The Grown Ups (22 page)

Sam took a deep breath and focused his attention on Suzie. Her dress had the translucency of eggshells, a shimmer of satin that fell deeply from her collarbone and then draped across her breasts and clung to her waist. Her hair was down, a tumbling mass of gentle waves that bounced as she moved. She walked arm in arm with the two guys Sam had smoked pot with the night before: her brothers, all grown up.

Sam felt that lump in his chest again. He avoided looking at Bella, even though she was barely a few feet away on the opposite side of the arbor. If it was possible to miss something you never had, Sam was feeling just that. As Michael stepped forward and took Suzie's arm, Sam looked up into a swirling mass of smoke-gray clouds and waited for it to be over.

After the ceremony
they took endless combinations of pictures, representing all the fractured branches of the newly combined family trees. Sam hadn't seen Mrs. Epstein since the summer the Epsteins left town and he was shocked by how different she looked. For most of the pictures she offered nothing more than a vacant smile. Then, just as the last picture was shot, she reached over and wrapped her fingers around Sam's wrist. “I knew you when.”

If she hadn't touched him he wouldn't have known she was talking to him. Her voice was low, her eye contact not great. Sam was paralyzed. And then the older of her sons reached over, lifted her fingers off Sam's wrist, and led his mother back to her table, his arm firmly positioned around her waist.

The storms started during cocktails. Sheets of water obscured the golf course and beaded up on the screens surrounding the porch. By the time Bella and Sam ended up in a pocket by the bar, alone, dinner was about to be served. Sam was stressing about the upcoming toast when there she was next to him, waiting patiently for the bartender's attention.

It was now or never. “Let me,” Sam said, stepping up and catching his eye. He looked back at Bella and asked, “What do you want?”

She hesitated a moment, then said, “Vodka tonic,” holding up two fingers and nodding when the bartender held up a twist of lime.

She moved back then, so he passed the first drink to her over his shoulder. “Thanks,” she said under her breath, retrieving the other drink herself and then starting to walk away.

“Bella?” Sam stammered. “Hey.”

Bella glanced over her shoulder, the drinks held aloft by her chest. She nodded indifferently and stepped into the crowd.

It felt as
if the rain was never going to stop and yet when it did, after dinner and the toasts, the sky turned pink, like the inside of a seashell. Sam was pleasantly drunk, enough that he had stopped obsessing over Bella and her companion, whose name, he learned through Mindy, was Ted. Ted was a fellow in the writing department at Iowa. A poet. Sam felt the weight of that slip of paper in his wallet, and he was embarrassed. Ted was
probably stellar with words. Ted would have come up with something other than a lame greeting after years of silence. Ted, he could tell, would never have disappeared on someone like Bella when she needed him most. Although, from where Sam was standing, Ted did seem like a bit of a jerk. He kept checking his watch as if he had to be somewhere, and he spoke to no one but Bella. Sam saw Bella try to pull Ted onto the dance floor a couple of times and Ted yanked his arm away from her and lurched toward the door. Apparently poets didn't dance.

Johnny Ross was chasing Ruthie's sister, Celia, around the wet lawn with the curious case of arrested development they suffered from whenever they were back together. The edges of Celia's dress were damp and dark and she was laughing, snorting, slowing down and waiting to be caught. Peter and Mindy, leaning against the porch banister, kissed in a way that said their relationship was anything but casual. As Sam walked over to Frankie to hand him his beer, the sodden ground felt spongy beneath his feet. He looked up at the sky; there were ominous gray streaks through the pink.

Ruthie clattered down the wooden porch stairs hand in hand with her lover, Lucy. “We have a problem.”

Sam looked beyond Ruthie to Lucy, who appeared absolutely miserable. She was Barbie-doll pretty, with waist-length blond hair and a great body, but Sam had yet to hear her speak more than a drink order or offer a greeting when introduced. “What?”

“Suzie's father is here.”

Frankie whistled against the top of his beer. “Shiiiiit.”

“Did you tell Michael?” Sam asked.

“No, Turner, I did not want to tell your brother, the
groom,
that his persona non grata father-in-law is about to crash the
wedding. I thought you might want to do something about that before Suzie loses her shit and he ruins her day.”

Sam couldn't say he was thrilled at the thought of confronting Mr. Epstein. “Are you sure?”

Ruthie nodded. “I saw him in the parking lot, sitting in his car.”

“Maybe he lost his nerve,” Sam suggested.

“Do you really want to take that chance?” Behind Ruthie a flash of lightning illuminated the trees. Sam braced, waiting for the boom to follow. When it finally did he felt a spasm arc up his vertebrae. Ruthie squinted up at the clouds. “You need to do something now, Turner. He's in a blue sedan.”

Another zipper of lightning that looked like it was about to gut the contents of the sky was followed by a bellow of thunder. Celia had allowed herself to be caught and she and Johnny ran past them to the stairs hand in hand, Celia holding up the edge of her dress. Mindy and Peter followed. Ruthie turned away from Sam and allowed Lucy to lead her to the shelter of the porch. She looked back over her shoulder and pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows in what Sam recognized as her
take care of it
look.

“Dude,” Frankie said. He gestured with his head toward the parking lot. As the thunder and lightning ramped up, the sky had turned nearly black. Sam and Frankie made their way around the grounds to the parking light. As Sam looked out over the aisles and aisles of cars, the security floodlights dotted among the plantings flickered.

“How the hell are we supposed to find him?” Sam asked.

“Blue sedan?” Frankie yelled as a crack of thunder exploded. “Fuck, that was close.”

With that crack of thunder came the rain, as unrelenting as before. Sam hunched over as water pelted the top of his head.
He ran up and down the rows, between cars, looking from side to side. He could barely see the make of the cars, let alone anyone sitting in one of them.

When Sam hit a parking marker, hard, he bounced back and was knocked on his ass. His clothes, his shoes, every inch of him was soaked. He realized as he lay there that there was no way he was going back into the reception, and so he gave in to the rain and stretched out on the pavement.

After a few minutes the strikes of lightning had subsided, although the rain was still coming down hard. Sam could actually see where he was, the clubhouse directly in front of him, about six rows of cars away. He grabbed hold of a door handle and pulled himself up, and as he did so he could just barely make out the outline of someone standing in front of the stairs. Sam pulled himself together and ran over. “Hey!” he shouted.

When the figure spun around his face was half hidden in the hood of a dark blue slicker, but Sam knew it was Mr. Epstein. He saw Suzie's nose in profile. “Hey—can you hear me? You have to go. Now.”

Mr. Epstein was in bad need of a shave, and even in the storm Sam could smell the stink of alcohol rising off his body. He was trying to figure out what he should do when Frankie came up from the left, panting. “You found him?”

Mr. Epstein looked from Sam to Frankie. He opened his mouth but nothing came out.

“Hey! What's your deal?” Frankie pushed Mr. Epstein hard on the shoulder. Mr. Epstein crumpled against the post at the bottom of the stairs, his body collapsing as if he had no bones.

“Fuck,” Sam yelled to Frankie. “What the fuck did you do that for?”

“He's shit-faced!” Frankie shouted over his shoulder as he
lifted Mr. Epstein's chin off his chest and peered into his face. Mr. Epstein raised his arms in front of him in an ineffective attempt to fend off Frankie.

It became obvious to Sam in that moment that Mr. Epstein was no threat to Suzie or Michael or his parents. Not that day, anyway. “We have to get him out of here.”

“Ted! Please!”

Sam looked up. Had he heard Bella? He squinted through the rain toward the porch.

“TED! Answer me! Please! TED!”

Frankie was still crouched over Mr. Epstein. The rain seemed to distort everything. Sam didn't want anyone to see them with Mr. Epstein. When he heard the thud of footsteps he froze.

“TED!”

Sam looked up. Bella was coming for him, her head down, her hands up in front of her face. She was wearing a too-big long, dark suit coat over her bridesmaid's dress.

Sam took several large steps toward Bella and away from Mr. Epstein sprawled on the ground, but it was too late. Bella saw Mr. Epstein and ducked around Sam. From the look on her face he realized that she thought it had been Ted down on the ground. “What are you doing? What's going on?”

“He's wasted,” Frankie yelled.

“Ruthie told us he was here. She told us to stop him so he wouldn't ruin the evening for Suzie. We didn't hurt him. We tried to stop him from going inside. He just sort of fell.” Sam realized he was rambling and shut up.

Bella put her palm to her forehead and rubbed. As the rain lightened up Sam could tell that she was definitely wearing Ted's suit jacket. “What are you going to do?” she asked.

Sam felt helpless. “Don't tell Suzie.”

“Why? Why would I do that to her, Sam?” Bella chewed her bottom lip. She half turned away from them as if she were going inside, but then she stopped and turned back around. “What can I do to help?”

“Go back inside and keep anyone, Suzie and Michael especially, inside too.”

Bella nodded and pulled Ted's coat tighter around her chest. “I can do that. Do you know what you're going to do?”

Sam, who hadn't had a plan until that second, said confidently, “Absolutely.”

“Okay,” Bella said. “Okay.” She turned and jogged back to the clubhouse.

Sam wondered what had happened to Ted: Why had Bella been shouting for him?

“Dude, come on!” Frankie nudged Mr. Epstein's hip with his foot, as if that would make him move along, then started going through his pockets. “What are you doing?” Sam asked.

Triumphantly, Frankie held up a ring of keys. “We click this, find his car, drag him there. Quickly, before someone else comes out and sees us here. We're lucky that was only Bella.”

Sam shook his head. They hoisted Mr. Epstein up between them and Sam supported most of his weight as Frankie pressed the unlock button on the key chain. He had to do it several times before they finally saw the headlights flash on a car about ten rows back, parked in the middle of the lane.

Frankie took his place on the other side and they half walked, half dragged Suzie's dad to his car. When they got there it was obvious that someone drunk had parked the car. Sam opened the front passenger's side door.

“No, no, the back,” Frankie said, gritting his teeth and leaning over to reach the handle. He swung it open and Sam pushed Mr.
Epstein headfirst into the backseat. The seat was littered with newspapers, clothing, fast-food containers, and beer bottles. Some of the trash fell to the floor as Mr. Epstein's body filled the space.

Together Sam and Frankie jammed Mr. Epstein in the rest of the way. He grunted when his head hit the opposite side door, as if he were the one exerting himself. He was wearing only one shoe, which meant the other shoe was lost somewhere between the steps and the car. Sam wasn't going back to find it.

Once Mr. Epstein was all the way in the car Sam slammed the door shut and then slumped against it. Frankie raked a hand through his wet hair, his face almost purple from exertion.

“Give me the keys.” Sam put his hand out and Frankie dropped them into his palm. Sam walked around the car and got in behind the wheel. His wet clothes were beginning to feel stiff and cold.

Frankie opened the passenger door and leaned in. “What are you doing?”

“Driving him to the train station. I'm going to park the car there in the lot and let him sleep it off.”

Frankie got in and shut the door. He tapped the dashboard three times and flipped on the radio. Sam pulled out of the country club lot and turned right.

“What a fucking day,” Frankie said. He pulled down the visor and peered into the mirror, checking on Mr. Epstein. “What a fucking unbelievable day.”

Sam drove slowly, carefully. The road was littered with debris from the storm. Traffic lights were flashing and ropes of black electrical lines were down. But the roads were passable. He hunched over the steering wheel to peer out the window, and over to his left, in a swath of clear sky, he caught the hint of a rainbow.

There was no
way Sam or Frankie could go back inside the reception. But Marguerite's Honda, which Sam had driven to the wedding, was still in the lot at the country club and Sam had no choice but to return and get it. He wondered if Ruthie had covered for his absence, or maybe even Bella. Had he redeemed himself just a little?

They walked back slowly under a sky that was streaked with the remains of a sunset. Sam's suit was drying stiffly in odd places and made it difficult to walk fast. He and Frankie were quiet.

At the edge of the parking lot they stopped. “You want a lift home?” Sam asked.

Frankie pointed. “Looks like she has it all figured out.”

Sam looked up. Bella was rushing across the lot. In her arms was a bulging plastic bag. She was no longer wearing Ted's jacket. The bottom of her dress looked dark, and her hair was now down around her face, but other than that she didn't look at all like she had been out in a rainstorm. She was beautiful.