The Space Between (37 page)

I swallowed, and
my throat was lined with sandpaper. The groan that followed did not improve the situation.

“Here.” Lauren nudged a cool plastic bottle into my hand. “Drink.”

I guzzled the water, and shifted to lean against the headboard when I noticed Matt’s arms anchored around her waist and his head on her belly. “How much tequila did we drink?”

Lauren smiled and ran her fingers through Matt’s hair. “He wandered up here around three. He doesn’t know how to sleep by himself, and he was worried that Will and Wes were going to abduct him from our cottage. They have a history of intimidating the guys in my life.”

“Awesome,” I muttered, and groped the nightstand for my phone. Nearly ten o’clock and another night without a single text from Patrick. I didn’t know why I expected him to reach out to me, but I fell off the logic wagon late last week. I turned toward Lauren. “You’re gettin’ married today.”

“That’s my plan. I might finish that bottle before six tonight, though.” She nodded at the tequila. “Are you good with me hiding out in here? I don’t want to talk to anyone about flowers or bacon-wrapped scallops or gift baskets, and if someone tries to curl my hair, I will start throwing knives.”

“Stay. I need to walk the tequila out of my system.” After cleaning up and changing into slim yoga capris, a racerback tank, and a thin black hoodie, I emerged from the bathroom. “If there’re any premarital, uh,” I circled my hand between Matt and Lauren, “
activities
, put the Do Not Disturb on the door.”

Escaping the long shadow of the inn reduced the odds of running into any Walshes but it forced me to address the questions intruding on the back of my mind. The solitude forced a look in an unforgiving mirror. I sifted through every uncomfortable notion about my work, my relationships, and myself while I walked. It was time to get on with my life.

My calves started burning after four miles at a near-jog, and it was a welcome distraction from my thoughts. My path back to the inn meandered along the beach, and I sat in the sand, watching as the empty tent for Lauren and Matt’s reception transformed into gorgeously dressed tables dripping with seasonal flowers and sea grasses, and bitter memories of my over-before-it-started Pinterest wedding complemented my stinging muscles.

Eventually I stopped moping on the beach and gingerly climbed the stairs to my room, and an envelope waited at my door. I assumed it was my bill. Lauren was gone, more than likely tipsy, and most certainly killing everyone in her path with kindness in the final hour before the ceremony. I kicked off my running shoes and clothes, and started the shower before opening the envelope. A shiver wobbled through my shoulders as I read the precise architect’s lettering.

Andy,

We can make this work.

We’re not the kind of people who do anything half-assed. We never walk away when it gets difficult or we can’t find the right answers. We’re perfectionists and we don’t apologize for it because if there’s anyone who can make something work, it’s us.

We’re not done now, and we won’t be done tomorrow, or any of the tomorrows after that.

I love you and I need you. Come back to me.

Patrick

The envelope fell to the ground and I marched straight into the shower. My backside hit the cold granite tile of the floor, and I pressed my wrist against my mouth while the spray of the shower washed away my sobs.

PATRICK

T
he ring twisted
between my thumb and forefinger, the fine mill-grained detail pressing into my skin and leaving a dotted trail on the pads of my fingers. Set in a delicate constellation of five diamonds, each one spat fire into the setting sunlight. Five probably represented something. Matt was meticulous like that.

Minutes to feel a connection. Hours to fall in love with her. Days to knowing they couldn’t survive apart. Months since getting engaged. Kids they wanted.

“Why don’t you let me hold onto that?”

After a quick glance at Nick, the pad of my thumb passed over the stones, and I handed it to him. He secured it inside its velvet box, and unbuttoned his suit coat to stow it in his pocket.

It was too easy for me to destroy everything I touched like a tractor in a fucking china shop to be responsible for Lauren’s wedding ring.

It had been hours,
hours
, since leaving the letter at Andy’s door, and nothing. No texts, no calls, no smoke signals, no sight of her anywhere. I left my spleen in that envelope, and if forced to choose between nail-gunning my hand to a wall and waiting for a response from Andy, here’s to hoping my tetanus shot was up-to-date.

Nick’s hand curled around my elbow, and he jerked me out of my seat while on my other side, Sam kicked my shin. “Where I’m from, it’s customary to stand for the bride,” Nick hissed.

A string quartet played Coldplay’s “Green Eyes” and I didn’t need to look at Matt to know he was beaming like a love-drunk fool, or his fingers were closed around my mother’s handkerchief. I shuffled to my feet, turning to watch Lauren step out of the inn on her father’s arm. Commodore Halsted wore the Navy’s dress uniform well, and Lauren was beautiful in a cotton candy pink dress.

The dress Andy picked out.

I searched the crowd for her wild hair, finally spotting her on the far end of the back row. Big sunglasses obscured her face, and she was sitting ramrod straight with her chin tilted up. Spine of steel. Her hair was pulled into a knot that resembled a bagel, and it was mildly absurd. Given the location, a seagull was bound to attack at any moment.

She ordered the strapless indigo dress online during a late March snowstorm that trapped us in my apartment for a long weekend. Pockets were cut into the full knee-length skirt, and she found that appropriately quirky while I saw it as an opportunity to do filthy things to her in broad daylight.

By all measures, the perfect dress.

The perfect weekend. Not so unlike each one I spent with her.

The need to remind her of that perfection pressed into my sternum, and I swiped my phone to life. Warning her about dive-bombing seagulls was also a critical concern.

“Oh my fucking God,” Sam seethed, and he snatched my phone away. “Not now, you moron.” Sam leaned around me and met Nick’s annoyed expression. “Can you get him a shot of chlorpromazine or diazepam?”

“Dude, it’s weird that you know what those are, and I don’t usually roll with Schedule IV substances.”

“Operative word being ‘usually.’” Sam locked my phone and tucked it inside his breast pocket. “And by that, I can deduce that you have enough drugs to take out the A-Team over there.” Sam nodded toward Lauren’s brothers.

“You mean Thor and Captain America?” I asked. “Unless you have a tranq gun, Acevedo, none of us are taking them anywhere.”

We broke into poorly concealed laughter, and Matt killed us with his eyes six, probably seven times.

I wanted to gaze at Andy for hours, but Sam and Nick’s hands on my shoulders forced me into my seat when Lauren arrived at the altar, and their jabbing elbows eventually turned my attention toward the ceremony. It was over quickly, or at least the parts I listened to were over quickly. Tuning out syrupy promises of love and devotion was elemental to my survival, especially when I didn’t have a flask of whiskey on hand.

Andy dissolved into the crowd once Matt and Lauren were down the aisle, and Sam dragged me by the collar to pose for photos. After eighteen thousand different groupings and poses, I started to protest the activity but realized we were together, our new family, for the first time. There wasn’t much else to hold onto without them.

I shut up, going along with every one of the photographer’s mundane requests. Was anyone clear on why it was necessary for us to execute a synchronized jump?

“Where is Andy?” Lauren asked, standing on her tiptoes to see into the tent. She turned back to the assembly and met my eye with a smile. “I want her here, too.”

The photographer’s assistant scurried into the tent, returning moments later with Andy in tow. She shared a firm hug with Lauren, and nodded at something she said. Lauren gestured to the far end of the pose, where I stood with Erin on my right. “Right there, between these two.”

Andy wedged between us, and my reaction was involuntary. My hands landed on her hips and into those devious pockets, my lips coasting against the exposed nape of her neck as I ducked to her ear.

“Do you remember that weekend?” I whispered. “Twenty-one inches of snow,
Order of the Phoenix
and
The Half-Blood Prince
?” My hand traveled over her bare shoulders. “And this.”

To her credit, Erin locked her eyes on the photographer and stifled a knowing giggle. Whether she was laughing at my desperate attempts at Andy’s forgiveness, or me watching
Harry Potter
movies, I wasn’t about to inquire.

“I’m here for Lauren. And Matt. It’s their day, and I can’t do this with you right now, Patrick.”

I pressed my hand to the small of her back and kept the other against her hip from the comfort of her pocket. Other than a slight inhale, she allowed no recognition she possessed all of me.

*

“You know, it’s
funny,” Sam said, hitching his elbow on my shoulder as we stood at the edge of the tent. Matt and Lauren swayed together in the middle of the empty dance floor. Most of the crowd cleared out around eleven, the stragglers stayed until midnight, and now only family remained. “Everyone’s spent the past few months worrying over my mental health, expecting a Hiroshima-level explosion, but it’s been you all along.”

“Hilarious.” I rolled my eyes and sipped my beer, the swirling skirt of Andy’s dress drawing my attention to the other side of the tent. She was with Erin and Thor, ahem, Wes, and they were embroiled in an animated conversation that appeared to require repeatedly refilling shot glasses. What were the odds it was peppermint schnapps?

“Write the caption for that.” Pointing with his beer bottle, Sam chuckled. “A preservation architect, a volcanologist, and a Navy SEAL get drunk at a wedding. I’m putting fifty bucks on them staging a coup to seize control of Naples, and devising a plan to rehab and restore Pompeii before sunrise. Hundred bucks says they get it LEED certified.”

He jutted his chin toward the bar. Red-faced, Shannon yelled and wagged her finger at Will while he laughed. Captain America had more balls than sense. Sam narrowed his eyes. “What the fuck is all that about?”

“It’s the price of keeping Matt from taking a long walk off a short pier,” I said. “We will owe her in ways we cannot begin to imagine.”

“Fuck,” he sighed. “At least the good doctor didn’t need to sedate them into next Thursday.”

Rooted on the tent’s sidelines with the surf crashing a few feet behind us, we observed our people: Nick and Riley debating the quality of the Red Sox dugout; the hostile takeover of southern Italy by Erin, Andy, and Wes; Shannon and Will squabbling like political pundits; and Matt and Lauren whispering to each other, oblivious to the world around them. Our ranks were growing and celebration was in order, but it wasn’t how I imagined this night.

From across the tent, Andy glanced over her shoulder and our eyes met. Our connection used to be so rare, so potent, but now dark awkwardness filled the space between us. My stomach slammed into my throat, and I shifted my eyes to the dance floor, forfeiting.

Following my line of sight, Sam produced my phone, holding it just beyond my reach. “Do not interpret this as permission to make unwise decisions.”

I grumbled in response and went breadcrumb hunting. The lack of texts from Andy didn’t discourage me. She needed me to go to her. She always did. Her Instagram featured new photos from inside the inn, the Chatham Lighthouse, and Chatham Inner Harbor. Facebook offered a handful of random likes, including Lauren’s status, ‘this girl’s getting hitched today!’ and Shannon’s ‘wedding day!!!! (keep your knickers on, not my wedding).’

It wasn’t much. I didn’t expect Taylor Swift lyrics in her status, but some evidence she was experiencing a fraction of my hysteria would have been nice. How long could I keep this up? It wasn’t possible to live in this state of desperation for more than a week or two. My liver wouldn’t survive this level of abuse for much longer.

Matt and Lauren strolled toward us, and he caught Sam in a hug before turning to me. “Your efforts at keeping my husband alive and unharmed are appreciated,” Lauren said, her hand on Matt’s chest. She smiled at him, and mouthed, “My
husband
.”

“We’ll see you in a couple hours, at the brunch,” Sam said.

“No promises my
wife
and I will be there,” Matt muttered, his lips meeting Lauren’s.

Gifting Matt with a fond smile, she stepped out of his arms and motioned for me to walk with her toward the inn. “It’s time to fix it. I know she wants you to. Whatever it takes. Throw her over your shoulder and tie her up if that’s what it takes for you to get her listening, but don’t let another day go by without fixing it.”