Save the Date (48 page)

Brooke hugged her knees to her chest. “I guess I’m looking for me too.”

“Oh God,” Cara groaned. “Spare me the existentialism.”

“I just wanted things to slow down a little, okay? I’ve been working all these hours for this trial coming up, and then Friday, my boss came in and said the other side had decided to settle out of court! It was like this huge load had been lifted. But I still had all the wedding stuff to contend with, and my dad and Patricia, and yes, even my mom, although she means well, it was all too, too much.”

Brooke studied Cara. “Haven’t you ever wanted to run away?”

“Sure,” Cara said. “All the time. Everybody wants to run away at some time or another.”

“But not everybody does.”

“True that.” Cara paused, trying to remember the speech she’d rehearsed on the ferryboat. “Harris and your mom are worried sick about you, Brooke. Your mom knows the pressure you’ve been under, and she told me she’s afraid you’ll hurt yourself.”

“Me?” Brooke looked shocked. “Mom thinks I’m suicidal?”

“She doesn’t know what to think. And Harris—he really loves you, Brooke. He broke down in tears when I talked to him. He blames himself for your leaving.”

“He did?” Brooke looked away.

“Why didn’t you just let them know you were going to take a few days off?” Cara asked. “They would have understood.”

Brooke was looking down at something on the floor. She lowered a fingertip to a plank, then lifted it up so Cara could see a tiny ladybug perched there.

“I didn’t plan to leave. I’d been dreading the bachelorette party. I’ve never understood why a girl feels the need to get dressed up in some stupid ‘I’m the Bride’ tiara and beauty-pageant sash and go riding around town with her girlfriends in a limo, getting shit-faced on candy-colored cocktails.”

“Then why have one?”

“Holly—she’s my best friend. And Harris’s sister. I couldn’t hurt her feelings and tell her I didn’t feel like going clubbing. It’s not normal to not want a bachelorette party. Finally, I made myself put on my game face. I was almost ready when I got a text from a number I didn’t recognize. There was no message, just a link.”

“To Harris’s Facebook page,” Cara said. “And the stripper photos.”

Brooke’s head bent over the ladybug, who was beetling her way up her wrist.

“We had another fight about the bachelor party Friday morning, before I left for work. Harris offered not to go—said he’d stay home if it was going to make me that upset. Which made me even angrier. I knew all the guys would blame
me
if Harris didn’t go, and they’d say he was pussy-whipped.”

“Damned if you do, damned if you don’t,” Cara said.

“He sent me a beautiful bouquet of flowers at work Friday, with the sweetest note, apologizing again and telling me how much he loved me.” Brooke’s face softened.

“He sent you flowers from another florist?” Cara said indignantly.

“He’s a guy. I’m sure he got his secretary to send the flowers,” Brooke said. “Anyway, so then I was feeling guilty about making him feel guilty, but I was still dreading going out. And then that text came Saturday afternoon. And I saw those pictures of him—with that woman—riding him—with her boobs pushed up in his face.…”

“I saw the pictures too, Brooke. He was drunk. So drunk he passed out in the van afterward.”

“Harris told you that? Is he the one who told you the pictures were on Facebook?” She buried her head in her arms. “Did everybody in Savannah see them?”

“Layne, your caterer, saw them, and she sent me the link. Harris deleted the pictures as soon as he found out his friend Mike Bingham had posted them. Brooke? Did you ever figure out who texted you with the Facebook link?”

“No.” She looked up. “I deleted it afterward. Does it matter? Somebody would have told me sooner or later anyway.”

Cara felt herself grinding her back molars. “I have a pretty good idea who wanted to make sure you saw them.”

“Who?”

“I can’t prove it, but I bet Cullen Kane was behind it.”

“The florist? The one Patricia wanted to hire?”

“That’s the one. He’ll do anything he can to mess with me.”

“I don’t get it,” Brooke said.

“It’s a long story. But let’s get back to you. That’s why you left? Because of the photos?”

“Yes.” She held her right hand up to her left and let the ladybug cross over the fingertip bridge. There was a faint band of pale skin where her engagement ring had been. “Honestly? No. That’s the lie I told myself the whole drive down here. I thought I wanted to hurt Harris as much as he’d hurt me. I decided I’d come over here, stay a couple nights at Loblolly, and then go back and get married.”

“You can still go back and get married. Harris won’t care where you’ve been. He just wants you to come back.”

Brooke shook her head. “It’s too late for that now. I can’t marry Harris. I won’t marry him.” She looked over at Cara. “And nothing you can say is going to change my mind.”

She tilted her right hand slightly, and the ladybug nimbly transitioned into the palm of her hand. Brooke stood up and leaned over the wooden railing. She raised her palm to her lips and blew gently.

60

Brooke sat back down and looked at the thin gold watch on her wrist. “If you leave now, you can still make the afternoon ferry back to St. Marys.”

Cara’s mind was working frantically. Where was that rational, well-planned speech she’d rehearsed? All she could think of was—why? Why not marry sweet, lovely, loving, wealthy, wonderful Harris Strayhorn? Why not return to her loving family in Savannah? Why not beg forgiveness and get on with a wedding that might mean the difference between financial success or suicide for Cara Mia Kryzik?

Her mind went haywire. So she asked the burning question.

“Are you sleeping with Pete?”

Brooke looked up at her through lowered eyelashes. She had such long, luxurious dark lashes, Cara had major lash envy.

“Who wants to know?”

“I do. It might help me understand what’s going through your head right now.”

“I wanted to sleep with Pete. That first night in his cabin, I tried to seduce him. Does that shock you?”

“A little,” Cara admitted. “What happened?”

“He turned me down. He was the perfect gentleman. Pretty depressing, huh? I mean, you’re alone on an island. You’re naked. Well, I was naked. He was dressed in some kind of ranger boxers. And then nothing. Zero. He wouldn’t even kiss me. Just patted me on the head and suggested I might be more comfortable if he took the sofa.”

Cara couldn’t help herself. She just blurted it out. “Is he gay?”

“He says not.” Brooke giggled. “And, um, from the looks of his boxers that night, I’d say he’s not immune to feminine wiles.”

“What did he say?”

“Oh, the usual. ‘I care too much about you to let you do something you might regret in the morning.’ And then there was ‘I wouldn’t feel right about sleeping with another man’s fiancée.’ And let’s not forget the old ‘I don’t believe in rebound sex.’”

Brooke sighed dramatically. “What is it with me and nice guys? Harris is nice. Pete is nice. I’ve never dated a not-nice guy. Just once in my life, I’d really like to go to the dark side. You know, do it with some really smoking hot, gnarly semicriminal bad boy.”

“Who
are
you?” Cara gave her a quizzical look. “What happened to the sedate, conservative, dark-suit-wearing debutante lady lawyer from Savannah? Did they give you some kind of mystic Indian Kool-Aid when you got off the ferryboat Saturday? Because this is totally not the Brooke Trapnell I know.”

“That’s sort of the root of my problem,” Brooke said. “You asked me earlier why I left. I’m just beginning to figure that out. I do know it’s not because Harris went to some titty show. It’s not because I want to punish my dad and Patricia for pushing me into a giant wedding that I didn’t really want. And it’s not because I’m in love with Pete Haynes. Although yeah, I’ll admit I’m attracted to him. Which in itself should be a reason not to get married to Harris, don’t you think?”

“Do you love Harris? I mean, really love him?” Cara asked.

“I thought I did,” Brooke said softly. “I knew I
should
love him. Harris is perfect for me, right? So why was I having panic attacks in the middle of the night? And throwing up every morning? Why did I deliberately miss those dress fittings and portrait sittings?”

Now
, thought Cara.
Now is the time to tell her how normal it is to have doubts and fears and panic attacks. Tell her about the hairless Chihuahua bride, or the girl who lost so much weight her mother ended up force-feeding her Ensure every day for two weeks before the wedding. Tell her this is all perfectly normal, and then drag her butt back to Savannah and collect her daddy’s check.

“The wedding is still two weeks off,” Cara pointed out. “Maybe if you come home, let Harris know that you’re feeling confused and unsettled, or speak to a therapist, go to couple’s counseling or something, you’ll realize that this is all just a severe case of pre-wedding jitters.”

“Is that what you’d do?” Brooke asked, regarding Cara carefully. “If you were me, knowing what you know about what I’m feeling and what I’ve done, would you go back to Savannah and go through with the wedding anyway?”

“Dammit, that is not a fair question,” Cara said.

“Sure it is. You’ve been married. And divorced. You’ve seen what, a couple hundred weddings up close and personal? You’re battle-scarred. So tell me, what would you do?”

“I guess … I guess maybe I’d try to find a graceful way out of this mess. There’s no way to do this without hurting people you care about, but from what you’ve told me, I don’t think you should marry Harris. Not now, anyway.”

Brooke nodded and reached over and squeezed Cara’s hands. “Thank you for being honest with me. And for not ratting me out to anybody.”

“You have to talk to Harris right away,” Cara said. “He’s in agony. And so is your mom.”

“I know. And my dad too.” She winced. “What’s Dad’s reaction to all this drama?”

“He was getting ready to hire a private detective to track you down and bring you home, but your mother managed to talk him out of it,” Cara said.

“That sounds like Warden Gordon, all right.”

They both laughed, and then Brooke stood up and dusted off the seat of her shorts. She pulled Cara to her feet, too.

“Will you go back with me? And talk to Harris face-to-face?” Cara asked, as Brooke lowered herself onto the top rung of the foot ladder.

Brooke hesitated, then shook her head. “I can’t. If I go back, Harris will probably succeed in talking me into going through with the wedding. And I just can’t risk that. It’s the coward’s way out, I know.”

Cara dropped her backpack to the ground, and then climbed down after Brooke.

“What will you do?” Cara asked. “Savannah’s a pretty small town. It’s going to cause quite a stir when word gets out that you jilted Harris.”

“Ow,” Brooke said. “Jilted. It sounds so cruel.”

“I tell it like I see it,” Cara replied. “Remember, it’s not just Harris who’s going to be devastated. You say his sister is your best friend, and his parents adore you … I’m not trying to guilt-trip you, Brooke, but you need to be aware of what the consequences will be. For everybody involved.”

“I’m fully aware,” Brooke said calmly. “I borrowed Pete’s computer and emailed my boss this morning and resigned from the law firm. Cell-phone service here most days seems to depend on which way the wind is blowing. I guess maybe I’ll catch the ferry back with you this afternoon and try to call Harris tonight, when he gets home from work. I need to get some more clean clothes from my car, anyway. I’ll call Mom and Dad too.”

“Attagirl,” Cara said. “And then what?”

Brooke shrugged. “Who knows? I can’t stay with Pete too much longer, that’s for sure. Park Service regulations.” She made a face. “I do love it down here, though. I’d like to see if I could rent one of the little caretaker’s cottages on the north end for two or three months. Just hang out and chill. See if I can make my brain and body slow down long enough to enjoy life. I want to spend fall on the island. It’s my favorite time to be on Cumberland. Mom knows people, so maybe she could get me the hookup.”

“And after the fall?” Cara asked. They were walking in the direction of Loblolly, where Cara had left her bike. The horses were gone now, and the sky had started to cloud up.

Brooke wasn’t listening. She was looking down at the spot Cara had excavated, and in the next moment, she was kneeling on the ground, brushing sand away from the Loblolly threshold. “Hmm?”

Cara walked her bike over. “I said, what will you do after the fall? How will you make a living?”

Brooke looked up. “I’ll figure that out, right after I figure out me. Who knows? Maybe I’ll hang up a shingle in St. Marys. There must be somebody over there who needs suing, right?”

“Right.”

A wide, mischievous grin lit up Brooke’s face. “I’ll start with the Park Service.”

61

Bert was seated on the living-room floor in what looked like the lotus position, his hands palm-up, resting lightly on his knees. He opened his eyes when he heard Cara come clomping up the steps from the shop.

“How did it go?” he asked. “Did you manage to lasso the runaway bride?”

“No.” Cara dropped her backpack on the floor and collapsed onto the sofa. Poppy took that as the signal to rest her muzzle in Cara’s lap, nudging Cara’s hand until she obliged with a head scratch.

“The wedding is off. Brooke called Harris and her parents this afternoon to let them know where she is and to say that she’s not coming back.”

“Oh, wow. Major bummer.”

Cara looked idly around the room. Bert had managed to pack up everything from her bookshelves, and now boxes lined the living-room wall. “What exactly are you doing?” she asked.

“Yoga. My AA sponsor says sober means sober, so no more drugs. He says the yoga will help with keeping me grounded and quitting the weed.”

“Sounds good. How long have you been doing yoga?”

“Counting this morning, twice. It’s very relaxing. You should try it.”