The Wedding Veil(24)
But before she did so, Edith turned to the small end table, removed a cigarette and, with a shaking hand and several attempts, lit it. As she inhaled, she heard, plain as day, “You know I don’t allow smoking in the library, darling.”
Fear pierced through her, and she jolted. Cedric shot out of the room as quickly as if he’d seen a bird, and the leather-bound volume in her hand landed with a decisive thud on the herringbone wood floor. She looked around and, seeing nothing, decided she was losing her mind. But hadn’t the dog heard it too? He had bolted before the book fell, hadn’t he? Or was she simply overtired? “It’s okay to hear me, Edi.” The voice again. “I want to stay with you.”
Taking another long inhale of her cigarette, Edith decided she was delirious and needed to go to bed at once. Or that the voice she was hearing inside her head was just her imagination conjuring what she wanted to hear. But, then again, if the book was to be believed…
“George,” she whispered.
“I’m here, Edi. I’m here. Don’t worry. I’ll help you take care of everything.”
For the first time since she had heard the news of George’s true financial standing at his death, Edith felt calm, soothed. The entire time they had known each other, Edith and George had been in this life together. That wasn’t going to change just because her husband was gone. She still had a partner, even if he was a silent one. As George had taught her, sometimes a silent partner was the very best kind.
JULIA The Finest Places
I had been taught what to wear to a noon wedding versus a 6 p.m. one, a funeral, a church service, a graduation, and a baby shower. But no one had ever instructed me on what the heck I was supposed to wear on a gorgeous day on a fabulous boat, in the British Virgin Islands, on the first date since I’d broken my engagement and fled the country.
It sounded pretty damn glamorous when I thought about it. I rifled through my bag, finally deciding on my white bikini, which, due to my spray tan, would contrast against my skin wonderfully. I had bought new cover-ups for my honeymoon, but what if Conner wasn’t wearing a bathing suit?
I grabbed a long white linen maxi dress, deciding it would be the perfect compromise. It was enough like a cover-up but dressier. I realized then that I hadn’t picked out an outfit to go on a first date in ten years, which seemed ludicrous. And this wasn’t just a regular date. This was a date with a man of substance, of reputation.
I was so busy focusing on my hair and outfit and lip gloss that I almost forgot to be nervous. I slipped my feet into gold sandals and rushed down the path to the dock. When I saw Conner in a navy pair of swim shorts and a white T-shirt, my heart flip-flopped. It doesn’t have to be a date; it can just be a meeting of the minds, I told the butterflies in my stomach. Where the minds find each other very attractive and are tan and relaxed and likely to get a tiny bit tipsy.
Conner appeared to be admiring me as I walked toward him, and he stood still, as if stuck to his spot on the dock. When I reached him, he leaned down to kiss me on both cheeks. “You are as beautiful as I remembered.”
I rolled my eyes. When he had met me my face had been covered in so much wedding makeup it felt like shellac.
He reached his hand out, leading me down the dock to a small, inflatable rubber dinghy that would take us to where the large boats were safely moored in deeper water.
Helping me in, he said, “Okay. Here’s my ship. Magnificent, right?”
We both laughed again, but I’d be happy as a clam to spend the day in this tiny boat with this handsome man. Conner pulled the cord on the engine, and with a loud crank and a whiff of diesel, we puttered off.
“I was going to wow you with my sailing abilities,” he said as I put my hand down to touch the water, “but the crew thinks it’s best if they take over so that I can really enjoy the day with you.” I was kind of disappointed. I had pictured us out on the open seas alone, Conner teaching me the difference between a jib and a mast, standing behind me, showing me how to steer. I mean, clearly no one needs to be taught how to steer. But I was trying to live out my romantic comedy dream date here, and that would obviously be a part of it.
I admired the sailboats in the water, wondering which we would go to. The most beautiful, for sure, was a huge one with a shining silver hull and masts that looked like they reached all the way to heaven. When Conner turned the handle on the engine to steer us toward the boat, my eyes widened. “For real?” I definitely hadn’t wanted to be an architect for the money, but maybe Conner was even more successful than I’d thought. “Is this yours?”
He laughed. “Oh, God no. You know how I built Garrison Towers?”
I obviously knew that.
“This is the Garrisons’ boat. They’re letting me use it as a bit of a thank-you gift.”
I’m sure my mouth was gaping. “So what you’re saying is that the crew won’t let you show off because it takes an entire crew to get this thing going?”
He nodded. “Exactly.”
Two men in white polo shirts and black shorts helped me aboard, and right away, a woman in the same outfit appeared with two spot-free martini glasses. (I noticed because spot-free in the islands, especially aboard a boat, is quite the feat.)
“May I offer you a Sea Suiteini?” she asked.
I smiled. “Thank you.” I took one and then whispered to her, “What in the world is a Sea Suiteini?” I didn’t want Conner to hear in case it was something incredibly common that I should have heard of.