Marrying Daisy Bellamy (12 page)

Julian's mother looked beautiful, perfectly dressed in a black sheath and veiled hat. From what Julian had told Daisy of his upbringing, she hadn't exactly been the model parent, but behind the veil, new lines etched her face.

Daisy sat one row from the front. She didn't really look around, simply sat frozen, trying not to shatter into a million tiny pieces on the floor. The pallbearers, perfectly uniformed and achingly somber, brought in the flag-draped coffin. All she could think about was that it was empty. There was no part of Julian left in the world.

She closed her ears to the music because every note chipped away at her heart. A poem was read—“Breathe soft, Ye winds, Ye waves in silence rest.” She shut her eyes, trying not to picture the deep waters that had taken Julian away, trying not to wish she could somehow follow him. She cast a desperate glance at Charlie, in Sonnet's lap. He was her anchor, the one thing keeping her here.

“In our unit, we called him Jughead,” said Lt. Tanesha Sayers, her voice shaking with emotion. “He was completely fearless and completely loyal. Though we'll never know what his last moments were like, we know he faced them with the same brave dignity with which he lived his life. Julian Gastineaux was an officer and a gentleman, with a warrior's spirit that will never die.”

At the cemetery, the ceremony opened with the piercing strains of Taps. An officer in a fine beret, braids
looping his shoulders, supervised the folding of the flag. It was handed over to Julian's mother, who hugged the officer and then stepped back, mascara-colored tears tracking down her face, triangular bundle clutched to her chest.

Daisy wanted that flag with a fierce, almost angry desire, but it was not hers to take. She hadn't been his wife. She wasn't his widow. There were no special provisions for a fiancée left behind. Except he had loved her with the same unwavering intensity with which she loved him. How could he be dead when she still loved him so much? How could he be dead?

Goodbye, she silently told him, her thumb worrying the band of her engagement ring. Goodbye. But it didn't feel like goodbye at all. It felt like falling down a deep well, into dark nothingness.

She grasped at Charlie again, reaching out to her son, her lifeline.

W
hen the bride stepped in a pile of dog shit, Daisy was tempted to capture her expression of horror and disgust, freezing the moment for all eternity. Blair Walker was that kind of bride, difficult from day one. Daisy resisted the urge to snap a shot, however. Everybody had their moments.

“Get it off,” Blair wailed, and with a kick, sent the shoe flying toward the groom's grandmother. “Get it off
now
.”

Some had more of those moments than others.

Daisy rummaged in her bag, producing a container of baby wipes. She handed it off to the wedding planner's assistant. “I'll let you do the honors.”

“Lucky me.”

A few moments later, Daisy snapped the bride and groom in the midst of an affectionate hug. Except it wasn't a hug, it was a death grip. And Blair was not whispering sweet nothings into his ear; she was hissing a threat of dismemberment if he so much as looked at bridesmaid number two again.

The photo would show a sweet moment for the bridal couple, and no one would realize it was an illusion.

Daisy excelled at creating illusions. For her, it was a survival skill. She needed, so desperately, to cultivate the illusion that life was good, and all the effort of living worthwhile. If she didn't convince herself of that, she'd curl into a fetal position and never come out.

The weather was unseasonably warm for April. The winter snows had melted early this year, emphasizing the inexorable passage of the seasons. Somehow the holidays had slipped by, barely noticed. She'd struggled to make it a joyous time for Charlie, but inside she was hollow, unable to escape the thought that she should have been married by then, a new bride….

“What a nightmare, eh?” muttered Zach, approaching her with video camera in hand. “I interviewed the best man, but it's so full of profanity I'll have to overdub with music.”

“You'll figure out a way to edit it so everything sounds fine.”

“One of the wedding guests hit on me,” he added.

“Of course she did,” Daisy said. “You're gorgeous.”

“It wasn't a she.”

“Okay then, you're equally gorgeous to men and women.”

“You've got an answer for everything.”

“Must be my unending quest to be right about something.”

“Yeah? So how're you doing with that?”

She shrugged.

“More to the point, how are you holding up these days?”

“Now that, I wish I knew the answer to. I have no idea. Some days feel pretty normal. I'll be going about
my business, at work or with Charlie or whatever, and things seem okay, and then boom. It's like somebody hit me in the back of the head with a hammer.”

“Aw, Daisy. You've got a lot of people pulling for you.”

“I know. I'm incredibly grateful for that. Thanks, Zach. Thanks for checking in. I know I haven't been a barrel of laughs, and you've been really patient.”

He offered a sideways grin. “You're always good for a laugh. Anyway. I'd better go interview some more of these lovely folks before they get too drunk to talk.”

She was glad the wedding was being held at the Inn at Willow Lake. The boutique hotel and grounds belonged to her dad and stepmom. The main inn was an elegant Edwardian-style building with a wraparound porch and a belvedere tower. The property featured an old-fashioned boathouse with quarters above and a sturdy dock. There was a gazebo on the grounds, too. Its storybook elements swept people away to another place and time, making it perfect for wedding photos.

The idyllic setting would go a long way toward making the bridezilla's photos look as beautiful as memories that had not actually happened.

That was how Daisy had come to regard Julian—a perfect memory that had never actually happened.

Julian.
She could now think his name without sliding into some kind of catatonic state, so she was making progress.
Good for me.

At first, she'd been so lost in her grief that she felt unstuck from the world. It was like being in a maze in the pitch-dark; she could find no way out. If she tried to grope her way to safety, she was pierced by thorns and lashed by overhanging branches. In the very early days, she'd felt quite certain she would die, too. Her heart
had been ripped out. It was physically impossible to live without a heart.

She'd come a long way from those soul-freezing days. Through sheer will and determination, she had fought and clawed her way out of the darkness, a wildcat fighting free from a steel trap, gnawing off its own paw. Sure, she'd done herself some damage in the process, but she was alive. She had Charlie and her job, family and friends.

Recovering from the grief and shock had been a daily, sometimes moment-to-moment struggle. And she still wasn't there yet. She still woke up in the middle of the night, crying so hard she had to bury her face in a pillow to keep from waking Charlie.

In time, Julian faded from Charlie's memory; now he flickered in and out like a shadow in the wind. Charlie still remembered his name and the fact that he'd never quite dared to jump off the dock that day. The framed photo she'd taken that day—the shutter on timer, their arms around each other, the sun-gilt lake in the background—stayed on the bedside table, even though it was heartbreaking to look at. They had been so happy that day, so deeply in love. Hope for the future shone from their eyes, their smiles. Sometimes she fantasized about magically stepping into the photo, where she could feel the warmth of the sun on his skin and hear the sound of his voice, whispering in her ear. There were moments when the fantasy felt more real than life itself—and that was when she scared herself into fighting her way back to the real world.

Her chief motivation was Charlie. She learned so much from her small son. All her child-rearing books cast the parent in the role of teacher. Yet few of the books reminded readers to pay attention to the lessons a
child could offer—the joys of living in the moment and a wide-eyed wonder at the world. The kid didn't need lessons in that sort of thing. Charlie had some kind of genetic code; he was hardwired for happiness.

She vowed to make sure that never changed. The quest was fierce and focused, working her way through the grief like a shipwreck survivor rowing to shore. Over time, she did start to get better. She could function. She could smile and laugh and love and enjoy life. She could pretend the huge gaping hole in her heart was not there. Julian would be proud of her.

 

“You're not fooling anybody, you know.” Logan was helping her wash her car. She couldn't recall the last time she'd washed it and was in the middle of the chore when he stopped by. Charlie loved having his dad around, and Daisy had to admit it was nice, not having to do everything by herself. Charlie had helped with the fun part—the squirting hose, the soap bubbles—but now that they were down to rinsing and drying, he'd grown bored and was kicking a soccer ball around the yard with Blake.

“I don't know,” she said to Logan. “Fooling who? About what?” A flutter in her stomach told her she was lying. She did know. Logan never talked about Julian, so this was something new.

She wrung out her chamois cloth and waited to hear what he'd say to that. Logan had been kind to her after Julian's death. He'd held her close and said, “I'm here for you. That will never change.”

As good as his word, he helped take care of Charlie and had urged her to go to her support groups and appointments. He came around a lot, made himself available.

“What I meant,” he said, “is that you're doing a great
job getting through every day. I'm proud of you. Not everybody can survive a loss like that.”

She squirted foam cleaner on a stubborn spot on the car hood, then scrubbed at the spot. “So then, why do you say I'm not fooling anyone?”

“Because you need to do more than survive. More than just get through the day. You're strong, Daisy. You're ready. You need to believe it.”

She fell silent, methodically polishing the car in a steady rhythm. A black mayfly dive-bombed into the foam polish, ending its life in front of her face,
splat
. Wrinkling her nose, she plucked the fly out, then went back to polishing, methodical as ever.

 

Sonnet came for a rare weekend visit. She was working at UNESCO at the UN and had very little time to herself. She lived in a cramped studio on the east side of midtown and claimed to love everything about it. However, when she managed to steal away to Avalon, she relaxed visibly.

Although she could probably take her pick of any room at the Inn at Willow Lake, owned by her mom and Daisy's dad, she preferred to stay with Daisy. They usually made popcorn with too much butter and salt, and stayed up late watching chick flicks.

They put Charlie to bed with four stories. The number four was his current favorite. Then they had their showers, donned their most comfy pajamas and made the popcorn. Daisy poured too generous glasses of cheap, dry champagne—their favorite.

“To us,” she said. “Especially to your brilliant career.”

“And yours,” Sonnet pointed out. She looked severely beautiful, almost exotic, with her wet hair twisted up in
a towel, though the effect was spoiled by cowboy flannel pajamas and fuzzy slippers.

“Fine. To both our brilliant careers.” They clinked glasses and drank. The movie started up, a repeat viewing of the best version of
Pride and Prejudice
in existence. Charming as it was, Daisy couldn't keep her mind on the film. “Logan says I haven't moved on,” she blurted out.

Sonnet immediately hit the mute button. “Is he right?”

“I thought about it for a long time after he said it,” Daisy mused, tossing her popcorn in the bowl to distribute the butter. “I think he might be right. And how weird is that, a guy being right?”

“Totally weird,” Sonnet said.

“I don't cry myself to sleep anymore. I don't wake up in the middle of the night clutching my chest like some nightmare's after me. I don't have imaginary conversations with Julian every time I'm alone.”

“All good. But…?”

“I want more than simply to exist. More than simply getting through the day. I want a full life. I don't want to be the girl whose fiancé was killed. I want to…live again. I want to be in love.”

“So fall in love.”

“You of all people know it's not that simple. It—”

There was a soft knock at the door. Blake started barking and swirled like a dervish.

Sonnet frowned. “Were you expecting someone?”

Daisy glanced down at her Yankees jersey and flip-flops. “The fashion police?” She hurried to the door. Through the glass pane, she saw Logan and Zach. “Hey,” she said, letting them in. Sonnet stood up, touching the towel on her head. “Oh. Hi.”

Zach grinned at her. “I heard you'd come up for the weekend. I wanted to see you.” His gaze dropped from her toweled head to her bare legs and fuzzy slippers.

“You should have called first,” she said, clearly flustered.

Daisy looked on, bemused. Sonnet and Zach were childhood friends, having met and bonded at the finger-painting table in preschool. Lately, though, there was a slightly different tone to the friendship.

“I smell popcorn,” Logan said. “Mind if we hang out for a while?”

Daisy paused. With few exceptions, she spent every other Saturday night alone, reading, watching TV, loading photos from the day's shoot if there had been a wedding. Sometimes she stared guiltily at the box she'd set aside for the MoMA competition. She had missed last year's entry deadline while lost in the deep vortex of grief. This year, she thought she might pursue it again, but the box remained as empty as the file marked “MoMA” on her computer.

“Sure,” she said. “We're having a
Pride and Prejudice
marathon.” She gestured at the stack of DVDs on the coffee table, the silent people in costume on the screen. “The BBC version, with Colin Firth. Aka the
only
version.”

Both Zach and Logan looked queasy.

Sonnet said, “Can you make us a better offer?”

“And it cannot involve a controller,” Daisy said hastily. She'd never been a fan of video games.

“How about little wooden tiles on a board?” asked Zach.

“Scrabble.” Sonnet clutched her chest. “Be still my heart.”

“That settles it,” said Daisy. “Company chooses.”

“Winners get to pick the movie afterward,” Logan suggested.

Knowing Sonnet's brain power, Daisy readily agreed. While the guys set up the board, she and Sonnet went to her room to make themselves a little more presentable. “I can't believe they didn't call first.” Sonnet bent forward from the waist, freeing her masses of curls from the towel.

“I think it's cute, Zach wanting to see you so bad he'll go for a night of Scrabble.”

“Knowing I'll destroy him,” Sonnet added. “I wonder what's up with that.”

“He's got a crush on you, idiot. He has ever since you got back from Germany.”

“Zach? And me?” Sonnet snorted, but then she looked intrigued. “Really?”

Daisy pulled on her favorite pair of jeans. “Don't act so shocked. It's been a long time coming.”

“Wait a minute.” Sonnet leaned toward the mirror and applied some lip gloss. “How do you know this surprise visit is about Zach coming to see me? What about Logan and you?”

Daisy ignored a tug of tension in her stomach. “Logan and I see each other all the time. Because of Charlie,” she added.

“Uh-huh.”

“It'll never be more than that,” Daisy hastened to add. “Too much has happened.”

“There's no such thing as too much happening.”

“I mean, there's too much baggage.”

“Hey. Everybody has baggage. It's nice having someone to share the burden, eh?”

I wouldn't know, thought Daisy. “Come on,” she
said. “Let's go open a can of whup ass on that Scrabble board.”