by M. J. Pullen
“How would they go out? We had the car,” Marci said. Then she called loudly, “We’re back!”
Beth, Rebecca, and Kate, huddled on the back porch, suppressed giggles and squeals, as though they were waiting outside the eighth-grade dance. Beth motioned for them to take a deep breath and calm down.
“I’m going to put this shirt in the washer before the ketchup sets, you klutz,” Suzanne said. “I still don’t know how my sundress ended up in your car.”
“You’re just that lucky,” Marci said, with just the right amount of sarcasm. She was the only person who could get away with talking to Suzanne like that. “Let’s go out back.”
“What?”
“Let’s go for a walk or something. Maybe the other girls are outside.”
“Go ahead, I’ll catch up,” Suzanne said.
“Come with me!” Marci whined.
“What is with you?” Suzanne said. “You’re so needy today, even for you. Even pregnant you.”
She could not hear what passed between them next, but Rebecca guessed Marci was running out of artifice, because Suzanne’s next question was in a completely different tone. “Marci, what is going on?”
And then the doorknob turned. Suzanne stepped out of the beach house with a perplexed expression. Marci followed, and Beth handed each of them a loose bunch of flowers. “What?” Suzanne said. Then again. “What?”
Marci answered with a hug. “We love you.” And then, surprisingly, “It was Rebecca’s idea.”
“But…,” Suzanne started, and then her eyes lit on Dylan, standing patiently on the beach next to a local judge whose teenage daughter would be getting ten front-row tickets to Dylan’s next concert in Charleston. “But—”
“Just follow us,” Beth said, and began a slow stride down the wooden path.
As they filed into place opposite the guys, Marci leading a shocked Suzanne by the hand, the bride stopped a few feet back. She gaped at Dylan. “You’re here,” she said softly.
“Yes, ma’am,” Dylan said, giving her a soft salute with two fingers.
“But…”
It was strange to see Suzanne in this state. Normally, she was the most polished and professional person any of them knew. She prepared for every contingency. Nothing surprised her. Ever.
Finally, Dylan took a step forward and took her hands in his. He extracted the bouquet of wildflowers from Suzanne and handed them to Marci.
“Listen, Scarlett, I’m going to be honest. We are probably going to have to do something that includes a bunch of other people—including our families and the press and everyone.
“But that will be for them, and to some extent for my job, and I know you will be gracious and go along with it. But tonight is for you. For us. No press, no chaos, just us. This will be what’s real. This is the anniversary we will celebrate for the rest of our lives together. What do you think?”
Suzanne stood silent, staring.
“I mean, unless you’ve changed your mind?” Dylan said. “Afraid to take the plunge?”
The challenge seemed to bring her back to herself. “Dylan Burke, you know damn well I am not afraid of anything. You least of all.”
“That’s my girl,” he said, and scooped an arm around her waist.
Marci sniffed loudly and tore a piece of the toilet paper garland with one hand. She passed pieces to the other three women, and they all dabbed at their eyes.
Dylan Burke and Suzanne Hamilton exchanged vows simply as the sun sank over the Atlantic. The groom and his groomsmen wore Hawaiian shirts, shorts, and flip-flops. The bride and her attendants wore various cotton sundresses and skirts they’d packed in case of a sporadic night out at a local Italian restaurant, which was as fancy as they’d expected the weekend to get. None of them had anticipated a wedding.
Suzanne had planned nearly every must-attend upscale event in Atlanta for the last five years, and had dedicated her life to making sure everything was perfect for her clients. Dylan had spent every waking moment since his teenage years in front of cameras, stage lights, and flashbulbs. And yet, here they were, at the wedding that would break the hearts of women everywhere, beneath toilet paper streamers strung between fishing poles. The portly judge gave the rites, after fast-tracking their marriage license. Rebecca snapped a few photos on a disposable underwater camera. It was perfect.
As Dylan reached for his new wife and gave her a soft kiss, Rebecca felt a thrill of pride that she had set this in motion. For once, her contribution to the group seemed to be more than just filling out a seat at happy hour. Though they hadn’t always seen eye to eye, Rebecca had come to appreciate that Suzanne’s quirkiness and snobbery hid a kind of sweet vulnerability. And while it had never been said by either of them, Rebecca thought maybe Suzanne was learning this same truth about her.
7
After sunset, they built a bonfire. Kate and Jeff brought out the buckets of beer and champagne, and paper plates overflowing with appetizers. The group sat on folding chairs and towels and chatted loosely, as though people got married on the spur of the moment every day. As though the groom weren’t one of the most recognizable people in all of country music. Jake had brought out speakers, so they listened to music on his phone and stared out at the blackness of the ocean.
“Sorry to ruin your girls’ weekend,” Dylan said to Suzanne, who looked more relaxed in the firelight than Rebecca even thought it possible for Suzanne to be.
“Sorry to ruin your big wedding,” she said, kicking his bare foot with hers.
“Do you want to hear your song?”
“What?”
“I’ve been writing a song for our wedding. It’s not finished, but…”
Dylan picked up his guitar and began picking out a few chords. His voice was melodic and perfect, even without rehearsal. “Baby put your hair up, or wear it down, or shave your head…”
Suzanne shook her head and chuckled.
“We can go out dancing, to a ball game, or just stay home and rock the bed.”
Jeff whistled loudly, and then yelled, “Ow!” as Kate elbowed him in the ribs, nearly knocking him off a tiny fabric camp stool.
Dylan was unfazed. “Honey, I don’t care, what you do or what you wear. You don’t have to be perfect, because you’re perfect for me.…”
Marci stood abruptly, glancing apologetically at Dylan. She clamped a hand over her mouth, turned, and sped toward the house. She only made it as far as the bushes, however, where she stopped to vomit loudly.
“Well, like I said, the song’s not done yet,” Dylan said, smiling. “That’s not exactly the reaction I was going for.”
Suzanne pulled him toward her by the sleeve. “I love it. I love you.”
The group broke into separate conversations as everyone began discussing the song and Marci’s morning sickness that was apparently also midnight sickness.
Rebecca stood, stretched, and walked back down to the water, enjoying the sand under her feet. It had grown more overcast as evening came, and there was no moon. The night was inky black over the water. Except for the tiny waves at her feet lighted by the blaze, there was nothing to see but a few dim stars visible between the clouds. It felt like standing on the edge of nothing.
She felt him behind her before she saw him.
“Quite a night,” Jake said.
“Yes,” Rebecca said. A chill ran up her spine. She could not bring herself to turn around.
“I heard this was your idea,” he said.
“Well, sort of. I mean, I guess it was my idea but Beth did most of the planning.”
His hand on her bare shoulder was warm and strong. Rebecca sometimes forgot how little real human contact she had these days, aside from the bustling and jostling of the airport. For years, she had measured her life in increments of Jake: a smile, a phone call, a brush with his hand, a peck on the cheek. And for a few moments, four years ago … But that had been between his engagements to Marci—the disastrous first one, and the real one that stuck. Now, he
belonged irrevocably to Marci, no matter what Rebecca’s feelings were.
The hand on her shoulder seemed to radiate warmth. She knew she should turn and walk back to the safety of the fire and the gaze of other people. But her feet were glued to the sand. “Congratulations again on the new pregnancy,” she said. She wasn’t sure if she was building a bridge between them or trying to tear one down.
“Yes. It’s … it’s such a blessing. Of course.”
The thing was, and Rebecca didn’t think she was imagining this, he didn’t sound blessed. She hesitated. “I’m sure you’re thrilled to have another baby. Bonnie is so beautiful.”
“She’s the light of my life,” he said. This much was genuine. “And, yeah, I’m thrilled, it’s just—”
“Hey guys,” Suzanne said suddenly. Rebecca jumped. She hadn’t heard anyone approaching over the sound of the waves. And the blood pumping in her ears.
“Hey there, Mrs. Dylan Burke.” Jake did not remove his hand, but simply put his other arm around Suzanne so that he was draped between the two of them. It was an affectionate gesture. Brotherly.
“Ugh, don’t say that,” Suzanne said. Without looking, Rebecca knew Suzanne was wrinkling her nose. “It makes me feel old.”
“You’d better get used to it,” Jake said. He kissed Suzanne on the cheek. “Congratulations, Suze. Really. He’s a good guy, especially for a famous person.”
“Thanks, Jakie,” Suzanne said, using the nickname she’d had for him in college. How was it possible that had been almost fifteen years ago? “Now we just need to find the right guy for Rebecca. Don’t you know anyone? Maybe one of those pro football players from your film? Just think, she could be on the Real Housewives of Atlanta in a couple of years.”
Jake mumbled something to the ocean. Rebecca felt humiliation rising in her chest. “Actually,” she said impulsively, “Rebecca is already seeing someone.”
Suzanne’s shock was visible even in the dim light from the fire behind them. “What? Who? Why didn’t you mention this?”
“You didn’t ask,” Rebecca said. “He’s a pilot.”
“Really?” Suzanne said. “How wonderful. Anyone I’ve met?”
Rebecca was already regretting the lie. “No, he flies the international routes. His name is…” She searched her database of pilots for someone who was real and single. Better to keep a lie as close to the truth as possible. “Sandy.”
“Sandy. What’s he like? Why have you been keeping him secret?”
Rebecca thought about the real-life Sandy, a pilot she flew with once every couple of months back and forth to London. Because he’s twenty years older than me and kind of a dick, actually. He has a mustache that looks like a dead mouse and he’s always telling gross, racist stories about venereal diseases he picked up when he flew the Asian routes. Oh God, why did I do this?
“Well, he is recently divorced.” In truth, she thought Sandy had been divorced for about a decade, but he still referred to his ex-wife in such bitter terms it felt recent. “And obviously since we work together…”
She trailed off, hoping that the vague implication would be enough to placate Suzanne. It wasn’t. “So, is it serious?”
Jake looked at her now, too. “Well, sort of,” Rebecca stammered. “I mean, it’s still early in the relationship. So, no. I guess not serious yet.”
They waited for her to expand on what she’d said. Rebecca, however, had no earthly idea what to say next. Why had she lied? She was lonely, yes. She could admit that. But was she really so bad off that she had to make up fake relationships?
Fortunately, Marci emerged from the beach house and called to Jake, who waved at her and walked up toward the house. “I am glad you’re seeing someone,” Suzanne said when they were alone. “We’ve all been a little worried about you. Especially Jake and Marci. Jake is really fond of you, you know. I mean, we all are.”
The tone in Suzanne’s voice was unreadable, and her eyes were fixed on the bonfire twenty feet away. “Mmm…,” Rebecca said, noncommittal. At least tonight, there was one topic she knew was safe. “Congratulations again, Suzanne. I know you and Dylan will be really happy together.”
Suzanne bit her lip. “I’m afraid so,” she said, admiring her new husband, who was arguing animatedly with Jeff about something while Kate shook her head and laughed. “I don’t really know how to be a wife, though. Long-term relationships aren’t exactly my specialty.”
“You’ll be great,” Rebecca said. “It’s one of those things you can only do well when the time is right.” As though I know a damn thing about it.
“Thanks, Rebecca,” Suzanne said. “I can’t believe you did all this. It’s wonderful.”
“You weren’t disappointed? I mean, it wasn’t fancy.”
“Are you kidding? It couldn’t have been more perfect.” Suzanne kissed her on the cheek and Rebecca flushed. They waded arm in arm through the powdery sand and rejoined the others at the fire.
8
Everyone stayed up until long after midnight, drinking beer and dancing in the sand by the fire. Rebecca spent the evening deflecting curious questions about her imaginary relationship with the nonexistent Sandy, and fighting off pangs of envy as the three couples nuzzled and slow danced in the sand around the fire. Beth, who was also alone, disappeared for a while to talk to Ray and check on the kids. When she was satisfied that they were surviving without her, she set about to make herself very drunk.
Rebecca didn’t like to drink heavily—she was never happy feeling out of control, especially in big groups—so she watched with bemusement as Beth got sillier and sillier, saying over and over how she never got to do this anymore.
The beach house had four bedrooms: a large master on one end with its own huge bathroom, where Suzanne and Dylan spent their first night as a married couple, and three smaller bedrooms in a row on the other side. One of these had a queen-sized bed, and doors to the living room and the back deck. This had originally been where Rebecca and Beth were sleeping, but was now designated for Marci and Jake. Another had a double bed and large windows facing the front of the house, across from a sizable shared bathroom. Kate had already been in this room and now Jeff was with her.
Wedged in between those two cozy rooms was a narrow space Rebecca suspected had been squeezed in somehow to make the house more appealing for rentals to families. It had none of the understated elegance of the rest of the house, and was dusty from disuse. Apparently the housekeeping service often skipped over it. It had a single fluorescent light, and exactly enough space for a set of cheap wooden bunk beds with dated fish-themed comforters, Rebecca and Beth’s suitcases, and a tall corner bookshelf with baskets for clothes and a tiny TV on the top shelf. There was no closet, and no other furniture, just a worn rag rug on the linoleum floor. Of course, Suzanne never would have booked this house if she had known the guys would be joining them, and she and Dylan both offered to either go to a hotel themselves or to pay for Beth and Rebecca to stay elsewhere.
That, Rebecca and Beth had both insisted, was ridiculous. The hassle alone of moving themselves and their stuff late in the evening would have been enough of an obstacle, even if Beth had not been three sheets to the wind by the end of the night. Now that the clock had struck one in the morning and Beth was passed out on the couch with her cell phone in her hand, Rebecca was beginning to wish she had taken Dylan and Suzanne up on their offer.
The dingy linoleum floor seemed even dirtier by the light of the greenish bulb overhead than it had during the day. Rebecca could not help but notice the dead fly on the tiny windowsill and a fine layer of sand on the bedspreads when she touched them. She heard muffled giggles coming from Kate and Jeff’s room as she pulled back the covers to inspect the sheets. She decided to try some affirmations from the book. These sheets are clean, they are just a little dusty, and beach houses have sand everywhere. Sand won’t hurt me. Dust won’t hurt me. Facing my discomfort will only make me stronger.
She slipped into her pajamas,
trying to focus on how tired she was. How quickly she would fall asleep. “Facing my discomfort will only make me stronger,” she said softly. She turned off the light and promptly hit her head on the top bunk as she climbed into bed. The sheets were clean, but they still had the faint musty odor of neglect in a humid place. Rebecca closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “In a few minutes, I won’t even notice the smell. Facing my discomfort will make me stronger.”
Through the wall next to her, Rebecca heard Kate and Jeff murmuring to one another, with occasional laughter interspersed. “I am alone, but I am not lonely,” she said. Soon, the talking died down and in its place she heard the telltale rhythmic groan of bedsprings. Oh, no. Please don’t let this go on for long. Soon, she heard panting and soft moaning accompanying the sounds of the bed. She held the pillow over her ears, but the sounds grew louder and higher pitched. She could not help but notice that Kate seemed to really be enjoying herself, which struck Rebecca as funny.
During the day, Kate seemed demure almost to the point of mousiness, but there was nothing demure about the noises she was making now. In spite of herself, Rebecca smiled, wondering what kind of lover Jeff really was. Gentle? Passionate? She had only ever seen Jeff laughing and joking and being a bit crass. It was hard to imagine him with the serious face of someone consumed by passion. Despite trying her best to tune them out, and feeling slightly repulsed that she was overhearing something so intimate, Rebecca began to feel a familiar tightening in her lower belly. Desire. But for whom? Her hand traveled beneath her pajamas and skimmed the top of her panties.
Ugh. What was she doing? She got up from the bed and turned on the light, searching for the earplugs she kept in her bag at all times. She spent half her life at airport hotels, and the earplugs were indispensable. She found them, her hand grazing the purple velvet bag as she retrieved them.
She turned back toward the bed and flicked off the light. As if on cue, she now heard talking from the room on the other side. Jake and Marci were louder, though thankfully it sounded more like arguing than anything else. Were they arguing? She stood and removed the earplugs. A little ashamed of eavesdropping, she listened anyway, trying to catch what was said. She could only make out tone, and thought maybe Jake was reprimanding Marci for something. Marci sounded defiant at first, and then softened. Meanwhile, Kate squealed rather loudly and Jeff moaned audibly. There was a rhythmic banging sound that must be their headboard hitting the wall. This was unbearable.