“Okay, well, let’s pretend I’m working very hard to convince you to leave.” She put her hands on her hips.
“No one owns the ocean,” I said.
“True enough.”
“I just want to make sure I’m in every shot of the ceremony.”
“Oh, you will be,” Hannah said. “They’ll photoshop you out, of course.”
I shrugged. “It’s worth it.”
“Anything else I should know about?”
“There may be some music.” I pulled a little speaker out of my pocket. “The guy at Verizon said it was the loudest one.”
“I see. Got a playlist?”
“？‘Night on Bald Mountain,’ ‘Phantom of the Opera.’ That organ song by Bach. I googled ‘scariest songs.’？”
Hannah glanced back at the wedding, where a sea of phones, as well as the famous photographer, were photographing me. “You gonna stay till the tide comes back in?”
“I’m not sure yet. As you say, it’s a gorgeous day.”
Hannah sighed. “Okay, I’m going to go back, exasperated but helpless to make you leave. I’ll say you’re a performance artist.”
“Thanks, Han. Snag me some food for later.”
My sister smiled reluctantly. “I’ll see what I can do. Talk to you tomorrow, no doubt.”
“You bet.”
My sister turned, threw up her hands in fake frustration, and walked back, picked up her shoes and approached the unhappy couple.
Whatever she said, it worked. No one came out to arrest me, and even if they had, I knew and liked every cop on the force, especially the three I’d babysat way back when. I turned on the music—the theme from Prometheus was the first song up. Oh, yeah. Nice and loud.
That’s how I watched my husband marry another woman. He glanced at me occasionally, probably glaring. I didn’t move, just stood there like an evil witch, until the sun went down and the tide started to come in. Then, under cover of darkness, I got off my bucket, took off my mask, scooped up my clams and walked back to Great Island Trail and to my car, where I changed back into jeans and a T-shirt.
* * *
A few hours later, I was relaxing at home with a nice glass of wine, garlicky clams in my tummy, feeling pretty damn smug. Aside from a little sunburn on my neck where the mask hadn’t reached, I was happier than I had been in months. Zeus was lying on my feet, keeping them warm.
Dylan had texted me three times today, all cheerful stuff about football and classes, and a few pictures, too, trying to distract me. Such a good, kind boy. I called him, and miraculously, he was free. My heart squeezed hard at the sound of his voice. We talked about football practices, his writing class, the cute girl who lived on his floor, his roommate’s horrible taste in music. And then . . .
“You okay, Mom?”
I knew what he was asking. “Yeah! I had a really nice day, actually. Dug some clams.”
“I sure miss your cooking.” He paused. “I meant about Dad’s wedding.”
“I know. I’m fine, honey. What about you?”
“Not so fine. I hope it rained.”
“Unfortunately, no.” We were quiet for a few seconds. “I can’t wait for you to meet Zeus,” I said. “You’ll love him.”
“I already do. Send me some more pictures, okay?”
“You bet.”
“Okay. Well . . . take care, Mom. Love you.”
“Love you, too, sweetheart. So much. Have a nice night, Dyllie.”
“You too.”
I clicked off with a bittersweet sigh. Took another sip of wine.
It was so different, living here without husband or son. Everywhere I looked, I saw how Brad and I had changed the house, taking it from a musty little cottage to a sunny, charming three-story home. I remembered Dylan at age five, peeking down at us from the balcony, grinning, spying on us when he should have been asleep. Slipping into bed after delivering a baby late on a winter night, the warmth and good smell of my husband, how his arm would drape over me. Cooking and laughing in our funky kitchen downstairs, eating at the table or on the porch. Anyone looking in would have seen our happiness.
You’re damn right I ruined his wedding.
Around 1:00 a.m., Brad sent me an email, as I had known he would.
Do you know how upset you made Melissa??? YOU are going to have to pay the extra money so the photographer can fix our photos! I will send you the bill and take you to small claims court if you don’t pay. Dylan would be ashamed of you! By the way, it doesn’t even matter. Nothing could have, because I am with the woman of my dreams. I have never been happier, and incidentally, the sex is unbelievable.