only duty is to make sure I don’t get too drunk on my wedding day to say my vows. Got it?”

  “Got it, Aunt Lily.”

  Next Carmella called to ask when it would be convenient for the masons to come over.

  “What masons?”

  “The ones who are working on your lighted fountain. They have to take apart what’s there so it can be wired.”

  “Seriously? I thought you’d just throw up a few spotlights.” I had no idea. After all, that had been her project. With Ben.

  “No. Mona, it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

  “Okay…anytime next week? Have someone call me.”

  “Pasquale.”

  “Who’s Pasquale?”

  “He’ll call you.

  Pasquale did not have a tortured accent. He just showed up at the designated time and place with two assistants and started to take apart the top of my perfectly fine fountain. I thought that Ben should be here, supervising. After all, it was his idea. But Ben was up in Maine. He’d probably forgotten all about it. And me.

  I watched for the first fifteen minutes, then went back to work. I still went to my office every day, leaving my empty house and making the long trek across the driveway. Anthony came by twice a week, but the other three days I spent writing alone. My jaded divorcée was coming alive in a way that hadn’t happened in a while, and as her relationships with the neighborhood dead grew, so did her story. I was completely involved in my writing, which kept my mind off other things—like missing Ben. Wanting to talk to Ben. Wanting to tell Ben how the book was coming along. In fact, I wanted to pick up the phone that very afternoon and tell him all about the fountain, and Pasquale, knowing he would love the name and tell me to put it in my next book.

  All that writing was why I hadn’t bothered to check on the fountain progress until I heard the loud noises of equipment being rolled onto the truck. I ran downstairs to take a look.

  My fountain was gone. In its place was a pipe protruding from the ground and a pile of stones.

  “Pasquale,” I yelled. “What did you do to my fountain?”

  He looked at the pile of rocks, then at me. “I’ll put it back together.”

  “When?”

  “After the electrician does his wiring.”

  “I thought you were just going to put some spotlights around.”

  He shook his head, reached into his truck, and pulled out a manila folder. He shuffled some papers, then handed me a photo. “It will look like that.”

  I had to admit it was beautiful. Soft light glowed from the main basin, and the spout of water was lit in a golden hue. “How long will this take?”

  He shrugged. “Depends. Do you want to get permits?”

  I had experience with getting permits. After all, there had been a lot of renovation done over the years. “Do we have to?”

  He grinned. “No.”

  “Okay, then,” I said, envisioning a midnight visit by some unlicensed electrician. “Somebody good?”

  He nodded and made the of-course face, complete with hand motions.

  I sighed. “How much is this costing me?”

  He suddenly looked very concerned. “No, you’re not paying. This is a wedding gift, for Mr. DeMatriano.”

  I nodded, and it occurred to me I could mention that Mr. DeMatriano also wanted a new patio, front walkway, and oh, how about repointing the chimney?

  “Thanks, Pasquale.”

  I went back inside the house, fed the dog, then made myself a plate of scrambled eggs for dinner.

  With no one around to cook for, or even get dressed for, I had fallen into a rather lazy routine. Days that Anthony worked with me required a shower, fairly decent yoga pants, and at least a shirt that did not have a cartoon or silly saying on it. The other days of the week were something of a crapshoot. If I was having lunch or running specific errands, well, that rated jeans and a bra. But you know that old joke? About the best thing about working from home is walking to your desk in your pajamas? Yeah, well, that was me. Some days I didn’t brush my teeth until lunchtime. And while part of me enjoyed the idea that I had no one to primp for, I really wished I had a reason to shave my legs and put on some makeup. More specifically, I wished I had Ben to primp for. I was actually dreading the warmer weather, because now all I had to do was throw my long winter coat over my jammies to walk the dog. Those days would soon be over, and then what would I do?

  I started thinking about selling the house and living permanently at the shore. I had owned, for many years now, a little Cape Cod-style home on Long Beach Island. The rather tall and annoying dune that stood between my block and the beach had prevented Hurricane Sandy from leveling the homes on my street, so my house had suffered no more than missing shingles and torn screens. I loved it there and felt alive and happy so close to the ocean, but I also knew that out of season, the place was like a graveyard, filled with empty homes and the ghosts of summer past. I was already feeling a bit too lonely for comfort. That much solitude I didn’t need. Besides, Ben and I had spent some wonderful times there. I needed to find somewhere with no ghosts.

  I thought about getting a condo somewhere, not like Patricia’s, of course. I didn’t have that kind of money. In fact, very few people had that kind of money. I could see myself as a cosmopolitan kind of person, spending time on a balcony instead of a patio, but then I thought about those cold or snowy or rainy days when I just opened the back door for Fred. In a high-rise condo, I’d have to not only take him out in all weather, but I probably couldn’t get away with the old coat-over-jammies trick.

&nbs
p; As much as I loved all the freedom of living completely alone, I kind of didn’t want to be that alone. That was why, if Ben and I had continued as we had been, my life would have been perfect. I could do exactly as I pleased, but anytime I wanted I could pick up the phone, and he would be there.

  As it was, maybe a smaller space would mean a less empty space.

  I was clicking my way through Zillow when Aunt Lily called.

  “Mona, dear, I have a tricky question for you.”

  “Okay, Aunt Lily. I’m sitting down. Go.”

  “Should I send Ben an invitation?”

  “Ah…” I hadn’t thought about Ben since I put my silverware in the dishwasher that morning.

  “Yes. Exactly. You know how I feel about him. I love him dearly. And the sight of him in a suit on my wedding day will make me the happiest bride ever. But I also love you and don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. Have the two of you talked about this at all?”

  “No, Aunt Lily. I haven’t spoken to Ben since he left.”

  “Oh, dear. Really? What is wrong with you, Mona? Did you know that Carmella has been talking to him on a regular basis? In fact, I think she went see him up there last weekend.”

  “To Maine? She went up to Maine to see Ben?”

  “Well, I can’t imagine her going up to Maine for any other reason.”

  Carmella had been to Maine! I saw red for a second, then realized I had no right to be angry anymore.

  “I thought all you young people were constantly texting and things.”

  “That’s younger people than myself, Aunt Lily.”

  “Well, can’t you Tumble him?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Oh. Too bad. Well, what should we do? I need to send these invitations out this weekend.”

  I took a deep breath. “Send him one, Aunt Lily. I know how fond he is of you. He was really looking forward to your wedding.” Which was true. But more important, he’d be right in my backyard. For a whole afternoon. And at a wedding, all sorts of things could happen.

  “All right, Mona.”