Counterpointe (18 page)

“I’m scared.”

Denise switched her attention from the veil to Clare’s face.

“It’s all happened so fast. I worry that I didn’t take enough time to—”

“You love him, though, right?”

Clare nodded, but it had never been a question of whether she loved Rob. What she questioned was whether that love was enough to make the step she was taking today the right one.

A tap on the door was followed by the wedding planner’s head. “Is the bride ready?”

As she had before, Clare wondered if the woman remembered her name or just the correct binder color.

“Give us a moment,” Denise said. When the door closed, she gripped Clare by the arms. “Deep breath, Clare. It’s okay to have the jitters. It’s perfectly normal. You’re going to be fine. That’s a good man you’re marrying.”

Denise was right. Besides, it was too late to back out now. She took a breath. “Okay. Ready.”

One last spasm of panic hit after Denise reached her place at the altar and the organ notes swelled. The guests surged to their feet, stirring up faint drifts of scent—a mix of candle wax and floral notes. Faces turned toward Clare, as anonymous as any audience, and she was tempted to turn and flee, but from what she couldn’t have said. Perhaps the peering looks and whispers from the strangers filling the church. Perhaps from the future this ceremony initiated.

Butterflies. Jitters. Familiar and usually transitory. But not today. Today the butterflies refused to settle, even as, in response to the music, Clare and her father started down the aisle—their steps slow and careful, limited by both the solemnity of the moment and the remaining stiffness in her leg.

Clare fixed her gaze on the man waiting for her at the altar. The man who would shortly be her husband.
Oh, my God. This is so wrong. I can’t...I mustn’t do this.

Despite the frantic beat of her thoughts, she continued walking toward Rob, until she was close enough to place her hand in his. Halfway through the exchange of vows, black specks obscured her vision. The priest made a quick grab, but it was Rob’s arm that steadied her until the faintness receded. The priest pronounced them man and wife, and Rob kissed her on lips numbed by the words she’d just spoken.

As they walked out of the church, she stumbled and Rob steadied her, again. “Are you all right? Are you hurting?”

She shook her head, although the stumble had nearly caused her to gasp in pain.

Her new mother-in-law descended on them. “How clever of you to pair such a simple dress with an ornate veil.” But the way Mrs. Chapin’s lips pursed told a different story—that she found the dress too plain and the veil, Clare’s grandmother’s, a disappointment.

Her mother’s assessment of Mrs. Chapin had been, “She’s a bit of a gorgon, isn’t she? But Rob’s one of the good guys.”

At the reception, Clare watched her gorgon mother-in-law dance with her good-guy husband. The tux fit Rob well and, unlike many men, he looked comfortable wearing it. The dancing was another battle she’d lost to the senior Mrs. Chapin.

“But there must be dancing, dear. It’s expected.”

“The bride can’t dance.”

“Well, I know you won’t be returning to the ballet. But a waltz. At your wedding. Surely you can manage that.”

At the casual cruelty, Clare ground her teeth.

Mrs. Chapin simply went ahead and made the plans without discussing them further, something Clare discovered when they arrived at the reception.

“I can’t do it, Rob. I can’t dance.” She gripped his hand so tightly, he winced.

“It’s okay, Clare. I’ll take care of it.”

And he had. When the music started, he rose and escorted his mother to the floor, announcing he didn’t want to put his new bride’s delicate toes at risk. Clare was so grateful that when he returned to her side she leaned over and kissed him. He gave her a startled look and blushed.

It was the best moment of the day.

When Rob suggested Vieques for their honeymoon, Clare thought it a peculiar choice since the tiny island off the east coast of Puerto Rico was periodically used by the U.S. Navy as a bombing range.

“I know it sounds weird, but Lynne and Jim said the island is peaceful. And it has a bioluminescent bay.”

Could she possibly look as blank as she felt?

Rob grinned. “Living lights, in the sea. Produced by microorganisms called dinoflagellates. Marine fireflies, if you will. Lynne said it was magical.”

It didn’t sound magical.

“Unless you want to go somewhere else?”

He must have looked like that as a young boy, hoping for a special boon, his first bike maybe, or the chemistry set, and Clare couldn’t refuse him.

It was the least she could do to make up for agreeing to marry him in spite of her doubts. “Vieques sounds...intriguing.”

Except for two tiny towns, Vieques turned out to be rural and as quiet as advertised. They stayed at an inn high on a hill overlooking the ocean, and there was peace in both the view and the slow rhythms of their days. Mornings, they went swimming, often encountering a herd of wild horses near the beach. In the afternoons, they returned to the inn and made love in the bright, cool room. The rest of the time they lay under the shade trees by the pool, and Clare began to believe marrying Rob was the best decision she’d ever made.

“No moon tonight,” he said, the third day. “It means conditions are perfect for dinoflagellate observations.”

“You make it sound irresistible.”

“All part of the plan.” He waggled his eyebrows and grinned.

As the twilight deepened, she and Rob, along with twenty other people, boarded an old school bus. After a short ride, the bus turned off the paved road to rattle along a dirt track that ended on a dark beach.

There they boarded an electric-powered boat, and as the boat moved silently away from the shore, the water in the wake began to glow. The captain announced the glow was being produced by Rob’s dinoflagellates, trillions of them floating in the warm salt waters of the bay. He stamped his foot, and large fish were outlined in light as they darted away from the boat.

A distance from the shore, the boat stopped so they could swim. Rob and Clare floated away from the others, who clustered near the boat, laughing and splashing. They faced each other, buoyed by the ski belts the crew had required everyone to wear.

“Lift up your arm. Like this, Clare.” Rob dipped up water and let it run in a sparkling stream down his arm.

She tried it, feeling a soul-deep delight as the tiny lights flashed and winked. Again and again, she scooped up handfuls of water and watched the glitter running down her arms.

Then she twirled and lifted her arms over her head and pointed her toes, every move outlined with a pale glow. The music in her head, silent since her injury, burst into a glorious
allégro
. She laughed with the sheer joy of being able to move without pain or the worry she might reinjure her leg, and her dance was partnered by light.

After a time, the music slowed and stilled. She lay back in the glowing water and stared at the stars arching overhead. Rob put his arms around her, holding her gently, sprinkling diamonds onto her shoulders and breasts, then he whispered in her ear. “They’re telling us we have to get back on the boat.”

No.
It was too soon. She needed more time in this perfect place. In Rob’s arms, but freed from guilt. Suspended from grief, loss, and unknowing.

Capriccio

Quick, improvisational, spirited

“Damn woman. She savaged Hatsume,” Rob said.

Clare handed him a glass of wine. “Who did?”

“Joyce Willette. She’s trying to get back at me.”

“Why would she do that?” Gradually Clare translated what they were talking about. Hatsume was one of Rob’s graduate students, and she was defending her thesis—today, wasn’t it? But Joyce Willette wasn’t a name she remembered hearing before.

“We dated for a while.” Rob frowned and took a quick sip of wine.

“Was it serious?” She picked Mona up and sat on the couch next to him.

“It might have been. I got out just in time.”

“How long ago were you and she—”

“God. No, Clare. After you and I went out the second time, I broke it off.”

Clare wondered what had been in her face that made Rob feel he needed to comfort her so strenuously.

Rob suggested they have a few of his favorite colleagues over for dinner. As he greeted the last two guests, Clare knew something was wrong. And when he turned to introduce the two, she understood what. The woman was Joyce Willette, who’d come as the date of one of the invitees.

After drinks were served, Clare retreated to the kitchen. She pulled the casserole from the oven, the irony of the situation hitting her—Rob, so pleased to be introducing her to the people who were important in his professional life, and who showed up but the one person he’d cross the street to avoid. And Joyce knew it. So why...? The potholder slipped and the dish slid to the floor, burning her wrist. She ran cold water over the burn, trying to clamp down on laughter that began to feel like something more.

She retrieved what she could of the casserole, a mix of chicken, pasta, walnuts, and pesto. Then she boiled more pasta and added a leftover slab of brie before mixing it all together. Feeling guilty, she watched their guests eat with gusto.

It reminded her of a story she’d read once about a Frenchman who always spat in the soup before he served the Nazi officers who came to his restaurant to eat. So it was true. People could eat anything if they didn’t know what they were eating.

Once again, she felt like laughing, but if she did, they would think her mad. Instead, she ate salad, that hadn’t sojourned on the kitchen floor, and joined the conversation as needed, playing hostess, as if it were a role.

Throughout dinner, Joyce pitched frequent comments into the conversational mix. Clearly, she was intelligent, and given her lush figure and thick blonde hair, Clare understood why Rob had been attracted.

“Enough about us,” Joyce said. “I want to know something about you, Clare. Didn’t Robbie tell me you were a ballerina or something?”

“Clare was the prima ballerina for Danse Classique.” Rob’s tone had a steely edge.

“Of course. Now I remember. You were injured. Last spring, right before the end of the season, wasn’t it?”

Clare tilted her head and looked at the other woman. “Yes. It was.”