Left Drowning(87)

I wish I knew more about his father, but it’s a topic that has clear boundaries. I have never spoken to Sabin or the others about it beyond a few sentences here and there. The work that they’ve done to move on, to build successful lives, is commendable, and dredging up memories they want to forget is not my place. Chris has made it clear to me that he’s okay, that he has left that part of his life in the past. The Shepherds are a dynamic, loyal, vivacious family. They all know how to love. I see that in how they love one another and how they love me. So why wasn’t Chris able give me more?

I suck down the last of my drink as an early sign for the Newburyport exit flashes before me. It’s only a quarter mile away and we’re hurtling toward it.

“Take the exit! Take the exit!” I yell.

“Blythe. That’s not a good idea.”

“Yes!” I slap the dashboard. “Do it.”

“Yeah, that sounds smart. This is going to go really, really well.”

“Hey! I may be loaded, but I can still understand sarcasm. I’m not kidding. Take me to this f*cking ceremony by the sea so I can tell Chris … just, lots of things. I’ll think of them.”

“Oh God. Here we go.” James veers the car to the right, cutting off a van, and we soar off the highway. A quick search on my phone pulls up the location where the ceremony is taking place. I roll down the window and sense that we’re in beach territory now. The air smells different, the greenery is different. Everything is different and everything hurts.

I am not exactly slurring, but I’m close. “Take a right here. And then go straight to the end of the road. The piece-of-crap mansion is going to be there.”

“I wish no one had told you the location or date. Or anything about this.”

“Yeah? Well, me, too, but they’re all big blabbermouths.”

We drive past an SUV that is parked at the start of the pebbled road that leads to the large and elegant yellow home. The scene of the crime, as far as I’m concerned. It’s quiet here today with only a few cars pulled up out front. James pulls over halfway to the house but keeps the car running. I’m sure he’s hoping that my impending diatribe will be short. “I really don’t think you should go in. This is close enough,” he says.

“I’m not going to vandalize the place. Jeez.” Although the idea of egging it is not a bad one. If I had eggs. I stare at the house. Fine, I admit, it’s beautiful. So to compensate I holler, “Look at that stupid wraparound porch with a view of the ocean. And the stupid floral garlands hanging there. Honestly! The place is wretched!” I check my watch. Thirty minutes until the wedding. “I bet everyone is gonna stand outside there.” I point to a grassy area that overlooks the water. “Chris must hate all this clichéd crap. Absolutely loathe it! There will probably be some schmaltzy harp music, and poetry readings, and a grand ol’ speech from her father about eternal love and taking care of his daughter. I will never have harps and poetry and fathers. I will never have eternal love because it’s all bullshit. I don’t get to have that.”

“You shouldn’t be here. Seeing this,” James says. “Don’t do this to yourself.” He squints. “What’s up with this place, though? You said the wedding was supposed to be small, but how come there are no other cars in the lot?”

“Don’t know, don’t care. What’s important is that I’m gonna move on to rum now,” I announce as I mix up rum and fruit punch in a thermos. “How disgusting does that sound, huh? Rum. I hate rum. Nobody should like rum. The only time rum should be consumed is at a tropical resort. And then you have to have those * little umbrellas and mini plastic swords that hold f*cking fruit chunks. Wait. Do we have any swords?”

“I can’t say for sure, but I’d be surprised if we did.”

“I swear to God that we have swords.” I open the car door. “James, we do! I bought some at the supermarket because I thought it’d be funny to make drinks together and sit outside at the house. I mean, we’re going to have a lot of work to do there, right? So we’ll need beverages. And swords can double as appetizer holder-y things because food always tastes better on a stick.” Holding my thermos, I stumble to the back of the SUV and lift open the hatch. “Seriously. Swords for all!” I start rooting through bags. I know that I packed a bunch of grocery stuff in a blue duffel. My search yields the bag, and I begin to root through it wildly.

James stops the ignition, comes out of the car, and starts repacking everything that I’ve removed.

“AHA! I HAVE LOCATED THE SWORDS!” I scream triumphantly. I hold up the ziplock bag of multicolored drink accessories.

James laughs. “Feel better?”

“I feel zillions better. Now I can drink some rum. And prepare my disruptive speech. Should I start with how the bride is boring and useless or how I think he’s an idiot and a *?”

“Wow. Both, you know, really good options. Let’s think for a minute.”

As I am in the process of struggling to open the bag, which in my opinion, is intricately sealed in a mind-boggling way, I hear loud whooping and cheering from behind me. I turn around and watch as a small group of people runs in our direction at top speed.

“James?”

“Yeah?” He is standing with his hands on his hips, looking at what I’m looking at.