“You’re going to regret it!” Palmer had warned repeatedly. “A black mark that will haunt you for life!”
Bess wasn’t much interested in Palmer’s advice and, as it turned out, didn’t regret it at all. Among about a million other positives, she met Evan and quickly realized that dopey Gordon wasn’t the main thing going. In fact, he was appealing only when thrown into a lineup of other Gordon-like fools. Evan was hardly perfect, and in many ways was the exact kind of big fish, small pond asshole you’d expect, but Bess was able to end her high school years happy. And she was able to forgive Palmer for the absolutely nothing that she did.
“Hey,” Evan whispers as Palmer recites some sort of Native American blessing, the only treacle allowed at this wedding. “Have you seen them?”
Bess doesn’t need to ask. He’s referring to Cissy and Chappy. Bess shakes her head and glances over her shoulder. All she sees is a well-heeled mob of bankers, lawyers, and Choaties behind them.
“They’re not here,” Bess whispers back. “Do we need to worry…?”
She leans closer in. Dudley looks at them sideways. You’d think Bess might be glad the lovebirds aren’t around, with her dad seated to the left. But a public fight about infidelity is a better option than Cissy falling off a cliff. In a gingham tankini.
“I’m counting on Chappy,” Bess says, “to get Cis out of there.”
“Oh, brother. Not the man you should put your money behind.”
Evan shakes his head and squeezes her hand. Bess shivers, head to toe.
When all vows and rings are exchanged, the crowd stands and cheers. Felicia and Steven tromp down the squishy grass aisle. Amid the seats, people trade greetings and hugs and handshakes. Through it all, Evan sticks closely to Bess’s side.
As the sun sets over the water, Flick and Steve fire the golden cannon, a signal that all colors and flags in the Nantucket harbors must be lowered. The sparks from the cannon burn out, the smoke clears, and the guests stream inside. A certain weight pushes heavily on Bess’s chest.
For the first time in twenty-four hours she thinks not about how hard it’s been to lose that baby, or how much pain she feels in her body and in her heart. No, Bess is getting weepy, all twisted up with emotion, as she contemplates how very much it will hurt to leave.
63
Monday Night, Memorial Day
Is Bess “taking it easy” at the wedding? Not especially. But, as they say, doctors make the worst patients.
She shouldn’t be dancing, at least not to every song. Granted, Bess isn’t exactly smoking up the floor with her deft moves, and she’s feeling better by the hour. Distance helps. Evan helps. Vicodin and one and a half glasses of Dom help, too.
The band is fantastic, playing a bit of this, a touch of that. They take requests though reserve the right to refuse Evan’s suggestion of “Gangsta’s Paradise.” Who wouldn’t want that at their wedding? It makes no sense.
“You could sing it yourself,” Bess says. “Just like at prom.”
“It’s crossed my mind. Why do you think I’ve been chatting them up? I’m trying to get on their good side.”
“Great. Warn me if you succeed,” she says. “I’ll get a front-row seat. Or leave.”
“There will be no warning.”
Over the course of the night, Bess detects some wonky-eyed glances in her direction, which she figures are due to how closely she’s dancing with Evan.
Wait, isn’t that the local boy she hooked up with in high school?
Or maybe: Doesn’t he have a girlfriend? The one with the kid?
Whatever they’re saying, Bess doesn’t care. She will leave and Cliff House will come down. It’s time to squeeze the last few morsels from this Sconset life while she can.
“I hate to bring this up,” Evan says.
It’s almost midnight. Closing time. He’s holding Bess tight, they’re dancing to a song that is not quite fast but not slow either. Sort of like “Gangsta’s Paradise,” but without the heaviness or implication of shooting.
“Have you noticed who didn’t show?” Evan asks.
Bess nods. Because the only thing as conspicuous as Cissy walking into a room is when she’s not there in the first place. Bess has spent the evening actively evading worry because she’s had enough of that.
“I’ve noticed,” Bess says. “But the party’s not over. She could still make it.”
“It’s almost over though,” Evan says, looking around. “And the fifty-plus set has all but dissolved.”
It’s true. Of the gray hairs, only her dad, Aunt Polly, and Uncle Vince linger. Bess hopes that Polly has consumed enough champagne to overlook the Cissy no-show. Whatever bizarre marital estrangements are happening between Polly’s brother and sister-in-law, Cissy should’ve shown up to her niece’s wedding.
“You’re right,” Bess says. “The elders are gone. This is going to be the toughest of Cissy’s shenanigans to explain.”
“Everyone’s having too much fun to notice,” Evan says.
“That’s the dream.” She smiles. “It’s been a great wedding.”
“The best I’ve been to.”
“Me, too,” Bess says. “And I’ve even had my own.”
With a laugh, Evan spins Bess once and then a second time. He dips her low, though it’s not at all a dipping sort of song. When he pulls her up, Bess is dizzy. She sees stars.
“You okay?” Evan asks, noticing the mixed-up eyes and clammy skin, both of which have little to do with the dipping.
“Yes. Yes. Fine,” she says. “I’m getting a little melancholy though, thinking about how it’s almost over. But I suppose everything ends eventually.”
“Not everything.”
“Um, hello? Have you seen the ninety-nine-year-old house across the street from your dad? If that can’t last, what will?”
“Plenty of things,” Evan says. “For example, I’ve felt the same about you for approximately forever.”
Bess’s skin erupts in goose bumps. Her breath gets short.
“Evan, don’t…” She shakes her head. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”
He narrows his gaze.
“Why wouldn’t I mean it?”
“What about, whatever her name is?” Bess says. She looks away to avoid meeting his eyes. “Grace.”
“Who’s Grace?”
Bess looks back at him. His face is baffled.
“The girl with the jerk lacrosse kid? Your girlfriend?”
He laughs oddly, uncomfortably, and with no cheer at all.
“Jack’s mom? Uh, no. She’s not my girlfriend. She’s married to a buddy of mine who travels a lot. I try to help out where I can. Like I said, her son is a turkey. He needs the supervision. What made you think…”
“Never mind,” Bess says, and cowers in humiliation. “It’s a long, stupid story. I’m an idiot.”
She buries herself in his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” she says into the warm place on his shirt. “I’m so lame.”
“Oh, Lizzy C.” He kisses her on the head again. “Come on. Look up. Look at me.”
It takes her a minute but Bess does as he asks.
“I love you, you know,” he says.
Bess shakes her head.
“I do,” he insists.
“What about your whole thing?” Tears are rolling down her face now, tumbling unfettered. “Your mantra. Never make the same mistake twice.”
“I still believe that.”