Mystic Summer (30 page)

“And your speech for the rehearsal dinner?”

I give her a look. “It's not a speech,” I remind her. That's for the best man. “But yes, I do have a few words.”

“And they are where?”

“In my head,” I tell her flatly.

Peyton appraises me. “Well, look at you, Maid of Honor. You handled it. Well done.”

For the most part she's right, I did. But honestly, if it hadn't been for her Norwegian calm and stealth sense of detail, I would never have pulled it off. “
We
handled it,” I correct her. “Besides, don't tell me you weren't worried that I'd forget some appointment or lose a grandparent or something.”

She shrugs as if she has no idea what I'm referring to. But I know better.

“Wait a minute. Give me your purse.”

“What?” she says, feigning innocence.

“Hand it over!”

Begrudgingly, she does. I pull out a second copy of Erika's DVD. And a neatly creased set of papers, which I know are copies of the vows. “You thought I was going to screw everything up?” I hand her back the bag. “Thanks for the faith.”

Then I notice a bundle of shiny ribbons peeking out of a gift bag in the corner. I recognize it immediately. “Is that Erika's bridal shower bouquet?”

Peyton shrugs casually. “Oh, that? I saw it back at the Cranes' house, and figured I'd bring it along. You know, in case Erika wants to carry it down the aisle for rehearsal.”

I shake my head in wonder. That's exactly what Erika wants to do, and Peyton knows that. As tacky as the handmade paper plate and gift bow bouquet is, Erika would've had a fit if I'd forgotten it for her rehearsal. Which I apparently did.

“Peyton.”

She waves me away. “It's not a big deal.”

But it is. “Thank you.”

At that moment the double doors burst open, sunlight streaming in. Erika sails through, all business. “Sorry, Reverend Astor, I couldn't find a spot.” Seeing Erika, he breaks into a relieved smile and motions for everyone to begin the rehearsal.

Peyton hands me the gift bag. “Here. You give it to her,” she insists. Reverend Astor has already lined up the groomsmen and corralled the flower girls, who are on the verge of twirling out of place with their tiny baskets. He smiles broadly. “Welcome, everyone. Tomorrow we have a couple to unite.”

When the organ begins, Evan squeezes my arm. “Makes you wonder,” he jokes quietly, as we take our places at the front of the line.

I smile at him, touched that he's the kind of guy who wonders about these things—unlike so many men who would rather chew glass than talk about the future of their relationship.

Everyone is in his or her place. Everything is as it should be. Ahead, the families have taken their traditional places in the front pews and are turned anxiously in our direction. Mrs. Crane is already dabbing her eyes. I peek over my shoulder
at Erika, in the rear. She looks serene beside her father, who looks like he's about to take the last walk of his life. I blow Erika a kiss, and before I know it, Evan is guiding me down the aisle.

“I have some news,” Evan whispers to me.

“Oh?” One of Trent's aunts smiles at me, and I wave. A teenager frowns as his mother snatches his smartphone away and tucks it in her purse.

“That apartment I liked? I signed the lease. It's ours.”

I keep my eyes trained on the reverend, who is standing before us like a sentinel, assessing our procession. But I can see Evan clearly out of the corner of my eye. He's grinning like the Cheshire Cat. My heels wobble. “You what?”

“I know. Isn't it great?” We've reached the altar. Evan lets go of my arm and turns to the right, to stand beside Trent. But I halt, unsure of where to go.

“Left,” the reverend whispers.

Mrs. Crane is crying softly. Which I suddenly feel like doing, myself.

The church is hot, despite the polished wooden fans whirring overhead. Before I know it, Peyton and the twins have joined me, and the flower girls are moving in zigzag trajectory, more or less toward us. One drops her basket. The altar feels crowded.

I swipe a trail of sweat that is working its way down my temple. “You okay?” Peyton whispers behind me.

I can't even nod.

Erika arrives and hands me her bridal shower bouquet. It prickles in my fingers. When Erika and Trent recite their vows, I try to focus. But I'm distracted by the wall of stained glass
windows, the yellow and red panes as searing as my skin is beginning to feel. Overhead the useless fans whir louder.

It's then I notice the image in one of the stained glass windows: an angel, no more than a winged baby. Its cherubic body arched in flight, it extends its finger to a golden light above. And I can't help but think of Emory.

Suddenly everyone is clapping. The rehearsal is over. Trent and Erika are already holding hands, making their way victoriously down the aisle. Peyton nudges me. “Mags, go!”

Evan takes my arm in the aisle, but I can't meet his expectant gaze. It's all I can do to make it to the end, to the set of heavy double doors, where I burst outside and gulp the air.

Everyone spills out behind us onto the steps, thanking the reverend, issuing goodbyes and reminders to meet tonight for the rehearsal dinner. Aside from a final fitting, we have the rest of the day off, and everyone seems relieved to head off in separate directions. Erika and Trent pose for a couple of pictures and trot down the church stairs, seeming to float away from me. I linger on the top step, willing my breath in and out. Evan stands at the bottom and reaches for my hands. “So? What do you think about our big news?”

I keep my voice low, cognizant of everyone milling about. “I think that I said I wanted to see the place myself first,” I tell him.

He looks genuinely taken aback. “You're mad?”

I'm about to contradict him, in my usual haste to keep peace, but this time I don't. “Yes, actually. How could you just go ahead and sign the lease without even asking me first? You know how I felt about it.”

“All I know is that since you came home to Mystic you've been dragging your feet, Maggie.”

I stare back at him, incredulous. “What does that mean? We agreed that I'd look at the apartment after the wedding.”

“But we didn't have time. I had to make an executive decision, Maggie. I thought you'd appreciate that.”

And there we have it. The executive part of Evan's thinking. For which he also seems to think I should be appreciative. “This is a partnership, Evan. We're not talking about ordering dinner. We're talking about making a home. Supposedly together.”

Evan stuffs his hands angrily into his pockets and looks at me a long time. “I thought it would be a nice surprise for you. That's all.”

Everyone else has gone ahead of us, dispersing down the sidewalks and climbing into cars. I stare back at Evan, at a loss for words.

Evan sighs. “Look, it's hot out and we had a late night last night. I think maybe you need to eat something,” he says.

I try not to bristle. “I grabbed a bagel at the inn with you,” I remind him. I'm not about to let him chalk this up to an emotional, hungry bridesmaid, which I am not. This is about so much more.

Evan shakes his head, clearly frustrated. “I'm sure you'll love it when you see it. Okay?”

But it's not okay. In his heart Evan believes he did a nice thing, but he's clearly unable to read my own. Which leaves us at a far more perilous intersection than just a real estate stalemate.

From across the street Peyton waves to us from Chad's car, and I raise my hand and force a smile. “See you at the dress shop,” she calls. We are the last ones standing in front of the church.

And then, over the tops of the cars parked along the curb, I see a blue Jeep. Time stalls, like that drizzly night on the bridge. Only this time Cam is the one driving by. He slows in front of the church, and looks directly at me. Just as Evan takes my hand and draws me up the sidewalk.

T
he hideous bridesmaid dresses fit. Only this time the tears do not belong only to the bride.

“I can't believe he just went ahead and did that,” Erika says to me, as she unzips the back of my dress. Peyton is shaking her head, too.

“I totally agree with you—the lack of a pet clause is a pretty selfish oversight,” Peyton allows. “But show her the photos. It's an amazing pad.”

I hand Erika my phone and she scrolls through the real estate link that Evan sent me. “Wow. Hardwood floors, marble kitchen. Is that a double vanity?” She looks at me. “Hate to say it, but this place looks nicer than Trent's and mine!”

“I know, I know. And my parents would take the cat for me in a heartbeat. But Evan knows how I feel about my pet, just as he knows how much I wanted to see the place first. It's like he overlooked a whole part of me.”

“What are you going to do?” Although I know Erika's genuinely concerned about me, I'm sure there's a part of her that's also wondering just how much of this calamity will seep into her wedding day.

“I don't know yet. But don't worry, I promise I won't let it get to me this weekend.”

“Please,” she jokes. “It wouldn't be a wedding without something falling apart.” But I can tell she's a little relieved.

While Peyton and the cousins bring their dresses out to the front, Erika lingers behind in the dressing area with me. With all of the events and activities and family around, I haven't been able to get two seconds with her to myself.

“So how are you doing?” I ask her now.

She tucks my bridesmaid dress into its bag and zips it up. “Honestly? I'm happy. It's been a crazy week but a great week, and tomorrow I'm marrying the man I'm supposed to marry.” She looks at me. “Thank you for everything you did to make this happen, Mags. Trent and I are both so grateful.”

“Me? I think Peyton kept that wheel turning.”

She laughs. “I know. But when things turned sour—like when the venue fell apart and the dresses weren't right—you were the one who steered things back on course.” Erika's complexion is as bright as her eyes. She really does look happy. I give her a big hug. Tomorrow she will not be Erika Crane anymore. In a move that surprised us, Erika has decided to take Trent's name. “It's my wedding gift to him,” she explained to us on the river cruise last night. “I want to have the same last name as our kids. I want us to be like a little tribe.” After today, she will be known as Mrs. Erika Mitchell. A move that, Peyton argued, would only change her in name, but I'm not naive.

“Have you heard anything from Cam?” she asks me now. “How are they doing?”

“He promised to let me know if anything happened. Until then, I'm
giving them space.” After leaving the hospital and talking with my mom, I've decided to do what Mrs. Wilder had suggested I do when I first came home this summer: to live my life and let Cam live his own. But since seeing him outside the church, that prospect seems harder each minute. “It's better this way,” I add.

Erika puts a hand on her hip, like she doesn't believe what she's hearing. “Maggie, are you telling me that or yourself? It's not like you to just walk away.”

Her words surprise me. “This, from you? You've always hated Cam.”

“I didn't hate him.”

“Yes, you did,” I insist. “I could never understand what happened between you two, or why you didn't like him. But all those summers you guys made my life miserable. I always felt like I was choosing between the two of you.”

Erika sinks onto the narrow bench and pats the seat beside her. “You'd better sit down.”

This doesn't sound good.

“Remember the summer you guys first got together, after our freshman year?”

I nod. “It was the only time you seemed to get along. I could never understand why that changed.”

She nods, sadly. “Well, that was kind of my fault.”

A bad feeling parks itself in my stomach. Suddenly I feel like I'm nineteen again and about to receive bad news about my boyfriend. “Oh, God. Did he try something with you?”

Erika stares at the floor. “No. I tried something with him.”

The whole dressing room starts to spin. It doesn't matter that it's her wedding weekend, or that my own boyfriend, who just
signed a lease on an apartment, is a few streets away at the inn, or that ten years have passed. I leap up. “You did what?”

Now she's looking at me, cheeks flushed with shame. “I know! I'm sorry. I begged Cam not to tell you.”

“When? Where did this happen?” Then, more important. “Why?”

Erika looks like she's about to cry. “We were all at Ocean Beach one night, having a bonfire. I'd had a couple beers and I'd just broken up with Mike.”

I shake my head, unable to recall Mike, but viscerally remembering the bonfires we went to at Ocean Beach. “That's no excuse. Tell me what happened!”

“You went home early that night. I was lonely and probably pretty drunk, and a small group of us was left sitting around the fire. I leaned over and kissed him. But he pushed me away. And when I asked him to go for a walk with me down the beach, he turned me down.”

“I was your best friend,” I remind her. Erika grabs my hand and pulls me back down onto the bench.

“Maggie, please. Cam was cute, and funny, and smart. And he wanted nothing to do with me.”

“That doesn't make sense, Erika. Why would you care how he felt about you?”

She holds up both hands, at a loss. “I don't know. Maybe because for the first time, you had something I didn't. And I was jealous. Remember that night in our apartment when we were looking at old pictures for my wedding board?”

It was the same night I'd taken the picture of Cam back to my room.

“Well, I wanted to tell you that night, and then again when
I confessed about cheating on Trent. I've never
wanted
to keep this from you. But it was so petty, and so stupid. I figured after all these years it wouldn't matter.”