Every Vow You Break(18)

But he kept claiming that he was having the best day of his life, and he even danced later in the evening, several times with Abigail’s mother, and at one point with all the bridesmaids.

Abigail’s favorite part of the wedding was the cocktail reception.

The photographer had taken pictures prior to the ceremony, Abigail not feeling superstitious about the groom seeing her dress, so that after they were declared husband and wife, everyone could go straight to the reception, which was set up on a sloping lawn with a distant view of the Hudson River. A few tents had been erected but weren’t needed. The skies were clear, and the temperature was somewhere in the sixties. It was perfect. The signature cocktail was a sidecar, served in a coupe. Toasts were made, the oyster bar hummed, and when Abigail’s heel sank into the lawn and she nearly fell over, Bruce managed to catch her.

Dinner truly was a blur, but it might have been the two cocktails.

Abigail managed to eat half of her sea bass with parsley cream sauce and was amazed that it didn’t taste as though it had sat in a warming tray for the last two hours. More toasts were made, including a showstopper by the actor Martin Pilkingham, who embarrassed Abigail by listing off all the Boxgrove actors she’d had a crush on, including Zachary Mason, the actor to whom she’d lost her virginity. Zoe sat next to Abigail through dinner and kept up a good appearance even though she hadn’t reconciled yet with Dan. Usually a big eater, Zoe managed just three stalks of asparagus and drank half a bottle of wine, and she was the first on the dance floor after the traditional dances had ended. During the band’s second set Zoe slipped and hit the floor, and when Bruce’s best man, Darryl Cho, a married computer programmer from California, helped her up, she thanked him by kissing him full on the mouth. The other bridesmaids helped Zoe to her room, then reported back to Abigail that they’d managed to at least get her out of her bridesmaid dress before she passed out on the bed.

Toward the end of the evening Abigail spotted her parents sitting together at a table on the edge of the dance floor. Each had been dancing, and they now looked sweaty and tired. Abigail joined them.

“The original Baskins,” Lawrence said. “Together again.”

“You guys have fun?” she said.

“God, yes,” Amelia said. “Did you see your aunt Mary on the dance floor?”

“How could I miss her?”

“Bruce was very sweet,” Lawrence said. “He introduced himself to everyone in our family and acted as though we are all normal.”

“And he invited us down to see a show in New York after you two get back from your honeymoon,” her mom said.

Abigail, slightly tipsy, suddenly said, “He’s going to want to talk with you about the theater. He wants to bring it back.”

“What theater?” Amelia said. “Our theater?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, God. Please derail him. I don’t think I have it in me.”

“What about you, Dad?”

“He wants to invest in the theater and bring it back?”

“He does. Very badly.”

He took a deep breath. “Two years ago, I would have given my right arm for an investor. But what’s done is done.”

“Well, look, at least hear him out. He’s so excited to talk with you.”

After the conversation, when Abigail was returning to the dance floor as the band was breaking into a swing-style version of “Friday I’m in Love,” she caught a glimpse of her parents leaning into each other, half smiles on their lips. She had a moment of clarity, not that they were going to get back together, but that they weren’t. They were too comfortable with each other post-separation. They were friends, and nothing more.

The last dance of the night was to “Every Breath You Take,” the Police song, done in a bossa nova style. She and Bruce danced close to each other, and she could feel his breath against the hollow of her throat as he mouthed along with the lyrics. Not for the first time, she thought how creepy the words of the song actually were.

“What did you think of your wedding day?” Bruce asked Abigail as she rested her head against his shoulder. She thought she could probably fall asleep before the end of the song.

“Oh, it was okay.” She smiled at him and for a moment he looked concerned, then he smiled back, realizing she was joking.

“Yeah, just okay.”

“I requested ‘(Don’t Fear) the Reaper,’ and the band didn’t play it.”

“Assholes.”

“And I didn’t eat one oyster.”

“Neither did I,” Bruce said.

“But I did get married.”

“Ditto for me,” he said, and she tilted her head back to meet his eyes. He looked tired, too, but in a good way. Happy-tired.

“I couldn’t be happier, Bruce.”

“Are you ready for the honeymoon?” he asked.

“Yes, but I’ve barely thought about it because all I’ve been thinking about is today.”

“And it’s not over yet.”

“Technically, it is. We’re into our second day of marriage already.”

After the dance, and after they’d said good night to the few remaining guests, they walked down the flagstone pathway to the carriage house that they were staying in. There was a lone guest standing in a nearby cluster of trees, smoking a cigarette, the smell of it wafting toward them. Abigail, breathing it in, had a sudden vivid sense memory, the smoke bringing her back to that night in California. But it wasn’t just the smell of a cigarette that was bringing her back; it was more than that. Whoever was smoking in the trees had to be smoking the same cigarette that Scottie had that night at the vineyard. They’d been Gauloises, those unfiltered French cigarettes that had made Abigail feel as if she’d spun around in place about ten times. She stared toward the man smoking, but he was completely in shadow, only the orange tip of the cigarette showing where he was.