Page 87 of Rainshadow Road

The following weekend Mark and Maggie were married on the retired ferry in Seattle. The day was warm and beautiful, the waters of Lake Union a glittering shade of sapphire blue. A feeling of serenity pervaded the wedding. There were no signs of nerves or uncertainty, no tension or fuss, nothing but a wholehearted happiness that emanated from both the bride and groom.

Maggie was beautiful in a knee-length slip dress made of textured ivory silk, the V-neck and the straps edged with delicately translucent cream chiffon. She wore her hair in a simple updo adorned with a cluster of white roses. Holly was dressed in a similar cream-colored dress, the skirt puffed out with a tulle underlay. It touched Lucy when, as Mark and Maggie stood with the justice of the peace for the vows, they gestured for Holly to stand with them. After Mark kissed the bride, he bent to kiss Holly as well.

A spectacular buffet was served inside the ferry: a cornucopia of fruit, a selection of brightly colored salads and pasta and rice, fresh Pacific seafood, brioche loaded with cheese, bacon, and chutney, and rows of tarts and vegetable roulades. Instead of the traditional wedding cake, a tower of tiny individual cakes was arranged on Plexiglas tiers. A live jazz quartet played “Embraceable You.”

“I’m sorry this wedding didn’t happen after Alice’s instead of before,” Lucy told Sam.

“Why?”

“Because everyone is so happy, and Mark and Maggie are so obviously in love. It’s going to make my sister’s wedding look even worse by comparison.”

Sam laughed and gave her a glass of champagne. He was breathtakingly handsome in a dark suit and a patterned tie, although he wore the clothes with the collar-tugging impatience of a man who didn’t like to be bound up in formal clothing. “Offer of a Mexican getaway still stands,” he told her.

“Don’t tempt me.”

After the guests had loaded their plates at the buffet and the tables were filled, Sam stepped forward to make the toast. Mark stood with his arms around both Maggie and Holly.

“If it weren’t for public transportation,” Sam said, “my brother wouldn’t be getting married today. He and Maggie fell in love along the ferry route from Bellingham to Anacortes… which brings to mind the old saying that life is a journey. Some people have a natural sense of direction. You could put them in the middle of a foreign country and they could find their way around. My brother is not one of those people.” Sam paused as some of the guests started laughing, and his older brother gave him a mock-warning glance. “So when Mark by some miracle manages to end up where he was supposed to be, it’s a nice surprise for everyone, including Mark.” More laughter from the crowd. “Somehow, even with all the roadblocks and detours and one-way streets, Mark managed to find his way to Maggie.” Sam raised his glass. “To Mark and Maggie’s journey together. And to Holly, who is loved more than any girl in the whole wide world.”

Everyone clapped and hooted, and the band started playing a slow, romantic version of “Fly Me to the Moon.” Mark took Maggie in his arms, and the two of them took a turn around the dance floor.

“That was perfect,” Lucy whispered to Sam.

“Thanks.” He smiled at her. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”

Giving his empty champagne glass to a passing waitress, Sam went to Holly and led her to the dance floor, twirling her, dancing with her feet standing on his, then catching her up in his arms and turning a slow circle.

Lucy’s smile turned pensive and distracted as she watched them. In the back of her mind, she was worrying over an e-mail she had received from Alan Spellman, her former professor, that very morning. She hadn’t mentioned it to anyone, feeling troubled and conflicted when she should have been nothing but thrilled.

Alan had written that the committee at the Mitchell Art Center had elected to offer her the year-long artist-in-residence grant. He had congratulated her effusively. All she needed to do was sign a document agreeing to the terms and conditions of the grant, and then the official public announcement would be made.“I couldn’t be more pleased,”he had written.“You and Mitchell Art Center are a perfect match.”

Lucy had been mildly amused by that phrase. It wasn’t lost on her that after all her failed relationships, her perfect match had turned out to be an art program. She was going to spend a year in New York. She would have national recognition. Working with other artists, experimenting with new techniques, giving occasional “design performances” in the art center’s public glass lab. She would have her own featured exhibition at the end of the residency. It was the kind of opportunity Lucy had always dreamed of. And nothing stood in her way.

Except Sam.

She had made no promises. Neither had he. The entire point of the arrangement was that either of them could break it off and leave without a backward glance. An offer like the one from Mitchell Art Center wouldn’t come her way often, if ever again. And she knew that Sam would never want her to make such a sacrifice on his behalf.

Why, then, was she filled with such melancholy?

Because she wanted more time with Sam. Because their relationship, even with its limitations, had meant a lot to her.

Too much.

Lucy’s thoughts returned to the present as she watched Maggie’s father claim a dance with his daughter, while Mark went to cut in on Sam and Holly. More couples joined them, dancing to the sweetly yearning music.

Sam returned to Lucy and wordlessly extended his hand.

“I can’t dance,” Lucy protested with a laugh, gesturing to the Aircast brace on her leg.

A slow smile curved his lips. “We’ll fake it.”

She went into Sam’s arms. She breathed in the scent of him, tanned male skin and cedary sweetness, mingled with the hints of summer wool and starched cotton. Since Lucy couldn’t dance in the brace, they merely swayed from side to side, their heads close together.

A tumult gathered inside her, longing tangled with low-level panic. Once she left him, she realized, she could never come back. It would hurt too much, seeing him with other women, watching the path of his future diverge from hers… and remembering the summer when they had been lovers. They had come so close to making a rare and wondrous connection, something beyond the physical. But ultimately all their inner defenses had remained intractable. They had remained separate, never reaching the true intimacy that Lucy had always craved. And yet this might be the closest she would ever get.

“Better not to know,”her father had said. God help her, she was beginning to understand what he meant.

“What is it?” Sam whispered.

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