Every Vow You Break(23)
She focused on the taste of the drink and the majesty of the lodge.
“Mingle or stay put?” Bruce asked.
“How about we stay put for the length of this drink, at least?”
she said.
“Good choice.”
Two men approached the bar, and Carl asked them what they wanted. The men were young and hip, both dressed in jeans and casual sweaters, both bearded, and Abigail thought that they were probably young wealthy computer entrepreneurs like Bruce. She was surprised he didn’t know them. The men ordered something called Peeper on draft, then talked in hushed tones. Like everywhere else on this island, it was quiet in the lodge, almost eerily so.
As though he were reading her thoughts, Bruce said, “There’s music here some nights. Chip has bands flown in.”
“Like rock bands?” Abigail said, trying to imagine it.
“More like string quartets, but also a lot of experimental bands.
Electronic stuff.” He named a bunch of artists Abigail hadn’t heard of.
Bruce started talking about the dinner, the philosophy behind the food, what to expect. Abigail listened, but also thought about where she was, who she was with, and all that had happened over the past few weeks. Since meeting Bruce she’d had these little moments when she felt as if she’d taken a step away from herself and could see the surreal nature of her new life. It was partly the money, the fact that she’d suddenly gone from struggling to pay her rent to being with someone who was probably a billionaire (she didn’t know exactly how much money Bruce had, nor had he asked her to sign any kind of prenuptial agreement), but it was also partly to do with Bruce. In these moments she would be suddenly acutely aware that he was a stranger. It didn’t last long, this feeling, and she’d remind herself how much they’d shared since they’d met. Not just experiences, but long conversations.
She’d heard all about his childhood as an only child of an unhappy marriage. When he was twelve his mother had left his father for another, more successful man. He’d told Abigail the whole story one night at his apartment, the two of them staying up until dawn, falling asleep just as the light began to enter the apartment. So why did he occasionally feel like a stranger? Why did he feel like a stranger right now, the two of them sipping Manhattans a little more than twenty-four hours after they’d gotten married? She knew the feeling wouldn’t last. It never did. Maybe it was just something she’d feel on and off for a few years. The only people in her life who didn’t feel like strangers were her parents, of course, and Zoe, who had always told Abigail everything she felt and experienced. Everyone else—her college friends, Ben Perez—all felt slightly mysterious to her, like she never knew precisely what was going on in their minds.
“Another?” Bruce asked, and it took Abigail a moment to realize he was asking her about her drink, empty now.
“Another drink, yes. Another Manhattan, no, if you want me to make it to the dinner table. Glass of wine?”
Carl was putting two martinis onto a tray for a server, who then carried them toward the fireplace. Abigail wondered if it was really necessary for there to be a server when there was a bartender already in the hall. But maybe the Quoddy Resort was sometimes busier than it was now. She could only count about ten people, not including them, in the lodge.
After they got their drinks, a glass of Malbec for Abigail and an IPA for Bruce, they wandered the lodge, looking at some of the wall hangings and artwork. One whole wall was composed of framed engravings, mostly images from fairy tales. A girl pushed an old woman into an oven. There was a knight fighting a hairy, naked beast in a forest. Several included wolves; the largest engraving showed what looked like a Roman god turning a man into a wolf, his head transformed, his body still a man’s, wrapped in a toga. The most recognizable showed Little Red Riding Hood meeting the wolf in the forest.
“‘The woods are lovely, dark and deep,’” Abigail said aloud.
Bruce looked confused.
“Sorry, I’m quoting Robert Frost.”
They moved to a wall that showcased photographs from the original camp, all black-and-white, groups of grim-faced boys posing in front of their bunks. “I think it was only an active camp from the 1930s to the 1960s. It was pretty run-down when Chip bought it.”
“All boys?” she asked.
“This camp, yes. The one on the other side was the girls’ camp.
They’d do social events, I’m sure, together. Dances.”
“Panty raids.”
“Probably.”
At the fireplace she and Bruce introduced themselves to a few of the other guests. It was mostly men but there was one other young couple, Alec and Jill, each holding a glass of champagne, a raspberry at the bottom of their tulip glasses. Bruce and Alec quickly started their own conversation, as Jill said to Abigail, “We got married last weekend, then stayed a few nights in Bar Harbor, and now we’ve been here for three days. It’s unbelievable, this place. Wait till you try the food.”
“It better be amazing or I’m going to be annoyed. Everyone keeps telling me about it.”
“Oh no. I hope I haven’t overhyped it.” Jill, who was model-gorgeous with natural blond hair but with a sliver of a nose that must have been surgically altered, looked genuinely worried.
Abigail said, “I’m just kidding. I’m easily impressed by food, trust me. If it was pizza night I’d be thrilled.”