Every Vow You Break(19)

“You okay?” Bruce said.

“Yeah, sorry. Do you know who that is, smoking?” As soon as she said it, panic grabbed at her. What if it was actually Scottie, and what if Bruce made his way over there?

“My friend Mike, probably. Why, you want one?”

“Ha, no.” They kept walking. The night had turned cold, and she shivered. She leaned against Bruce as he opened the door to their room, then he lifted her over the threshold, Abigail screaming in genuine shock. The four-poster bed was turned down, and there were fresh flowers throughout the room. Abigail’s bags had been brought over, and she got her toiletries and her overnight bag and went into the bathroom. There were flowers in there, too, and several lit candles. The stone floor was heated.

She stared in the mirror for a moment, and told herself that she was paranoid. Scottie hadn’t stalked her all the way to the wedding.

He stalked you to New York.

Besides, all cigarettes smelled the same, didn’t they? And people were always smoking at weddings, even people who no longer smoked. She’d spotted Kyra smoking earlier, and her uncle Evan, who’d quit years ago. It made no sense that it was Scottie lurking around her wedding. Why would he come? To watch it from afar? No, if he had decided to come, the only reason would be to break up the event somehow, and he hadn’t tried to do that. It wasn’t him, just some other guest. Maybe even some other guest who liked unfiltered French cigarettes. It was possible.

She washed her face and got out of her dress. She’d brought a sheer nightdress in baby blue that had puffed sleeves and ruffles along the hem and put it on. She felt slightly ridiculous, but it was her wedding night and when else was she going to wear something like this? When she emerged from the bathroom Bruce was already in bed, naked from the waist up. She did a quick spin, the hem of the lingerie floating up, then got under the covers, where she tried not to think of the man in the trees, and Scottie, and the smell of French cigarette smoke.





CHAPTER 10

What do you mean, there’s no electricity?”

“There’s some electricity. For a hair dryer, for example, and if there’s an emergency.”

“Where exactly are you taking me?” Abigail said, laughing.

They were driving north in Bruce’s electric Tesla.

“It’s all part of the experience. No phones, no television, no computers.”

“I’m fine with all that.”

“You’re just worried about your hair?”

“Pretty much, yes.”

“There are plugs in the bathrooms,” Bruce said. They had just crossed into Massachusetts. The day had begun in bright sunshine, but now there was a thin haze of clouds building across the sky, and the temperature was dropping. The forecast for the week was for heavy winds and occasional showers. Bruce had claimed that it would make the honeymoon more romantic.

“What about lamps?”

“They have them there.”

“Real ones?”

“Most everything is lit by candles at night, and they give you lanterns when you need to walk somewhere. They look just like old-fashioned oil lanterns but they’re actually battery-powered.

They’re really beautiful. Trust me, a week of living this way, you’re never going to want to go back to the real world.”

“When were you here before, again? I know you told me, but I forgot.”

“A few times. The longest trip was three years ago, right after Chip opened it. I was one of his first guests. He originally envisioned it as a place for people who work in the computer industry, a place to reconnect with nature, take your eyes off the screen. That sort of thing. There are a lot of corporate retreats there, brainstorming sessions, that sort of thing. And now it’s actually become popular with honeymooning couples, for some of the same reasons. No distractions. Plus, the food’s amazing.”

“What do people do there?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are there activities?”

“There are great walks on the island. There’s an indoor swimming pool that you have to see to believe. There’s a spa, but most of the activities are supposed to be like camp activities but for grown-ups. You don’t have to do them, but if you want to, there’s archery, and sailing on the pond, and a whole art studio.

You can paint pictures and do pottery.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. All voluntary, though. Personally, I like the main lodge. You can sit by the fire and read. They bring you drinks. It’s pretty sweet. And it’s not going to be filled with corporate types, I promise you. Chip told me it’s going to be relatively empty. It has a Gothic feel, you’ll like it.”

Abigail was worried that she’d made him a little defensive about his choice of a honeymoon spot, so she said, “It sounds awesome, Bruce. I can’t wait to see it.”

They stopped for lunch in southern Maine, eating in the basement tavern of a seaside inn near Kennewick Harbor. Abigail, who’d been starving herself just a little bit in preparation for the wedding, ate a cheeseburger with fries and declared it the best she’d ever had. Bruce had the lobster roll and they shared a bottle of Sancerre.

“I keep having these moments,” Abigail said, “when I suddenly realize that I’m married, that we’re married. It’s kind of mind-blowing.”