“It looks beautiful out there,” Hannah said.
Melissa again glanced out her window, relishing the view, the splendor. The tide was almost out, and there were people and dogs in the distance. Someone was clamming, which was so romantic and perfect for the moment. This place was real. Coming here had been the absolute right decision.
As for the guests, there were four of the New York mothers and their husbands here. Curiosity, Melissa knew, and possible jealousy. They were sipping champagne, all dressed to kill. As they should be for the wedding of the year! There were Vanessa and Charles Fairchild. Strange, to have in-laws this time around. At first, they’d been totally on Lillie’s side, until Bradley had told them—when she was out of the room, of course—that if they ever wanted to see him again, they would have to accept and love Melissa. She’d helped with the wording, and it had gone perfectly. Then, when she came back in, she’d been so warm and welcoming. If they were still stiff and awkward, well, who really cared?
So many eyes on her, soaking in her style and good taste, her money, her power. Oh, and her love for Bradley, because she did love him. He fit the bill—older, handsome, educated. Not as impressive as an orthopedic surgeon, of course, but not bad, either.
“Stay right there,” said one of the photographers. “That light is incredible on you. You look radiant.”
“I’ve never been happier,” she said. “Everything is so perfect, Hannah! I can’t wait to get out there.”
“I’ll get Brad ready for the First Look. And you do look incredible.”
A few moments later, Melissa floated down the stairs in front of the camera crew, the Swarovski crystals sparkling in the golden afternoon light. Out the front door, over to the First Look area. Where was Ophelia? Oh, for crying out loud. Lying in the hammock, biting a fingernail and getting all wrinkled. Melissa chose not to dwell.
Bradley stood on the lush front lawn between two brilliant red maple trees, his back to her. This was the moment! A photographer’s assistant fluffed her dress so the train was perfect, and when the photographer said “Go,” Melissa walked slowly up to Bradley. The camera whirred in a stream of clicks as Melissa tapped his shoulder. He turned around, covered his mouth with his hand, and tears filled his gorgeous blue eyes.
“My God, you’re so beautiful,” he said, and she laughed and posed, the gown tossing off the light. She kissed him, then turned to the makeup artist, who dabbed her lips with a bit more gloss as the photographer captured Bradley’s tears.
“Let’s get this wedding started,” Hannah said when fifteen more minutes of First Look had passed. She handed Melissa the bouquet, a mass of white and blush blossoms, gave Ophelia her basket of flower petals, and went around the house to give the reverend the heads-up.
“I love you so much,” Bradley whispered.
“Oh, darling, I love you, too,” she said back. “See you at the altar.”
“You’re perfect. This day is perfect. Our life is perfect.”
Enough with that word. “I know. Now go! Get up there!” She beamed at him, her slight irritation fading. After all, he knew his place. To adore her. Full stop.
Bradley went up to the arch and waited, alone except for Reverend White. Sadly, Dylan had refused to come for the wedding and be his best man, which would have been nice for Bradley, but you know what? It was better this way. No reminders of Lillie, except for her sister. And former in-laws. And every guest from Wellfleet.
It didn’t matter. There was a new Mrs. Fairchild in town.
She peeked around the corner. Bradley was smiling at the crowd—one hundred and seventy-four guests.
And then, the string quartet began playing Mozart’s “Ave verum corpus,” a beautiful song, the meaning of which she didn’t know, but the melody of which she loved.
“Ophelia, you’re up,” Melissa said, patting her shoulder. “Have fun, sweetheart!”
Ophelia rolled her eyes, clenched the basket in her hand and stomped toward Bradley.
One more fluff of her dress, one touch from the makeup artist. Then off she went, walking slowly, smiling with bliss in her heart, her entire soul soaring at the sight of all these people, all this admiration. It seemed like the entire world was watching. There was what’s-her-name from the yoga studio. Mirabelle and Libby and their husbands from New York. Yes! Let them see her in her glory! They’d dropped her fast enough after Dennis died. The reverend’s wife, the lesbians from the arts council, the first selectman. Everyone had their phones out, too. Oh, she hoped they’d use the hashtag she’d come up with—#HappilyEverFairchild. It was encouraged on all the programs and the three chalkboards they’d had custom painted.
There was Bradley, teary-eyed, handsome. A gentle breeze blew Melissa’s tendrils, and the guests sat down. Melissa handed her bouquet to Ophelia and kissed her cheek, pretending that the child didn’t pull away, then joined hands with Bradley.
Surely, this was the most beautiful moment anyone here would ever see.
“I love you,” she whispered.
“I love you, too,” he whispered back, and it was so romantic!
“Dearly beloved,” Reverend White began. “We are gathered in this beautiful place to join this man and this woman in the holy bonds of matrimony.”
Melissa felt herself sparkling. Sparkling!
Then she heard the murmur. Looking at the crowd, she put her hand to the back of her head to make sure her veil was in place. It was. Ophelia was gaping, open-mouthed, at something in the distance. Everyone was gaping.
Melissa turned. Brad turned. For a second, the image was too bizarre to process.
“What . . . what is that?” Melissa said, and the microphone picked up her words. People were standing now, taking pictures, murmuring in excitement.
Something—someone—was standing out on the mud flats, not thirty yards from where Melissa stood. Someone freakishly tall and dressed in a long, black robe or dress or something. Its face was huge and gray, and dreadlocks flapped out behind it. The garment was shredded so that long rags of black fluttered in the breeze. It looked like one of Harry Potter’s Dementors . . . or the angel of death.
Bradley’s face was frozen in horror. He wasn’t scared, was he? Should she be?
“Is that Lillie?” someone asked.
Oh, my God. “Bradley? Is that her?” Melissa said, her voice shrill.
“I—I don’t know!” he said. “Hannah? Hannah!”
“On it,” she said, hustling toward the shore. She stopped and murmured something to the caterer and kept going.
Oh, gosh darn it! Everyone was taking photos. They better not use her hashtag!
“Get security!” Melissa called, an edge of panic in her voice. “Get her out of here! She’s ruining my wedding!” Her voice was too loud—crud, the microphone! Tears blurred her eyes, and her makeup would have to be touched up.
“I guess there’s a slight delay, folks,” said Reverend White. “Why don’t you two sit down?” he suggested.
She didn’t want to sit down! Her magnificent dress would wrinkle! But Bradley led her to the front row, where Ophelia sat, smirking.
“It isn’t funny,” Melissa hissed.
“You sure about that?” Ophelia said. “?’Cuz I think it’s awesome.”
This couldn’t be happening. It could not happen. Melissa started to cry, and Bradley put his arm around her. She shoved it off, furious. He should’ve known this would happen! Everything was going to be ruined now. No one would be talking about her!
She deserved so much more.
CHAPTER 14
Lillie
I watched as my sister approached in her bare feet, her rose-pink dress elegant. On the lawn, waiters were passing out champagne, and yes, the wedding seemed to be on hold. The breeze blew a little harder, and my dress flapped in a most gratifying manner.
“Hey,” Hannah said.
“Hi,” I answered.
“That is some mask.”
“Thanks. Amazon.” It really was an A-plus mask . . . latex, super creepy with its gaping, fibrous maw and too-big eye sockets.