Page 156 of The Book of Summer

“I know what you mean.”

Evan wraps Bess in a bear-cub sort of hug before they head out to his truck. Though they can easily walk from here, Bess is supposed to be lying low and Evan’s vowed to make sure that she does. It’s not a hard task, as she mostly feels like death.

At the Yacht Club, they leave the car with a valet and follow arrows leading them along. “Bradlee Wedding,” the signs say, as if Flick’s marrying herself.

On the back lawn, greeters show them to a cluster of white chairs facing the harbor. Evan takes Bess’s hand and together they make their way toward the front. The ground is soggy but the rain has stopped. They find two seats on the aisle, four rows back. Soon Bess’s father joins them, sitting to Bess’s left. Dudley doesn’t notice the hand-holding. Or if he does, he doesn’t bother with his patented disapproving look.

Bess admires the setup, which is simple for two people with such vast sums of cash. The only decorations are the white chairs, the green lawn, and the harbor before them. There’s not even any sort of trellis or altar. Just a minister with a piece of paper, Felicia and her almost-husband Steven, plus Palmer and some dude for witnesses. The sole flower arrangement is Flick’s bouquet of Cliff House roses, which Palmer now holds.

Aunt Polly and Uncle Vince sit a few rows up, crying and beaming both. Who wouldn’t be proud of Felicia Bradlee? Bess is proud and she had nothing to do with her.

Soon Felicia and Steven are exchanging humorous, loving vows. They didn’t write their own—who has time for that—but they’re not afraid to bastardize the usual ones. There’s a lot of laughter at this wedding, and Bess suspects there will be a lot of laughter in the marriage, too. In between all the cursing about convertible debt offerings and pricing on secondaries.

Throughout the ceremony Palmer stands behind her sister, a foot shorter but with shoulders and spine so erect she looks strong enough to carry the world. Most of the guys in the audience are watching her, not Felicia. Most of the women are, too. When Bess steals a peek at Evan, she’s surprised to see him focused firmly on the couple, the corners of his eyes crinkling as if he’s looking into the sun.

Bess smiles to herself. In the week at Cliff House: the happiest and saddest she’s been in years. Forget what’s going on now or any single moms named Grace. Sleeping with that creep of a French teacher was a damned shrewd move. De Leudeville was okay, sexually speaking, not that Bess knew much about it. But it got her expelled, which was the goal after her prior attempt at a Bartles & Jaymes smuggling operation earned nothing but a warning.

“Why do you keep doing such stupid things?” Palmer had cried, after Bess’s mistakes began to pile up: the Bartles & Jaymes incident, the French teacher dalliance, the noticeable decline in grades. “It’s not like you!”

No, it wasn’t. But Bess was “thinking outside the box.”

“Are you taking drugs? I don’t get it at all!”

Palmer had been too naïve and pure-minded to puzzle over the timing of Bess’s “acting up,” too sweet to think it might involve her, even though it very much did.

At Choate, Bess had dated Gordon Granholm for a year (a year!) and was madly in love and emoting in a way Bess Codman never did. Finally, Bess fit in at that school. All because of a guy named Gordon.

There’s no explanation for teenaged tastes but love him Bess did, up until what she thought of as the Great Humiliation. First Gordon tried to feel up Palmer at a dance (boobs, twice), news that gushed through their hall like a tsunami. Then he went on to declare his love for her following a rousing 23–21 overtime football win against Deerfield.

After this second transgression, Palmer (ever honest, ever true) gave Gordon a proper upbraiding and promptly told Bess that her boyfriend was a scoundrel of the lowest order. Bess dumped him, and told people why, and in the endherstock went down, same as his. Only Palmer Bradlee came out of it ever more glowing and sublime. She did the right thing, but Bess was sixteen and brokenhearted and it was very hard not to hate her.

“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

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