Torn asunder, p.2
Torn Asunder, page 2
“Any chance we can move the whole shindig up?”
I thought about it for a moment, not for the first time, but the complications of somehow reaching the fifty invited guests and telling them to be at the town pier earlier than planned seemed impossible to conquer. “We’ll stay the course,” I said.
Sonny nodded. He knew how difficult it would be to make the change as well as I did. “Okay. We all staffed up?”
“We’re okay for tonight and tomorrow. I got our regulars back for the occasion.” Our jobs were popular with teachers and students, including several who were local. They were hard to schedule in June, as the school year wound to a close with proms, sports banquets, and the like. Luckily, there was nothing on tonight, so we’d have experienced staff.
“We have one completely green waiter,” I told him.
“Jordan,” Sonny said. “I met him on the boat ride over.” Sonny knew all the staff, even at this early point in the year. “Seems like a good kid.”
“Yes. I needed a server at Windsholme this afternoon, and no one else was available.” The teachers and students had school. The others were either finishing up winter jobs or attending to part-time work they’d keep through the Clambake season.
“It’ll be fine.” He put his big paw on my shoulder, patted once, and then walked down to the firepit to check on his guys. Immediately after that, he’d take the Whaler back to town.
In addition to the wedding party and Jamie’s parents, the next trip would include Jack and Page, Livvie and Sonny’s kids, and my mom, who ran the Snowden Family Clambake gift shop. There wouldn’t be any call for the gift shop tonight. Zoey had asked Mom to come early and attend the rehearsal.
Neither Mom nor Sonny and Livvie had moved out to live on the island yet. Livvie’s kids were still in school, Jack in first grade and Page, impossible for my brain to grasp, a junior in high school. Like the other New England states, public school in Maine finished at the very end of June, so Livvie’s family remained at their split-level house up the peninsula from Busman’s Harbor.
Mom had no reason not to move out to her apartment in Windsholme at the opposite end of the hallway from mine, except that the weather in early June was still highly changeable. And, her fiancé, George, the captain of our tour boat, was based in town.
Le Roi, the Maine Coon cat who lived with Mom and me at the house in the harbor where I’d grown up, also hadn’t yet moved out to Windsholme. Le Roi loved the island. What cat wouldn’t? No cars or predators and an endless supply of softhearted guests to sneak him bits of lobster and clams under their tables. I wished I’d had Le Roi for company while I was alone on Morrow Island. But on balance, I’d decided he’d be nothing but a pain in the rear at our first wedding of the season in a house full of people bringing temptations like bridal gowns and flower arrangements. So he’d stayed in town.
I saw Sonny off and returned to Windsholme. I found Jordan in the kitchen, talking with the caterers. “Welcome aboard,” I greeted him. “Come with me. Do you know how to open a bottle of champagne?”
CHAPTER TWO
Every eye in the room was on Zoey as she walked down Windsholme’s grand staircase in time to the guitar music playing softly below. She wore a goofy grin, no doubt in part because she was carrying a paper plate covered with the bows from the gifts she’d received at her very traditional bridal shower. Livvie, clearly more aware of her duties as an attendant than I, had made Zoey a veil from a particularly gaudy shower curtain.
After reviewing the order of the ceremony and bossing everyone into place in my role as wedding planner, I had stepped to the front of the room and stood, waiting, in my role as the maid of honor.
From the bottom of the stairs, Jamie watched his intended with open-mouthed joy.
I glanced across at my mom. Her delicate brows were pulled together in consternation. “I would have walked her down,” Mom mouthed at me, evidently not happy with the idea of Zoey walking alone.
“It’s what she wants,” I mouthed back. This was one piece of tradition Zoey had let go. She would walk down the stairs alone. No one would “give her away.” She would look dramatic and spectacular in her real gown, not the short, pale pink dress she currently wore, which showed off her sturdy but shapely legs. Zoey was alone, without a mother or father. She was her own self, to do with as she pleased.
At the bottom of the staircase, Jamie took Zoey’s arm and led her to the front of the room, where the officiant awaited, along with the assembled wedding party: me, Livvie, and Pete Howland, the best man and Jamie’s partner on the Busman’s Harbor police force. The other groomsman, Jamie’s nephew, was absent. He hadn’t shown up in time to catch the Whaler, though Sonny had waited as long as he could. By text, the errant groomsman had been told to come out on the tour boat with the rest of the guests.
The bride and groom arrived at the designated spot and turned to each other. The guitarist strummed to a stop. He was Bill Lascelle, a former mentor of Zoey’s. She’d worked in his ceramics studio. He looked to be in his early fifties and had white hairs blooming in the black curls at his temples. He played the guitar beautifully.
Everyone looked at the officiant expectantly. Her hair was long and gray, pulled back in a simple, low ponytail. She wore a purple-gray dress that hung loosely from her small body “Call me Constance,” she had said when we’d been introduced earlier, taking both my hands in hers.
“Dearly beloved,” she began. “We are gathered here . . .”
I stole a glance at the other two people in the room, Jamie’s parents. Jamie had come along very late in their lives, ten years after his nearest sibling. “The exclamation point at the end of the sentence,” his mother said.
“Yes.” Jamie’s dad always agreed. “The sentence was ‘Surprise!’ ”
They were more than twenty years older than my mother, and I was a little nervous about how they’d react to Constance Marshall, who clearly hadn’t been ordained by any authority greater than the World Wide Web. But, as Jamie had assured me, his parents had been to enough weddings of nieces, nephews, grandchildren, children of their friends, and friends of their children not to be surprised by anything. Both of them beamed at their youngest child, who stood straight, trying not to act flustered. When Mr. Dawes caught me looking at him, he mouthed, “I would have walked her down.”
I smiled and shook my head, and he smiled back.
By prior arrangement, the bride and groom didn’t read their vows, wanting them to be a surprise for all of us. Constance Marshall called for the rings, and Pete pantomimed not finding them, patting each of his pockets at an increasingly furious pace. Everyone laughed, and the tension went out of the room.
Constance finished up quickly. “By the power granted to me by the State of Maine, I pronounce you husband and wife. What God has joined together, let no one tear asunder. You may kiss.”
Blushing deeply, Jamie leaned forward and pecked Zoey on the mouth. I’d seen them make out with more vigor in my kitchen. The guitar started up again, and Jordan, the new waiter, appeared through the door from the dining room with a tray of filled champagne flutes. We each took one and toasted the happy couple. “To the bride and groom!” Mr. Dawes cried.
Livvie and I took one sip each and set down our glasses. We’d be working hard this evening. Zoey didn’t touch her drink. I thought she must have been planning for a long night. “Now for the party!” she yelled.
* * *
Jordan and I cleaned the champagne flutes in the kitchen, which was momentarily quiet as the caterers readied the high-top tables for the cocktail party on the great lawn nearest Windsholme. Jordan hand-washed the delicate glasses as I dried.
“What brought you to Busman’s Harbor?” I should have asked that during his job interview. The answer might have given me a sense of whether I could count on him to stay for the whole summer. Had Jordan moved to Busman’s Harbor to live, or was he a backpacker who’d take off as soon as he had whatever he judged to be enough money?
“I moved here with my mom,” he answered. He looked like he was going to say more, but he didn’t.
“Your mom’s here, too?” I’d imagined he was on his own.
“Yes. She, um . . .” He searched for the right word, or the courage to tell the truth, I wasn’t sure which. “She finished up with her job at home, and I wasn’t in school. She said we could go anywhere in the country, since we were both free. I didn’t have any ideas. I never thought of leaving California. But Mom said she’d always wanted to live on the Maine coast, so we came.”
Maine seemed like an odd place for him to land, given the number of two-year and four-year colleges and universities in California. “You didn’t plan to go to college?”
He shook his head. “I was in college, but I left. I need to earn some money first.”
A common-enough story. We continued washing and drying. “When did you arrive in Maine?”
“A month ago.”
“Where are you living?” Finding housing during the run-up to tourist season in a resort town would have been challenging.
He named a campground a ways up the peninsula. It was clean and well-cared-for, but would have been cold and uncomfortable when Jordan and his mother had arrived in early May.
“You packed up and came cross-country,” I said. “That was brave. Was it a grand adventure?”
Jordan smiled for the first time since I’d started the conversation. “Sometimes. We saw the Grand Canyon, ranches in Texas with real cowboys. We crossed the Mississippi at Memphis and toured Graceland.”
Something in his tone made me ask, “And other times, it wasn’t such a grand adventure?”
“It was a big move,” he answered. “I’ve never lived anywhere but LA. I didn’t know what we were in for. But Mom really wanted to come, so I did it. For her.”
CHAPTER THREE
We went out to the front porch just in time to see the Jacquie II pulling up at the dock. The rehearsal dinner guests—dressed casually, as instructed—streamed off in a cloud of chatter that seemed to become even louder as the boat’s engines died.
The rest of the wedding party headed down to greet the new arrivals, but Zoey didn’t move. I hung back with her, wondering if the real beginning of the wedding weekend was overwhelming for her. I knew Zoey well. She wasn’t easily daunted. But she’d imagined this for so long. Could the reality match the dream? She stared at the people coming off the boat as if she’d never seen any of them before.
“You okay?” I asked.
“So okay.” She turned to me and smiled, but she still didn’t move.
“Constance is going to do a great job,” I said, by way of making conversation. Focus on the little successes of the day, I thought. Remind her things are going well.
“I knew she would,” Zoey responded. “I wanted her to be here so much. She was my art teacher in high school, the first person who ever saw something in me. She encouraged me to apply to art school for college. She was the only adult who was a constant in my life after my mother died.”
“Does she have a partner or a family?” I was intrigued by the woman. She seemed to have an inner calm that I envied.
“I think her students are her family,” Zoey said. “I’m not the only one who keeps in touch. She has this marvelous bungalow near Griffith Park. Sometimes she’d invite me after school. It was the only place I could completely relax.” Zoey paused. “She retired this year. It must be a big change for her.”
It had taken some time for Zoey to open up to me about her difficult childhood and her mother’s murder. I knew from experience she didn’t want my sympathy. She wanted me to hear her stories and accept them, as any friend talking to another. Parts of her life had been exceptionally sad, but it was also her life. The facts of her life.
Zoey still didn’t move, though the boat was half-empty. The guests milled around near the dock, greeting the rest of the wedding party.
“Bill plays the guitar very well,” I said, keeping up the conversation.
“I’ve listened to him so many times,” Zoey said. “I worked at his studio in Denver for two years. In the evenings, he’d play, and we’d all sing. Bill taught me a lot about ceramics, but even more about the business.”
I made a mental note to be sure to talk to Bill Lascelle. Now that I was the business manager of Lupine Design, I would’ve loved some words of wisdom from someone far more experienced than me.
“He took me under his wing,” Zoey was saying, “I’ll always be grateful. I want to achieve what he has.”
“Then you will,” I said. “But first you’re getting married.”
My last remark seemed to move Zoey off the dime. “Yes, I am,” she said, flashing her killer smile. Then, suddenly, she was bounding down the lawn toward the dock, waving her arms and shouting, “Welcome!”
* * *
“Julia!” Vee Snugg, waving madly, was one of the last off the boat. She clutched me to her formidable bosom. Vee and her sister, Fee, lived in their B and B, the Snuggles Inn, across the street from my mother’s house in Busman’s Harbor. The sisters were friends of my mother and late father, and honorary great-aunts to Livvie and me. When Zoey came along, they took her naturally into their big hearts. They had been the hosts of Zoey’s bridal shower and were the only people to whom we hadn’t needed to give the instruction “very traditional” with regard to Zoey’s wishes. They wouldn’t have known how to do things any other way.
Vee was one of the few who hadn’t heeded the directions to dress casually. Or perhaps she had dressed casually, for her. Her pure-white hair was, as always, wrestled into a chignon that hadn’t moved despite the breeze on the boat ride over. She was dressed in a well-cut maroon skirt and a well-cut pink blouse, and had a white, cotton cardigan over her arm. Hearty Mainer though she was, she’d be glad of that later. She was fully made up, her lips a lively red, and she completed her ensemble with her omnipresent nylon stockings and high heels.
Her sister followed her off the boat. Fee, bent with arthritis, was also in a skirt, but a denim one. Less effusive than her sister, she put a hand on my arm. I put my hand over hers and squeezed.
Next off the boat were my former landlord, Gus, and his wife, Mrs. Gus. Gus still regarded Zoey with some suspicion as a newcomer though she’d eaten breakfast in his restaurant several times a week since I’d first taken her there a year ago. The couple had known Jamie since he was born, and his parents were old friends.
“Lovely evening,” Mrs. Gus said, glancing at the still blue sky.
“Let’s hope it stays that way,” Gus grumped, reminding me about the storm, one of my many worries about tonight’s party, albeit one I couldn’t do anything about.
I cast a hurried look up the terraced great lawn to the area where our picnic tables stood. The experienced staff were already busy, setting up their serving stations and putting on each picnic table the cutlery, including nutcrackers and picks for the lobsters, the rolls of paper towels that served as napkins, and pitchers of water and iced tea.
Craning my neck slightly, I could see into the dining pavilion, where our bartender was dispensing the stronger stuff. There was a crowd around the bar. I hoped he would be able to keep up.
My boyfriend, Tom, was the last passenger off the Jacquie II, after he’d helped any guests in need of assistance onto the gangway. I flew into his arms, so relieved to see him. He was an invited guest, but Maine State Police detectives often got called out on their days off. I was thankful that wasn’t the case today.
“Whoa, Julia. Is everything okay?”
“Yes,” I answered. “It’s just that,” I waved my arm around, encompassing the whole island, “it’s Zoey’s and Jamie’s wedding. I want it to be perfect.”
He opened his arms, and I stepped back. Still holding my hands, he searched my eyes. “Pre-wedding jitters? On the part of the maid of honor. Is that usual?”
“And the wedding planner, and the venue manager,” I said. “And there’s a storm coming, and new staff, and the first clambake of the year, first event inside Windsholme, and, and, and . . .”
He squeezed my hand. “Just breathe. It’s going to be okay.”
As we walked toward the clambake, I breathed in and then out, and unclenched my jaw. I leaned into Tom’s chest, under his strong shoulder, where I fit perfectly. He was a handsome man, his body toned by hours in the gym. His features were regular and angular, the planes of his nose and cheeks sharp. His round, heavily lashed brown eyes softened his face. In them, I saw the boy who had become the man.
We’d been together for almost a year. We were headed toward the dining pavilion where we’d had our first kiss, finally admitting to an attraction that had been a long, slow burn. I had been with someone else; then he had been with someone else. He was brokenhearted; then I was. But there was nothing of the rebound in our relationship. He was a smart, steady man, who made me laugh and who supported me in everything I did. Even this. Crazy this.
“I have to check on the bar,” I told him.
“I know.” He took my hand again and then reluctantly let go as I walked away. He knew what it was to have to go to work, even when you didn’t want to. “It will be fine,” he called, his voice just loud enough for me to hear.
CHAPTER FOUR
I helped at the bar through the first crush and then excused myself to tend to everything else. When I peeked into the Clambake’s small kitchen, Livvie turned from a steaming pot of clam chowder to give me a quick thumbs-up. Sonny similarly waved me away from the Clambake fire. He had everything under control. I answered several questions from the waitstaff. All was fine, so I went to wander among the crowd.
It was easy to tell Zoey’s artist friends from Jamie’s large, extended family. Originally from Maine, Jamie’s parents and siblings now lived in far-flung locations from Florida to Oregon. They’d flown in especially for the wedding and were excited to see one another and to greet the cousins, aunts, and uncles who still lived in town. They clustered in groups, holding drinks and chatting happily. I listened in as I walked through the crowd.
