Big Summer(46)

“What was her name?”

“Lotta Cox.”

I laughed, and he smiled. I was enjoying his company, the sound of his voice, the sight of his big hands deftly working his lobster cracker, his fingers neatly removing every shred of meat from the claws. A dab of butter gleamed on his chin, and I felt a warm glow, low in my belly, as I imagined how it would feel to lick it away.

“Save room for dessert,” Nick said. “They’ve got an ice-cream sundae bar. It’s homemade ice cream from Sweet Escape right up the road.” He told me how the place had thirty flavors, and how, the previous summer, he and his friends had tried to eat their way down the board. “We were fine until we got to the fig sorbet. Stopped us all in our tracks. We went right back to Ryder Beach Rumble.”

He helped me up again, handed our empty plates to a waiter, and led me to the tables, draped in white cloths, with uniformed servers armed with ice-cream scoops at the ready. It was dark by then, the bonfires piled high with logs, flames snapping and sending swirls of embers into the star-shot sky. The wind had picked up, and the air had gotten almost chilly. The waiters were piling blankets near the fires, along with sweatpants and hoodies, both embroidered with “DrueandStu” in a heart.

“Sweatshirt?” Nick asked, offering me one from the stack.

“No, I’m fine,” I said, and added another thousand dollars to the wedding’s price tag.

“How about we grab a blanket?” he asked.

Oh my God. I wanted to pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming; that this cute, attentive, adorable guy wanted to sit under a blanket with me. Maybe the universe was trying to make up for high school.

I’d just picked up a bowl and a spoon when I heard raised voices: a man yelling, and a woman trying to calm him. When the wind shifted, the noise became words. “…fucking had it with you! I’ve fucking had it with all of this!”

I turned, craning my neck. There, away from the firepits and near the darkened dunes, was Drue’s father, gesticulating with his arms spread wide. Drue was standing in front of him, wringing her hands, looking like she was trying to melt into the sand.

“Daddy,” she said in an imploring tone I’d never heard from her before.

“Don’t you ‘Daddy’ me. You and your mother. Peas in a pod.” Spit flew from his lips with each explosive p. He stabbed one finger up at the dune and the house on top of it. “A hundred thousand dollars for rental houses? Ten thousand dollars for a Bentley to drive you three miles?” He jabbed a finger down toward the sand. “Hand-knotted antique silk rugs on the goddamn sand?!”

Drue sounded like she was crying. “You told me that you wanted it to be nice.”

“Nice would have been fine. This is ridiculous.” He kicked at one of the rugs in a fury.

“But I promise…” Drue turned her head and put her hand on her father’s forearm. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but I could tell that she was offering something, trying to placate him… and that it wasn’t working.

“Enough!” Mr. Cavanaugh sounded furious. He also sounded drunk. I recognized the slur of his words from the one time I’d encountered him back at Drue’s home, in the middle of the night, in the dark. “It’s enough!” he shouted again.

“Robert, keep your voice down.” If Drue sounded desperate and her father sounded enraged, Drue’s mother sounded as cool as the vapors off a chilled martini. She put her hand on her husband’s forearm. He shook it off, so hard that she stumbled and almost fell before she recovered her balance. Drue flinched, but her mother’s face didn’t change.

“You’re making a scene,” she said.

Robert Cavanaugh shook his head. “You know what? I thought this would work. I trusted you. My mistake.” He jammed his hands in his pockets, turned, and went up the wooden stairs, taking them two at a time.

Drue stood, frozen for a minute, her face shocked and unhappy. Her mother said something, and Drue said something back, but the wind had shifted again, and I couldn’t make out any words. When Lily put her hand on her daughter’s arm, Drue shook her head, turned, and went racing up the stairs after her father.

“Oh wow,” Nick murmured. His arm had crept around me, and even though I was worried for my friend, I found that I didn’t mind that at all.

Lily stepped back into the firelight and turned back to the crowd. She raised her arms and gave a big, hostess-y smile.

“I apologize for the disturbance,” she said, and gave two brisk claps of her hands. “Now, who’s ready for sundaes and Irish coffee?”

A few of the younger, drunker partygoers whooped their approval. With an effort so palpable you could hear it, the guests picked up their silverware and resumed their conversations, studiously keeping their eyes away from the hostess and the staircase. When I hazarded a glance in that direction, a woman who I thought was Drue’s grandmother had pulled Drue’s mom aside and was speaking to her urgently. I also noticed a number of guests on their phones, and wondered how many texts or tweets that little moment might have inspired.

My own phone pinged in my pocket. It was Darshi. SEND UPDATES, she’d written. NEED PIX. My heart sank. I wondered what I’d tell her; if she’d gloat at the details of her nemesis in misery, or if she’d feel sorry for Drue. And I knew that it was time to attend to my maid-of-honor duties, even if it meant sacrificing my chance with Nick.