Baggage Check (6 page)

“We get pedicures every other week. And we have dinner just the two of us at least that often.”

“I know, but this is different. No one else understands my cravings like you do.”

“I don't understand them, Marci. I indulge them. There's a difference.”

Marci caught Rebecca's eye and shrugged slightly. Suzanne seemed firmly planted where she was, her giant sunglasses glinting in the late-afternoon sun and a stack of six or seven magazines next to her, beneath a bottle of ice water.

“What are you craving?” Rebecca asked, not sure how to help Marci but needing to make her presence known.

“You know, something greasy but not too greasy, and salty and a little bit sweet,” Marci said.

“Hmmm … I could always come with you,” Rebecca said. “When we figure out what you want, we can just pick up dinner for everyone.”

Suzanne sat up straight. She hated it when other people ordered her food—she was so picky about how things were prepared. “That's okay,” she said, “thanks, Rebecca, but I'll go with her. You should stay here and relax—you have to wait on people all the time at work. I was just going in anyway.”

When Suzanne had hurried in through the door to change, Marci gave Rebecca a smile. “Nice work,” she said. “Thanks.”

Rebecca shrugged. “No problem.”

They stood awkwardly there for a minute, each one apparently waiting for the other to go into the house first. They did this: traded niceties, traded occasional barbs, and then stood outside doorways, trying to decide who should go first into a room. It was exhausting.

“Please, go ahead,” Rebecca said.

So Marci did, brushing past with a forced smile and a hand at her lower belly.

Once Marci and Suzanne were gone, Rebecca texted Jake, and the guys arrived within moments. In his characteristic style, Dylan had managed to secure a shiny white Jeep from somewhere, so the three guys all looked ruddy and windblown as though they'd been on the island for days instead of hours. Dylan grinned at the girls as he signaled for the other two to get out. Jeff was out of the passenger's seat and sweeping little Kate into his arms in a flash.

“I missed you, baby,” he said.

“Jeff, it's only been a couple of days,” Kate said. “What's it going to be like when you guys are on tour?”

“You'll just have to come with us. You and Adrian.” Before she could answer, he was planting a kiss on her mouth that made Beth and Rebecca look first at one another, and then quickly back to the Jeep in embarrassment.

The horn sounded and Dylan yelled from the car, “Dude! You might be my best man, but that is still my baby sister!”

Behind her, Rebecca heard Kate whisper, “I missed you, too, babe.”

She stepped forward toward the Jeep to help unload. Climbing out of the backseat, Jake looked to Rebecca the same way he had in college, wearing a faded UGA T-shirt, worn khaki cargo shorts, and flip-flops. He even had a baseball hat on backward the way he always had when he had driven his own battered old Jeep around Athens. He was the kind of guy who was more at home eating hot dogs at a football game than a steak dinner at the country club. Even Marci, who was far from a slave to fashion herself, complained that she could never convince him to get rid of his ratty old clothes and buy anything new. You would never know he was in line to inherit a fortune of old textile money.

He pulled a battered black duffel and his camera equipment out of the car with practiced ease and kissed Beth and Rebecca each on the cheek on his way into the house. He lingered, or Rebecca imagined he lingered, for a split second with his lips against her cheek. He smelled like deodorant and soap, with a faint hint of beer on his breath, presumably from the plane.

She avoided Beth's gaze as Jake went inside and Dylan backed out of the driveway to park the car farther away, so Suzanne would not see it when she returned. If Beth had noticed anything in Jake's behavior or Rebecca's face, she said nothing.

The sun was already sinking in the sky, so the six of them worked quickly to get everything set up. Kate and Jeff giggled and kissed like teenagers in the kitchen while they set up food and drinks. These consisted mostly of microwave appetizers with bottles of champagne and beer in ice buckets. Each time she passed the two of them during the setup, Rebecca wondered whether this was the first time they had been away from Adrian since he was born six months before. It must have been hard to enjoy being newlyweds, Rebecca guessed, when you were three months pregnant walking down the aisle.

Outside, Jake and Dylan helped Rebecca set up the fishing poles in the sand and create a makeshift garland out of toilet paper. It took some practice because it ripped so easily, but soon they had a passable bough between the two poles and what looked like crepe paper streamers hanging down from each one. Beth had managed to find some wildflowers to tie up on each with dental floss, and Rebecca used the mason jars and cinnamon candles to create a path from the railroad ties to the spot on the beach. She lit them and hoped they would burn long enough to be visible when Suzanne and Marci got back. As the sun began to set, they all changed quickly into their nicest beach clothes, and waited on the back porch.

“You ready for this?” Jeff asked Dylan.

“Yep,” Dylan said simply. He wore pressed khaki shorts and a tan-and-white Hawaiian shirt. It was one of the few times Rebecca had seen him—in the media or in person—without his trademark camouflage hat. She noticed that he had a bit of a receding hairline, surprising for someone who was just twenty-seven. Normally larger than life, tonight Dylan Burke looked like an average guy.

They heard the car pull up out front, just as the sun began to dip below the horizon. It was perfect timing—the little scene they had created on the beach was bathed in orange light, with the mason jar candles flickering cheerfully along the path in the sand. Dylan, Jeff, and Jake hurried down the stairs and took their places beneath the streamers, while Kate, Beth, and Rebecca gathered up the extra wildflowers and listened at the door.

“Where is everyone?” Suzanne was saying irritably. “I told you we didn't need to get all this stuff—they obviously went out.”

“How would they go out? We had the car,” Marci said. Then she called loudly, “We're back!”

Beth, Rebecca, and Kate, huddled on the back porch, suppressed giggles and squeals, as though they were waiting outside the eighth-grade dance. Beth motioned for them to take a deep breath and calm down.

“I'm going to put this shirt in the washer before the ketchup sets, you klutz,” Suzanne said. “I still don't know how my sundress ended up in your car.”

“You're just that lucky,” Marci said, with just the right amount of sarcasm. She was the only person who could get away with talking to Suzanne like that. “Let's go out back.”

“What?”

“Let's go for a walk or something. Maybe the other girls are outside.”

“Go ahead, I'll catch up,” Suzanne said.

“Come with me!” Marci whined.

“What is with you?” Suzanne said. “You're so needy today, even for you. Even pregnant you.”

She could not hear what passed between them next, but Rebecca guessed Marci was running out of artifice, because Suzanne's next question was in a completely different tone. “Marci, what is going on?”

And then the doorknob turned. Suzanne stepped out of the beach house with a perplexed expression. Marci followed, and Beth handed each of them a loose bunch of flowers. “What?” Suzanne said. Then again. “What?”

Marci answered with a hug. “We love you.” And then, surprisingly, “It was Rebecca's idea.”

“But…,” Suzanne started, and then her eyes lit on Dylan, standing patiently on the beach next to a local judge whose teenage daughter would be getting ten front-row tickets to Dylan's next concert in Charleston. “But—”

“Just follow us,” Beth said, and began a slow stride down the wooden path.

As they filed into place opposite the guys, Marci leading a shocked Suzanne by the hand, the bride stopped a few feet back. She gaped at Dylan. “You're here,” she said softly.

“Yes, ma'am,” Dylan said, giving her a soft salute with two fingers.

“But…”

It was strange to see Suzanne in this state. Normally, she was the most polished and professional person any of them knew. She prepared for every contingency. Nothing surprised her. Ever.

Finally, Dylan took a step forward and took her hands in his. He extracted the bouquet of wildflowers from Suzanne and handed them to Marci.

“Listen, Scarlett, I'm going to be honest. We are probably going to have to do something that includes a bunch of other people—including our families and the press and everyone.

“But that will be for them, and to some extent for my job, and I know you will be gracious and go along with it. But tonight is for you. For us. No press, no chaos, just us. This will be what's real. This is the anniversary we will celebrate for the rest of our lives together. What do you think?”

Suzanne stood silent, staring.

“I mean, unless you've changed your mind?” Dylan said. “Afraid to take the plunge?”

The challenge seemed to bring her back to herself. “Dylan Burke, you know damn well I am not afraid of anything. You least of all.”

“That's my girl,” he said, and scooped an arm around her waist.

Marci sniffed loudly and tore a piece of the toilet paper garland with one hand. She passed pieces to the other three women, and they all dabbed at their eyes.

Dylan Burke and Suzanne Hamilton exchanged vows simply as the sun sank over the Atlantic. The groom and his groomsmen wore Hawaiian shirts, shorts, and flip-flops. The bride and her attendants wore various cotton sundresses and skirts they'd packed in case of a sporadic night out at a local Italian restaurant, which was as fancy as they'd expected the weekend to get. None of them had anticipated a wedding.

Suzanne had planned nearly every must-attend upscale event in Atlanta for the last five years, and had dedicated her life to making sure everything was perfect for her clients. Dylan had spent every waking moment since his teenage years in front of cameras, stage lights, and flashbulbs. And yet, here they were, at the wedding that would break the hearts of women everywhere, beneath toilet paper streamers strung between fishing poles. The portly judge gave the rites, after fast-tracking their marriage license. Rebecca snapped a few photos on a disposable underwater camera. It was perfect.

As Dylan reached for his new wife and gave her a soft kiss, Rebecca felt a thrill of pride that she had set this in motion. For once, her contribution to the group seemed to be more than just filling out a seat at happy hour. Though they hadn't always seen eye to eye, Rebecca had come to appreciate that Suzanne's quirkiness and snobbery hid a kind of sweet vulnerability. And while it had never been said by either of them, Rebecca thought maybe Suzanne was learning this same truth about her.

 

7

After sunset, they built a bonfire. Kate and Jeff brought out the buckets of beer and champagne, and paper plates overflowing with appetizers. The group sat on folding chairs and towels and chatted loosely, as though people got married on the spur of the moment every day. As though the groom weren't one of the most recognizable people in all of country music. Jake had brought out speakers, so they listened to music on his phone and stared out at the blackness of the ocean.

“Sorry to ruin your girls' weekend,” Dylan said to Suzanne, who looked more relaxed in the firelight than Rebecca even thought it possible for Suzanne to be.

“Sorry to ruin your big wedding,” she said, kicking his bare foot with hers.

“Do you want to hear your song?”

“What?”

“I've been writing a song for our wedding. It's not finished, but…”

Dylan picked up his guitar and began picking out a few chords. His voice was melodic and perfect, even without rehearsal. “Baby put your hair up, or wear it down, or shave your head…”

Suzanne shook her head and chuckled.

“We can go out dancing, to a ball game, or just stay home and rock the bed.”

Jeff whistled loudly, and then yelled, “Ow!” as Kate elbowed him in the ribs, nearly knocking him off a tiny fabric camp stool.

Dylan was unfazed. “Honey, I don't care, what you do or what you wear. You don't have to be perfect, because you're perfect for me.…”

Marci stood abruptly, glancing apologetically at Dylan. She clamped a hand over her mouth, turned, and sped toward the house. She only made it as far as the bushes, however, where she stopped to vomit loudly.

“Well, like I said, the song's not done yet,” Dylan said, smiling. “That's not exactly the reaction I was going for.”

Suzanne pulled him toward her by the sleeve. “I love it. I love you.”

The group broke into separate conversations as everyone began discussing the song and Marci's morning sickness that was apparently also midnight sickness.

Rebecca stood, stretched, and walked back down to the water, enjoying the sand under her feet. It had grown more overcast as evening came, and there was no moon. The night was inky black over the water. Except for the tiny waves at her feet lighted by the blaze, there was nothing to see but a few dim stars visible between the clouds. It felt like standing on the edge of nothing.

She felt him behind her before she saw him.

“Quite a night,” Jake said.

“Yes,” Rebecca said. A chill ran up her spine. She could not bring herself to turn around.

“I heard this was your idea,” he said.

“Well, sort of. I mean, I guess it was my idea but Beth did most of the planning.”

His hand on her bare shoulder was warm and strong. Rebecca sometimes forgot how little real human contact she had these days, aside from the bustling and jostling of the airport. For years, she had measured her life in increments of Jake: a smile, a phone call, a brush with his hand, a peck on the cheek. And for a few moments, four years ago … But that had been between his engagements to Marci—the disastrous first one, and the real one that stuck. Now, he belonged irrevocably to Marci, no matter what Rebecca's feelings were.