A Wedding in December_ A Novel - Anita Shreve [133]
Tell me a story, she had said.
Harrison opened his trunk and tossed in his bag. He heard a commotion behind him and turned to look. A couple, surrounded by friends and family, was on its way from the inn to a waiting car, the car done up in tin cans attached to the rear bumper, colored streamers wet and clinging to the hood. Harrison had only a glimpse of the couple, who must, he thought, be the bride and groom of the Karola-Jungbacker party, the parallel wedding to that of Bill and Bridget. Casually dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, her body small and lithe, the young bride skipped down the steps, flashing a lovely smile and stopping to hug a friend. The groom had his hand on her back, as if guiding her to their new life. Solidly built and wearing a sweatshirt that read DARTMOUTH across the front, he turned to shake a hand. His back was thumped, and he laughed. A man in the crowd with a movie camera called out, Over here, Ian. Look over here. Harrison heard other cries rising aloft from the send-off.
Be good, someone said.
Don’t be good, said another.
From the doorway, Nora waved. Harrison didn’t know if the wave was for himself or for the couple, and not knowing, Harrison waved back. A small movement of his hand that might have gone unnoticed.
The groom helped the bride into the car and started the engine. Harrison watched as the vehicle, tin cans tumbling noisily, made its way around the circular drive and passed by him. The young woman, still smiling, glanced at Harrison, and he smiled back.
They had it all before them, he thought. Uncommon beauty. Thrilling risk. The love of children. A sense of rupture. A diagnosis. Relief from pain. Great love. Betrayal. Grand catastrophe.
When he turned to open the door to the Taurus, he suddenly felt quite hollowed out. For a minute, he couldn’t breathe. He hadn’t anticipated how much it hurt physically to be separated from Nora.
Leaving might be all wrong, he thought—all wrong for all the right reasons. He glanced up at the entrance to the inn, but Nora had gone inside.
Would it be possible to start again? he wondered. Could he and Nora rewrite their own history? Bill and Bridget had done so. Might he and Nora make a life together after all these years?
He felt a wild recklessness within him.
Charlie, he thought. Tom.
Harrison leaned against the door and waited just a moment longer.
Acknowledgments
I have many people to thank. Katherine Clemans, natural-born editor. Chris Clemans, who introduced me to the joys of baseball. Molly Osborn, who talked to me about field hockey. Celeste Cooper, with whom I love to brainstorm. Elinor Lipman, dear friend, literary and otherwise. Jennifer Rudolph Walsh, to whom I owe so much. Michael Pietsch, beloved captain of the ship. Asya Muchnick, whose sharp eye and gentle nature I much appreciated. Heather Fain, who makes the public side of the writing life so much easier to bear. Karen Landry, who appears to love baseball even more than I do. And John Osborn, who always sees the bigger picture.
Most of all, however, I would like to thank my father, Richard Shreve, to whom this book is dedicated, for persuading me and my sisters, Janet Martland and Betsy Shreve-Gibb, that we could be or do anything if only we tried hard enough. Sometimes life taught us otherwise, but we never wanted to let him down.
About the Author
Anita Shreve is the author of the acclaimed novels Eden Close, Strange Fits of Passion, Where or When, Resistance, The Weight of Water, The Pilot’s Wife, Fortune’s Rocks, The Last Time They Met, Sea Glass, All He Ever Wanted, and Light on Snow. She lives in Massachusetts.