Page 35 of Beached Wedding

“I don’t know. But I find it telling that I didn’t consider going to Vicky when I was broke at twenty. You’re twenty-six and your mother is offering you her bed at the villa.”

“That’s Mom’s controlling, matriarchal energy. She wants her little worker bees inside the hive so she can wax up the hole and sting any man who approaches. Men are more independent by nature. You’re taught to be macho and proud about money. Ican see you refusing to ask Vicky and Mitchell for help because you like to be self-sufficient.”

Or because I’d only received minimal support as a child, which had forced me tobecomepathologically self-reliant. I didn’t spell that out, though, only conceded, “It’s true that I don’t like asking Mitchell for anything.” I brought my own beer to his house every single time.

“I wouldn’t, either. He seems like a dickhead.”

“Sometimes,” I agreed, but I had to admit, “He and Vicky are the real deal. And moving to Sydney was a solid career move for him. My life would be very different if he hadn’t kept a roof over my head for ten years. These days we got along well enough.” Mitchell had achieved his goal of early retirement so he wasn’t wound tight as a snake looking to strike.

We continued walking. The path came out by the pool which was full of twenty-somethings holding neon-colored cocktails. The path continued around to the green space that formed part of the headland visible from our room. Marquis tents were set up and music was blaring.

“Really?” Ash complained.

“It’s the corporate event, not a wedding.” I pointed out the logo for a big pharma company.

She stayed on the walkway, arms folded as she watched the milling crowd in cocktail dresses and button shirts with loosened ties.

“That’s the dynamicI’malways trying to crack,” she said. “What kind of life are you living when the company you work for pays you to go to Hawaii and throws a party like this? Izzy gets schmoozed like this. She flies to head office and it makes her sound so important.”

“She’s not,” I said dryly. “They want her to believe she is. That’s the point of events like this. Shane and I get wined and dined all the time. They’re a sales pitch dressed up like aBroadway show and they definitely expect you to get in bed with them after. This is probably about some pill they’re supposed to push when they get home. My favorite is when these events are billed as a ‘team building exercise’ and all that happens is people get legless and do something so incredibly stupid, they have to quit their job and change careers.”

“You’re such a cynic.” She was smiling with affection as she said it and started walking again.

“I’d love to say I’ll change, but it’s not likely.”

“Nice. I see what you did there.”

“Thank you. I didn’t expect you to get it.”

“Now you’re reaching.”

I was, but I was also having fun.

We came to an entrance door to the hotel and I started to open it, but she said, “Mom is overprotective because my father was kind of abusive.”

I dropped his hand from the door latch and tried not to say, ‘What’ or ‘Really’ or any of those other disbelieving words, but I didn’t want to accept that she’d been hurt. As achild. It instantly made me sick.

After a stunned moment, I found my voice, but it was deep in the bottom of my chest, arid and flimsy. It felt as though it unspooled vital organs when I tried to use it.

“You don’t say much about him. I wondered what she meant at dinner tonight, when she said she should have listened to your aunt.” I wanted to ask what had happened, but wasn’t sure I could bear to hear it. I left the silence for her to fill with as many words as she wanted to offer.

“He hit me once.” She stayed in the shadows of the overhang. Her voice was really quiet, almost impossible to hear over the music floating from the party and the crash of the surf. “But it was only once and kind of an accident.”

“Once is too many.” My sharp retort bounced back to me off the stone path beneath our feet and wooden rafters overhead. My brain was splintering. I wanted to grab her close, hold her safe, but my whole body vibrated with bloodlust. Where was this bastard? No wonder they checked up on each other’s boyfriends, quizzing exes in the grocery store.

“Mom thought so, too.” She was hugging herself, still talking to her toes. “He didn’t mean to, not really. He was dropping us off at school. Whit and I were in the back seat, fighting over a scarf. It belonged to Aunt Gilly, but we both wanted to wear it and he kept telling us neither of us could have it, but we wouldn’t let it go. He parked in front of the school and he reached back to grab it. Impatient, you know?” Her voice shook a little. “He didn’t mean to hit me, but he knocked me in the face hard enough my head hit the window.”

I recoiled in unconscious reaction, appalled. Sickened. “How old were you?”

“Eight. Everyone saw. The crossing guard and one of the teachers, some parents and students coming off the bus. I started crying, obviously. My lip was bleeding and I had a goose egg and a fat lip. He said he was sorry. He felt bad, I know he did, but it turned into this huge thing. They took me inside so the nurse could check me. She had to call social services. The police came. It turns out he was drunk. Over the limit.”

“Holy fuck. Did your mom know?”

“No. She worked nights and came home from her shift at the hospital to cops and a social worker at the door. She’d been thinking about leaving him because was drinking so much. Gambling, too. Things were really bad between them. He was a long-haul truck driver, but he’d hurt his back so he hadn’t worked in a year. He was angry all the time. In pain, I guess. Frustrated.”

“You don’t have to make excuses for him.”

She flinched at the harshness of my voice.

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