Tapestry of Fortunes A Novel

22


Thomas lifts Lydia’s veil almost exactly as I had imagined it, then kisses her with great tenderness. My eyes well up in a mix of longing and despair, my usual reaction to weddings, only worse. I reach down for my purse so that I can get some Kleenex, and notice Travis drawing on his hand. A game of ticktacktoe, apparently. I put my hand over his, shake my head no. He sighs, looks at me wide-eyed. I can nearly hear what he’s thinking: It’s so boring! Just let me draw! Why can’t I just draw! I stare back, stone-faced, until he puts the pen back in his suit pocket. For the first time, I wish he were with his father. But this is my weekend. David is away. He gave me a New York City number—for emergencies. Museums, I imagine, the two of them walking hand in hand. Dinners, plays. A nice hotel room, a view of the park.

Travis doesn’t perk up much at the reception, either, even when he dances with Marie. I finally give up, say my good-byes, and march Travis out to the car. Snow is falling lazily, fat flakes that look like cut-up pieces of lace.

For a long while, we say nothing. The wiper blades squeak and flop, squeak and flop. Finally I say, “I’m very disappointed in the way you behaved, Travis. You like Lydia. And you like Thomas. This was their wedding! That’s a very important day. They deserved more from you.”

He turns on the radio, and I turn it off.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters.

“Oh, my God! Don’t you dare say that again! And I would appreciate the courtesy of a reply from you. I’m trying to talk to you.”

“You’re yelling at me.”

“I’m not yelling.”

“Yes, you are. On the inside, you are.”

Well. He has a point.

“Oh, Travis, I just … Didn’t you find it … moving?”

He says nothing.

“Travis?”

“What?”

“I asked you a question.”

“You’ll just get mad if I tell you what I thought.”

I stop at a light, look over at him. “Tell me.”

“I thought it was dopey, okay? I mean, aren’t they embarrassed?”

I smile. “Why should they be embarrassed?”

“Because they’re like … old!”

“And?”

“What do you mean?” he asks, exasperated.

“I mean so what if they’re old?”

“Well, you know! It just looks stupid seeing her all in a bride dress and everything.”

The car behind us honks, and I move forward. Choose your battles, I’m thinking. Wait until he forgets his wife’s birthday. Then spank him.

“Anyway,” Travis says, “you shouldn’t be allowed to get married twice.”

Ah.

“You shouldn’t be allowed to get married twice?” I say.

“No.”

“Well, what if your husband dies?”

He says nothing, stares sullenly ahead.

“Lydia’s husband was dead, Travis.”

“Yeah,” he says. “But you’re not.”

I look quickly at him. “Is … Did Dad say something? About getting married again?”

“I don’t know.”

“Travis? Did he?”

“I don’t know!” He punches on the radio. “Just let me listen to this, okay? I don’t want to talk!”

“All right,” I say. “That’s fine.” I don’t want to talk anymore right now, either. Not to Travis. And oh, not to David, either. I don’t want to hear it until I have to.