We Are Water (58 page)
“The man who died back there,” Ari says. “Remember how we were never allowed to play out in back because someone had drowned in that old well? Daddy told me there was some question about if it was an accident or—”
“Oh, please. Don’t even talk about that damned well,” Mom says. “It still gives me the creeps. But I don’t know what paintings you could be talking about, Ariane. There weren’t any others except for the one that we found up in the attic after we moved in. The family that had sold us the house had left it behind. But now he’s become quite collectible. Probably because so little of his work survived.”
“Well, the ones Daddy has up there did,” Ari insists. “And I know they’re his, Mama, because his signature’s on them.”
Is she talking about those paintings that Jay and I used to look at when we went out to that old shack to smoke weed? I can’t remember much about them except that there were naked women in some of them. Not exactly
Playboy
centerfolds, but we were what? Fourteen? Fifteen? Boobs were boobs.
Mom says if there were other Josephus Jones paintings at our house, she’d have known about them. And even if there were, why would Dad have taken them up to the Cape with him? “Because the house is on the market,” Ariane says. “He said he didn’t want strangers walking around the property because they’re valuable. And because he didn’t want—” She stops midsentence.
“He didn’t want what?” Mom says.
“No, nothing. You should just ask Daddy about it.”
“Yes, I guess I should. But if there was a stash of valuable artwork hidden away at our place, why wouldn’t I have known about it?”
“Because you never went down in the back,” I tell her. “Except for the time you busted Jay and me when you caught us up on the roof.”
“Don’t remind me,” she says. “You two could have gotten seriously hurt out there if that thing had collapsed. And that well? The fact that someone might have murdered him? Let’s change the subject. Shall we?”
“Yeah, let’s,” Marissa says. “So Mom, any of Viveca’s celebrity clients going to be here today?” Mom says she doesn’t remember, and that she might not recognize the names anyway. For the next mile or so, nobody says a thing.
Bella Linda is out on the edge of town, a little after this golf course we’re passing. It’s still pretty wooded out here. I’m surprised no one’s developed the hell out of it yet. Wetlands, maybe. The ground looks a little swampy. . . . Up ahead on the left, I see the sign. Slow down, put my signal on. “Oh, no! The rings!” Mom blurts out. “Andrew, we have to go back to the house. I forgot our rings.” Ariane says she doesn’t think there’s time.
But the clock on the dashboard says 11:29. “Okay, don’t sweat it,” I tell them. “We’ve got about half an hour until showtime, right? So let me drop you guys off, and I’ll go get them. Be back in twenty minutes, max.”
“Oh, honey. Thanks,” Mom says. “They’re in a little velvet bag on the bureau in Daddy’s and my room. It’s bluish gray. When I was getting dressed, I put it there so I wouldn’t forget. God, how could I be so—Oh, look! There’s Mr. Agnello.” Two older guys are going up the front steps. The younger one’s got the old geezer by the arm.
“Who’s Mr. Agnello?” Marissa asks.
“He gave me my start as an artist. Awarded me a ‘best in show’ when I was thinking about giving up.”
“Which one?” Marissa asks. “The old dude or the other one.”
“The one with the cane.” She puts her window down and calls out to him. “Mr. Agnello!”
When I let them out of the car, Mom runs up to him and gives him a big hug. She’d better cool it. He’s so old, he looks breakable. Well, I’d better get going now that I’ve got a mission to accomplish. I drive down the circular driveway, turn back onto the road, and head back to the house. . . .
T
wenty minutes, I told them, but that’s optimistic with all this Saturday morning traffic—everyone out running their errands. Well, weddings never start on time anyway. Still, when the old lady in front of me slows down and signals that she’s taking a right turn about half a year before she’s going to take it, I check the mirror then gun it, passing her on the left. We’re not going to get this wedding over with until we get it started, and at this point, that pretty much depends on me.
But naturally, I hit every friggin’ red light between here and home. Waiting out the one on South Main Street, I look over at the barbershop where Dad and I used to get our haircuts. I wonder how he’s doing up there on the Cape. Maybe he’s hanging with Tracy for the day. I hope so. I’d hate to think of him up there alone, stewing about what’s going on down here.
It takes me almost fifteen minutes just to get to our road. Halfway up the hill, I pass some little kids at a lemonade stand. They try to flag me down, but I wave and keep going. Sorry, kids. No time. At the crest of the hill, I brake. Turn into our driveway and . . . What the fuck?
Who’s
this
? Can’t be a burglar. Why would someone who’s breaking in be sitting out there on the front steps? Unless he’s the lookout. I put the car in park, cut the engine, and get out. He stands up when he sees me coming toward him. What’s that he’s wearing? An eye patch?
“Help you with something?”
“Is Annie home?” He’s gray-haired, skinny.
“Uh, no. No she’s not. Who are you?”
He says he’s her cousin. “She coming back soon?”
“Not for a while. Was she expecting you?” I already know the answer to that one. If she’d invited him, why would he be here when the wedding’s over there? And where’s his car? He says no—he wanted to surprise her. They’re cousins? That’s when it hits me.
“You’re not Kent, are you?”
He nods, grins.
“Holy shit. My mom and I were just talking about you last night. You’re the one who saved her, right? From that flood?”
“That’s right,” he says. “Got her out of the car and up into a tree. So you’re her son? Yeah, now that I look at you, I can see you got some O’Day in you.” He holds out his hand. “Glad to meet you, uh . . .”
“Andrew.” We shake. “Glad to meet you, too. And god, Mom’s going to be thrilled to see you. She was just saying last night how you guys lost touch with each other. But we’ve got a complication.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
I tell him what’s about to go on over there at Bella Linda. “I just came back to get something Mom forgot. Look, why don’t you go over there with me? Surpise Mom?” He hesitates, says he’s not exactly dressed for a wedding. And he isn’t—not for this shindig: frayed gray sweatshirt, stained khaki pants. The guy looks a little down on his luck. “Tell you what,” I say. “Come on in. You might be able to wear something of my dad’s. It won’t be a perfect fit, but I think we can fix you up. We’d better hustle, though. The wedding’s supposed to start in another fifteen minutes.”
“And it’s
her
wedding, you said? I thought she was already married.”
“She and my dad are divorced,” I tell him. “This is her second marriage. I’ll tell you about it on the way over. Come on in.”
Dad’s clothes don’t work out after all; his suit pants are swimming around the guy’s ankles, and the waist is way too big. But I get another idea. I’m shorter than Dad, and narrower at the waist. I start taking off the suit I’m wearing, my shirt and tie. We’re already going to be a little late getting back there; what’s another couple of minutes? By the time I’m dressed in my uniform, he’s ready, too. Not a great fit, but it will do. “Think I can skip the tie?” he asks. “I’m not a big one on neckties.”
“No problem,” I tell him. “Come on. We’d better get over there.” We’re halfway down the stairs when I remember the goddamned rings. “Go on out,” I tell him. “I’ll be right there.” But when I come down again, I find him looking around in the living room. He didn’t pocket anything, did he?
For the first few minutes of the drive over there, the conversation’s forced. I think of shit to ask him; he answers in single syllables. After I run out of questions, I turn on the radio to kill the silence. They’re playing some dipshit Madonna song. I can see out of the corner of my eye that he’s watching me. “So, uh . . . I didn’t see any car at the house. How did you get here?”
“Took the bus,” he says. “I been meaning to get over and see Annie for a while now, since I moved back to the area. Reconnect with her, you know? But jeeze, I never thought I’d be going to a wedding.” A gay wedding at that, I think. I guess I’d better prepare him. But while I’m trying to figure out how to put it, he says, “So you’re in the army, looks like.”
“Yeah. I’m stationed down in Texas. Fort Hood. I work in the V.A. hospital there. How about you? Ever in the service?”
“Me? Nah.” End of subject.
“And how is it you and my mom are related exactly? I know you’re cousins, but . . .”
“My mother and Annie’s father were sister and brother. So he was my uncle. Uncle Chick.”
“And you lived with them for a while, right? Mom’s family?”
“Yeah. I was kind of a hellion when I was a kid. My father had taken a powder, and Ma didn’t know what to do with me, so she farmed me out. She thought Uncle Chick could straighten me out. He’s dead now, isn’t he?”
“My grandfather? Yeah, he died before we were born. My two sisters and me, I mean. You’ll meet them today. They’re already over there.”
He nods. “Sad what happened to Uncle Chick. He never got over it after he lost Sunny and the baby. Started hitting the sauce. She was good people, Aunt Sunny. And then he lost Annie, too, on top of that. I was there the day the state came and got her. He took it hard. We both did. The two of us sat around the kitchen table and got shit-faced drunk. And then, pretty soon after that, I moved back to my mother’s. She and I visited him a couple of times, but he was always soused. So after a while, she cut him off. She’s dead now, too. But yeah, that was the last time I saw Annie. When they drove her away in that state car.”
“Mom doesn’t talk much about her childhood, but it must have been rough. All those losses. . . . But hey, you’ll see another of your cousins today. My Uncle Donald and his wife are coming to the wedding.” The dashboard clock says 12:02. “Must already be there, in fact. We’re running a little late.”
“To tell you the truth, Donny and I never got along too much when I was living there. We were different types, and he wasn’t crazy about my staying with them. Cramped his style, I guess. But Annie and I, we were close. She used to hang all over me. Follow me from room to room. I used to take care of her. Make her supper, read her her stories. I used to spend more time with her than her brother or her father did.”
“It was good she had you there,” I say.
“Yup. Like I said, she and I were close.”
“Well, she’s going to be surprised to see you,” I tell him. “She was just saying last night that she didn’t even know if you were alive still or dead.”
“That so? Huh.”
When we’re within half a mile of the inn, I finally broach the subject. “So tell me. What’s your take on gay marriage?” I ask him.
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Why?”
“Because Mom’s marrying a woman.”
“No kidding.
Annie
is?”
“Uh-huh. You have a problem with that?”
Another shrug. “No, not really. She’s a big deal artist now, isn’t she?”
“Yeah, she’s pretty successful. She and her partner—the woman she’s marrying—live in New York.”
“Oh. Goes with the territory, I guess.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I’ve known a couple of artists over the years. Men, not women. And they were both fairies.” He turns toward me and smiles. Well, it’s more of a leer than a smile, I guess. I’m not sure I like this guy. He’s a little weird, and that eye patch is creeping me out a little. But hey, he saved her life that night. So I guess my sisters and I owe our lives to him, too. Not just Mom.
“Okay, we’re here,” I say, taking the turn into Bella Linda. The parking lot’s full now—New York plates, mostly. I find a space and park. We get out, and I hurry toward the front entrance with him behind me. “Where’s the fire?” he says. I don’t know. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all. Springing this big a surprise on Mom. Well, too late now if it isn’t. But it will be fine. Maybe Uncle Donald won’t be thrilled to see him, but I bet Mom will be.
W
hat time is it now?” I ask. Twelve fifteen, Ariane says. I turn to Viveca. “I still can’t believe I forgot our rings of all things. It’s just that my mind was going in a hundred different directions and—”
“Darling, it’s fine. You don’t need to keep apologizing.”
“That’s right,” the minister assures me. She wants us to call her Sally, not Reverend Croxford. “I’ve officiated at a lot of weddings over the years, and I can’t remember one of them that began on time.” I’ve talked to her over the phone a few times, read the things she sent us, but this is the first I’ve seen her in person. She’s a large, affable woman—very nice. “It’s a bride’s prerogative to keep the crowd waiting. This is very fashionable.”
“I just hope we’re not holding you up,” I say.
“Oh, no. I’ve got to go to my grandson’s birthday party at six tonight, so as long as your son gets back before then, we’re fine.”
“Oh, I’m sure he’s not going to take—” I stop when I realize she’s kidding. Viveca reaches over and takes my hand, gives it a squeeze.
“Who needs a refill?” Marissa asks, grabbing the champagne bottle she’s gone downstairs and gotten so that we can all “chill.” Viveca has posted her at the front window of the suite; she’s keeping an eye out for Andrew.
“Just a splash,” Sally says. She’s the only taker.
Marissa obliges, then holds the bottle up to her face. “Might as well finish this off,” she says. She pours so much into her own glass that it spills over the top. Takes a slurp and goes back to her post. “Okay, here he is,” she says. “God, he changed? No wonder it took him so long. Who’s that with him?” Ariane volunteers to go down and get the rings.
“Ask him if he’d like to come up and join us,” Viveca says. “Maybe he’d like to escort your mother and me into the ceremony.” I remind her that he’s already said he’d rather not be in the wedding party. “I know, sweetheart, but maybe he’s changed his mind.” I shake my head. Suggest that we leave things the way they are. “All right then, sure. It was just a thought.”
When Ariane comes back, she gives the rings to Marissa. That’s the plan. Per the Unitarian Universalist wedding ceremony, Ari will light the chalice and her sister will present the rings. “Any last-minute questions?” Sally asks. When we shake our heads, she smiles and stands. Straightens the white robe she’s wearing and picks up her book. “Okay then, I guess we’re good to go. I’ll go down and give the musicians their cue. And by the way, may I say that you are two of the loveliest brides I’ve ever seen. See you down there. Good luck.” And with that, she’s out the door.
“She’s wonderful,” Viveca says. “I know I was skeptical about a religious ceremony at first, Anna, but I’m glad you prevailed. If we could take her back to the city with us, I just might start going to services myself.” When she suggests that we give ourselves a final check, I follow her to the floor-length mirror and stand behind her.
She looks stunning in her ivory floor-length sheath. I love that slash of coral at the neckline and her matching coral lipstick. It accentuates her Mediterranean complexion. I like this dress of hers even better than the Gaia gown I co-opted for my
Titan Brides
piece. I still can’t believe how gracious she was when she got back from her trip and saw that I’d made art out of that expensive designer dress. Why has she picked me to love? I don’t deserve her, but I love her so much. “Help me,” I said last night, and she came.
“Your turn, darling,” she says, stepping aside. And then it’s me in the mirror. Viveca was right: my dress is too informal. Too youthful for someone my age. Someone with this middle-aged face. When I put it on this morning, I was so pleased with myself, but now I see how wrong it is. Well, too late now. This is who she’s getting.
Ariane hands us our bouquets and Marissa chugs the rest of her champagne. We walk out of the suite. Waiting at the top of the stairs, we hear the crowd and, over it, the signal—they’re playing the Brahms. The girls start down. When they near the bottom, Viveca transfers her bouquet from her right hand to her left and takes my hand. “Let’s go,” she says, and we start down the stairs together.
The room is full. Everyone stands and turns as we enter. Where’s Andrew? I can’t find him. Oh, there he is, in the second row from the back. And Marissa’s right; he
has
changed. He’s wearing his uniform. As we make our way down the center aisle, Viveca smiles, acknowledging this guest and that. Not me. I’m looking straight ahead at the minister up in front—focusing on her bright, encouraging smile. When we reach her, she whispers that we should turn around and face our loved ones.
“Love, with all its glories and mysteries, is a gift for which we are grateful,” she begins. “And so we light our chalice in honor of the love that burns between Anna and Viveca.” Ariane moves toward it, matches in hand. It’s different from the chalice the priests use at Mass. More like a bowl than a Holy Grail. Ari lights the match on the third strike. Lights the candle.
“Today we gather in community to witness Anna and Viveca pledge a covenant of sacred matrimony,” Sally continues. It would have been nice if Andrew had wanted to stand up here with us, but I understand. I’m just glad he’s here. “Marriage embodies all the precious values arising from human companionship. Love is generous and . . .”
I try to stay focused on the words, but I’m distracted. My brother and Mimsy are in the second row, next to Marcus and Lorenzo in their beautifully tailored suits. It looks like Mimsy’s put on some weight. And wasn’t Donald’s hair grayer the last time I saw him? Is he dyeing it now?
“Love nourishes but does not possess. It . . .”
I scan the crowd for Orion. I thought maybe he’d change his mind, but of course he hasn’t. Why would he? Still, if he
had
come, then everyone I love would be here in this same room with me. With us. . . . There’s Mr. Agnello and his son, four rows back. What’s the son’s name? When I was talking before to them, Mr. Agnello said he still paints every day. Remarkable. . . . And there, on the opposite side, are Hector, Minnie, and Africa. Africa sticks a finger up his nose, and when Minnie sees it, she reaches over and swats the back of his head. I smile, grateful that they’re here. Grateful, too, for Viveca’s attention to detail. Everything is so beautiful: the music, the flowers, the way the room is decorated. She insisted on those calla lilies, and here they are. It’s all perfect.
“In love, we affirm one another, but we do not dominate.”
I recognize several of Viveca’s guests—people I’ve met at dinner parties and openings at her gallery. And there’s Carolyn, Viveca’s assistant. That must be her husband sitting beside her. I’m glad they’ve weathered his affair. The man sitting next to Andrew whispers something and Andrew nods in reply. He doesn’t look familiar. If I had met him, I would have remembered that eye patch. Probably one of Viveca’s eccentric millionaire clients. . . .
I catch the tail end of the minister’s reading of that Buddhist prayer I liked. Have I missed that excerpt from
The Prophet
she was planning to read—the one that Viveca and I were supposed to discuss but never did?
“Anna and Viveca, please turn to each other and join hands as you declare your intent.” Ariane takes our bouquets from us and we do as the minister says. “And now, Anna, will you please repeat after me?”
My voice sounds softer and more tentative than I’d intended. “I, Anna, join with you, Viveca, in the covenant of marriage.” I wish Viveca had gone first. But sentence by sentence, I repeat the rest, careful not to make any mistakes. In contrast to my shaky recitation, Viveca declares her vows in a voice that’s strong and sure.
“Do we have the rings?” Sally asks, turning to Marissa.
Marissa? Wake up.
“Oh, sorry,” she says. She puts down her bouquet, then upends the velvet bag. Our wedding rings fall onto the palm of her hand. When she gives them to Viveca and me, we slip them onto each other’s finger. Sally smiles and speaks about circles of love.
“And so, what love has brought together, let no one break asunder. For as much as you, Anna and Viveca, have consented to live together in marriage, and have declared the same by this giving and receiving of rings, it is with great pleasure, and by the authority vested in me as a Minister in the State of Connecticut, that I pronounce you wife and wife. I now invite you to seal your marriage with a kiss.” Viveca leans in, wet-eyed. Her lips on mine feel tender and loving. Our kiss lasts a few more seconds than might be necessary, but that’s okay. I love her, want to keep kissing her because this, more than the rings or the minister’s words, is what makes me feel married. The room breaks out in applause. I turn and face them, all these happy faces. Everyone is smiling at us except my son.
The innkeeper steps forward and invites everyone to proceed to the Lavender Room for drinks and canapés while we pose for pictures. “And our wedding couple will join you all in just a few moments.”
At the back of the room, I watch Andrew file out with the others. “Want me to go get him?” Marissa asks. I tell her no. He probably needs a drink more than he needs to have his picture taken. The photographer Viveca has imported from New York arranges us the way he wants us and begins to snap away. After he’s finished, Viveca gives him further instructions about how she’d like him to photograph the reception.
When we rejoin the gathering for cocktails, there’s another round of applause. Viveca and I smile, receive hugs and kisses, best wishes. A waitress appears with champagne in the special flutes Viveca’s bought at Tiffany’s. The telltale grogginess I’ve felt from that Xanax last night has finally worn off, so I take a sip. It’s dry and delicious. Viveca certainly knows her wine.
Minnie approaches shyly, with Africa clinging to her leg. Hector’s behind them. “I ain’t ever been to a wedding this fancy before,” Minnie tells us. “Them flowers are so pretty.” It makes me wish I’d thought to order her a corsage. “Here,” I say, handing her my bouquet. “These are for you.” When she tries to refuse, I tell her I insist. She takes it in one hand and covers her toothless grin with the other. Then she turns to Africa. “Well? What do you say to Miz Anna and Miz Viveca?”
“ ’Gratulations,” he says. I bend down and, taking him in my arms, plant a kiss on his forehead. “Thank you, sweetheart,” I say. He wipes off the kiss as soon as I release him. Hector comes forward and says something to Viveca and me in Spanish—a blessing, I think it is. When he leans in to give Viveca a kiss, she turns her head so far to the side that his lips land on her ear. I reach out and take his rough hands in mine. He kisses me on the cheek.
And now here come Donald and Mimsy. We hug. They hug the girls. I introduce them to Viveca, Hector, and Minnie. “Pietro!” Viveca calls, signaling the photographer. He hurries over and takes a group shot.
“Hey, Africa, did you by any chance have chocolate chip pancakes this morning for breakfast?” Marissa asks.
The boy’s eyes widen. “How you know that?” he asks.
She tells him she has magical powers. That she knows all and sees all.
“Pfft,” Africa says. “You ain’t got no magic powers. You just a lady.”
“Oh, yeah? Then how come I know that you like soda? And that you would love one right now? Am I right?” He nods, a little less convinced that Marissa is just some mere mortal. “Better come with me then,” she says. When Africa looks up at his mother, she nods permission. Marissa takes his hand and leads him toward the bar.
“If that niece of mine is all-knowing, how come she didn’t realize I could use a scotch?” Donald quips. “Ladies?” Mimsy says she’d like a Manhattan and Ariane requests a ginger ale. Ari’s starting to show, but that loose dress she’s wearing conceals her bump. Well, I guess it’s up to her to tell her aunt and uncle her news. “Minnie? Something to drink?” Don asks. She shakes her head, but when he asks her if she’s sure, she asks how much they cost.
“They’re free,” I whisper. “It’s open bar.”
“Oh, okay then. Gin and ginger.”
My brother winces a little, but I don’t think Minnie’s caught it. “Sure thing,” he says. “Minnie, maybe you’d better give me a hand, huh? If I try to carry four glasses, they’re going to need a mop.”
Minnie nods. Looks hesitantly at the bouquet I’ve given her. When Ari suggests she put it down on the side table, she does. “Don’t let nobody take it,” she says, and Ari promises she’ll watch it like a hawk. As she and Donald head off toward the bar, Ariane asks Mimsy if Donald has started dyeing his hair.
“Oh yes,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I talked him out of buying the sports car but not the Grecian Formula.”
The three of us share a mischievous giggle. I look to see if Viveca’s amused, too, but she’s busy surveying the crowd. “Would you ladies excuse me?” she says. “I think I’d better work the room a little. There are a few people I really should acknowledge. Do you mind, darling?” I tell her no. Ask her if she needs me to go with her. “No, no. You stay here and enjoy your family. We can do a little table-hopping later during the luncheon.” And with that, she starts across the room.
I watch as she stops to embrace Andrew who’s coming toward us. He returns her hug, stiff as a board. Ariane’s watching, too. “How do you think he’s doing?” I ask. Fine, she says, but she doesn’t get why he changed when he went back to the house. I shrug. Suggest that maybe it makes him feel a little more secure. Viveca moves on and that man with the eye patch approaches Andrew, holding two beers. He hands him one and they clink their bottles. Either Andrew’s made a new friend or else he can’t shake this guy.
“Hey there, soldier boy,” I hear my brother say as he approaches Andrew, his booming voice carrying over the noise of the crowd. Andrew introduces his uncle to his new friend, and my brother says, “Well, I’ll be a son of a bitch! Good god, how long has it been?” He shakes the man’s hand and pats him on the shoulder. They know each other? From business, must be. Donald does the tax returns for a lot of well-heeled businessmen. But still, it’s a coincidence. When I ask Mimsy if she knows him, she says no but that she only helps out at the office part-time.
