A Wedding in December_ A Novel - Anita Shreve [55]
Looking at Harrison, Bridget was reminded of moments with him at school. Once he had caught up to her as she was foolishly walking from Ford Hall to dinner in a blizzard without her jacket. He’d made a tent of his own jacket for both of them (she remembered, too, that the windows facing the ocean had been an opaque white from the frozen sea spray). She recalled Harrison giving a speech in his bid to become class treasurer. Pink Floyd had played “Money” in the background. She remembered as well the day Harrison had been beaned at home plate. He’d gone down like a shot despite the helmet. And of course she could not forget Harrison Branch at that last party at the beach, the tension between him and Stephen and Nora. She remembered, too, the awful final weeks when Harrison had retreated into himself and would not talk to anyone.
“I was stunned to get Bill’s e-mail,” Harrison said now, Harrison the only one of them who’d known Bill’s first wife, who had spent time with Jill. Bridget wanted to ask Harrison if Bill had seemed happy in his first marriage, what he’d been like with young children, facts Bridget had no way of knowing. But Agnes was at Harrison’s side now, and she was saying Bridget’s name. Agnes embraced Bridget fiercely, and Bridget was glad Agnes didn’t think her fragile. Agnes had aged more than Harrison. But mightn’t a weathered face indicate a richer life?
“My God, I can’t believe it’s you,” Agnes said.
(Is it me? Bridget wondered. Some of me? More of me?)
“It’s such a romantic story,” Agnes said. “Meeting up with Bill again after how many years?”
“Almost twenty-two.”
“It must have been . . . was it just, like, love at second sight? I went to that reunion, but I didn’t get there until Saturday.”
“It was a bit more complicated than that,” Bridget said, “but I think we both knew right away.”
“It’s such a wonderful, wonderful story,” Agnes repeated. “Life never works out that way, does it?”
It was an unanswerable question, because, of course, life had worked out that way. But here was Rob, kissing her on each cheek and introducing her to Josh. Then Jerry enveloped her in a bear hug and introduced Bridget to his wife, Julie. Bridget, at the center of a cluster of people—more popular than she’d ever been at Kidd—felt as though she’d just won an enormous prize.
And she thought then that perhaps she had. The prize the product of possibilities and near misses. Bill’s wife, Jill, coming down with the flu on the Thursday before the weekend-long reunion. Bill making the decision not to go himself. Jill talking him into it, saying that she’d be fine. Bill compromising by deciding to attend the Friday night cocktail party only. Bill wanting to have a drink with Jerry and Harrison and Rob and even their old English teacher, Jim Mitchell, who was putting in a surprise appearance. Bill’s software company had finally kicked into high gear, and he’d had a selfish, nearly childish, desire to tell his old friends about this thing he had made. Bill had driven to the Back Bay town house where the event was being held. Melissa, Bill’s daughter, who was seventeen at the time, was spending the night at a friend’s house. Jill had said she’d be fine with a cup of tea and a rare opportunity to have the remote to herself.
Bridget had gone to the cocktail party with her friend Anne, who was a legitimate member of the class of 1974 but who hadn’t the courage to walk in alone. Because many of Bridget’s friends—not to mention her old boyfriend—were from that class, Bridget had allowed herself to be talked into accompanying Anne. Bridget had thought she might see Nora or Agnes or Harrison, none of whom had attended the party. And, of course, Bridget had guessed she might see Bill. She was at least as