A Wedding in December_ A Novel - Anita Shreve [99]
Bridget saw the long dark hair, the white sweater and skirt. Melissa had driven herself across the state to attend her father’s wedding.
Bridget glanced up at Bill’s face, his eyes wide with the wonder of his daughter’s presence, the barely suppressed grin. She could think of no better gift to Bill than this: a sense of all the pieces of the puzzle in place; an absolution greater than any she or a priest could have granted. Melissa would cling to Bill at the reception and might even ignore Bridget altogether, but none of that would matter. The simple fact of Melissa’s arrival would be everything to this man who would, in about a minute and a half, be Bridget’s husband.
. . . life given to each of us as individuals . . .
When she had been a young woman, Bridget had imagined herself becoming Mrs. Ricci even before she had formally met the boy at Kidd. He’d been a senior and she a junior, and Bridget remembered watching him from afar, admiring the way he’d walk across the campus with his sports bag slung over his shoulder, back straight, face forward, a ready grin for everyone who crossed his path. Bridget had maneuvered her way into his life, often placing herself in his vicinity, and when that hadn’t worked, she’d cajoled a friend into making sure he would attend a school dance on a Friday night in late October of her junior year. Bridget didn’t exactly stalk Bill, but she knew that he was shy with girls and that the first move would have to be hers. She remembered clenching her fists, walking up to him, and asking him to dance to a song from the Jackson Five during which they wouldn’t have to talk. Indeed, they didn’t say much that night, the music and student chatter being so loud one had to shout to be heard.
After the dance was over, they left the student center and headed out into the raw coastal night. Both were sweating, and Bridget felt a chill immediately. Because she had worn only a sweater to the dance, Bill gave her his jacket. She remembered that they did not head directly back to her dorm, as would have been expected, but rather walked down the narrow path to the beach, using only moonlight to guide them. There they sat in the damp sand, Bridget ruining her new jeans, watching the tide advance slowly toward them. They’d talked then, but of what? Bridget couldn’t remember now. Mostly what she remembered was how it felt to sit beside this boy she had been dreaming about for weeks.
It was, she thought now, a story without drama, a story that doubtless had been repeated hundreds of times that fall on campuses everywhere. Two kids who sensed they ought to be together managed to find each other. Bill did not kiss her that night, but before the week was out, they had snuck once more down onto the beach and had become lovers. The speed with which she had allowed Bill to make love to her might have frightened another girl, made her proceed with caution, but Bridget felt no guilt, no remorse, no need to slow down. That she and Bill had come together in the most primitive sense of the word had felt absolutely right.
There was a small silence now from the justice of the peace and a nod in Matt’s direction. With a quick fumble in his pocket, the boy produced the rings and presented them on his sweaty palm. The justice took them from him and gave one to Bridget, one to Bill.
. . . The outward and visible sign of the unbroken circle of love . . .
Just before she’d come down from the room, Bridget had slathered her hands with Vaseline Intensive Care Lotion so that Bill would have no trouble slipping her ring on. She’d been worried that her weight gain since they’d bought the rings might make the gold band stick at her knuckle. But Bill, with a light touch, accomplished his one and only task with ease.
. . . forsaking all others and holding only unto her? . . .
In a few seconds, she and Bill would be well and truly