A Wedding in December_ A Novel - Anita Shreve [52]
“Love it,” Rob said. “We’re in the South End. Great restaurants. Of course, I’m never there. Or it seems like I’m never there.”
“Do you mind the touring?” Harrison asked, thinking of his own authors, the ones who whined about the touring and demanded the best hotels.
“Goes with the territory, doesn’t it,” Rob said amiably.
Harrison saw that Jerry’s wife, in white wool, had been marooned near the drinks table. “You guys need a refill?” he asked. “I’m getting another drink.”
Rob and Josh exchanged glances. “No, we’re good,” Josh said.
“Catch you later,” Rob said. “You’ll be there at dinner, right?”
“Yes, definitely.”
Harrison moved to the drinks table. He held his glass out to the bartender, who could tell from the dregs what Harrison had been drinking. “The same?” the bartender asked, and Harrison nodded.
“Hello,” Harrison said to Julie, holding out his hand. “I’m Harrison Branch. A classmate of Jerry’s.”
“I’m Julie,” she said, taking Harrison’s hand with the tips of her fingers. Julie, Harrison noted, was drinking water, too.
“You must be feeling lost,” he said.
“A little.” Julie’s long sleek hair suited her high cheekbones and wide eyes.
“It’s hard to be someplace at which you’re the one outsider,” Harrison said, taking the wineglass the bartender offered.
“A bit,” she said, still holding back.
“Let me see if I can make this simple,” Harrison said, turning to face the room. “All of the men here,” Harrison said, “except for Rob’s friend there in the black jacket, were on the baseball team together at Kidd. Bill and Jerry were roommates, but you probably already know that. Agnes and Nora, who owns the inn, were roommates. And Bridget and Bill were sweethearts. I think that’s everybody. Those two kids over there come with Bridget and Bill. One of the boys is Bridget’s son.”
“Thank you,” Julie said. “Where are you from?”
“Toronto. I work in publishing. And this one here,” Harrison added, snagging Agnes by the sleeve of her pink jacket, “is Agnes O’Connor. Have you two met?”
“Briefly,” Julie said.
Harrison watched as Agnes and Julie sized each other up. White cashmere. Off-the-rack wool blend.
“Where do you live in New York?” Agnes asked.
“We have an apartment in Tribeca,” Julie said coolly, and Harrison was fairly certain that Agnes did not know Tribeca.
Harrison wanted to ask Julie what she did, but the question, put to a woman, was always a loaded one. There was simply no good way to ask it. “Wonderful weather,” he said instead.
Agnes engaged Julie in a conversation about field hockey, an interest Harrison wouldn’t have guessed for Julie. Perhaps she had a daughter who played. He watched as the eleven in the room met and parted and circled back, the exclamations of surprise largely diminished now. Wishing himself away, he thought of returning to his room, coming down just in time for dinner. He felt the way he did at sales conferences when he longed for fresh air. He sensed a slight dullness in the room, as if everyone in it had had enough of Part One and wanted to get on with Part Two. But Part Two couldn’t begin, Harrison realized, without Bridget. He’d been aware of Bill’s absences, off and on, sometimes for long periods. Harrison glanced around the room, searching for Nora. He spotted her through a set of double doors that led to a private dining room. He could see a table set with white dishes. Lit candles. White flowers.
“Is Bridget all right?” he asked when he entered the room. Nora was inspecting the silverware.
“She’ll be here in a minute,” Nora said. “Do you want another drink?” she asked, looking at his empty glass.
“No. Thank you. I’ve had quite enough for now.”
“The wines at dinner will be very good.”
“You’re a sort of choreographer.”
“I . . . I suppose.”
Harrison studied Nora’s face. “Tell me a story,” he said suddenly, surprising both of them.
“Which one?”
“The one about being married to Carl Laski.”
“That would be a