At least, Ronnie thought, she would get her family together one last time, for one big party. A wedding! What could be happier than that? She’d take lots of pictures; she’d send her children and grandchildren home with happy and hopefully lasting memories. And then she’d tell Paul Norman, who’d sold her the place years ago, that she was ready to let some new family enjoy this beautiful place.
Ronnie stroked through the water until it was shallow enough to stand. The sun was coming up, the water shading amber and gold, and she could catch flashes of the sandy bottom. Water weeds swayed in her wake; minnows flickered around her feet as she climbed slowly back onto the shore and stood, wringing out her hair, letting the water drip from the skirt of her swimsuit to soak the sand at her feet.
She dried off, got dressed, and drove slowly along the rutted dirt road until she could turn onto Route 6. At home, she spent her day puttering, planting new herbs in the kitchen garden, sorting through her books and collecting a bag of them to donate to the library. It had been close to fifty years since she’d published her last book, but her editor and, eventually, her editor’s assistant continued to send her galleys of new novels. First they’d hoped she’d offer an endorsement. Eventually, when so much time had passed that her name no longer meant anything, they’d just send her books they thought she’d like. Ronnie carried the bags out to the car. She’d moved on to the kitchen and was trying to unpick a mesh bag that had somehow gotten tangled in her garbage disposal （the glamorous life of a former bestselling author, she thought） when her phone buzzed on the counter.
Veronica breathed in deeply, sent up a brief prayer for strength, and hit the “answer” button. “Hello, Suzanne.”
“Is this really happening?” her sister demanded. “Is Ruby actually getting married?”
“It’s actually happening,” Ronnie confirmed.
“But she’s a baby!” said Suzanne.
“She’s twenty-two,” said Ronnie. “How old was Mom when she got married, nineteen?”
“That was a different time,” said Suzanne. “Is anyone going to try to talk some sense into her?”
“She’s in love,” Ronnie said, keeping her voice mild. “And Ruby’s always been stubborn. If someone tried to talk her out of it, do you think she’d listen?”
“So Sarah and Eli are just letting this happen? You’re just letting this happen? At your house? On your deck?”
“Suzanne,” Ronnie said patiently. “They’re both of age. If we told them no, they’d elope. And then where would we be? They’d still be married, and we wouldn’t even have the pleasure of a wedding.” And oh, how Ronnie was longing for the pleasure of that wedding! Dexter and Miles and Sam’s stepson, Connor, splashing in the pool, collecting hermit crabs on the beach. Sam and Sarah and Ruby in the kitchen with her, using Lee’s recipe for linguine with clam sauce; all of the adults playing Pictionary or Trivial Pursuit at night.
“Some pleasure,” Suzanne grumbled. “Watching a twenty-two-year-old child throw her life away.”
“Think of it this way: at least we’ll get some nice family pictures,” Ronnie said, as she triumphantly pulled the last bit of netting out of the drain.
“Hmph,” said her sister, and changed the subject to a mole on her forearm with irregular edges and how her dermatologist was working through a post-quarantine backlog of patients and couldn’t see her for months. Ronnie half paid attention, offering “mmms” and “ohs” and “that’s too bad” as she emptied the dishwasher, still lost in a fantasy of the whole family, together, eating steaks and fresh corn out on the deck, piling into the minivan for a trip to Longnook Beach, where the kids would bodysurf and boogie board. Swimming across the pond with her daughter and step-granddaughter alongside her. And Suzanne, she thought, frowning. Of course she’d have to invite Suzanne.
Ronnie and Suzanne had never been close. These days, her sister called her once a week, mostly to complain about her children, her various health ailments, and all the problems she and her husband were having with the house that their parents had left to Suzanne and Veronica, a recitation that included lots of hinting that Veronica had gotten the better part of the bargain by allowing Suzanne to buy her out. Suzanne was just three years older than Ronnie, but in Ronnie’s opinion, Suzanne and her husband, Matt, had gotten old a long time ago. They were always fretting about osteoporosis or a suspicious colonoscopy, forever sending her forwarded emails about how Barack Obama was actually a Muslim or how COVID was a government-engineered virus, or telling her about the last seniors-only bus trip they’d taken in endless, excruciating detail.