The Wedding Shawl (11 page)

“Not as much as we need them here.”

“You’re sweet. And you and Ben have been so gracious, quite wonderful, really. Opening your home this way. Working on the yard for Izzy has been the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time. I’d always dreamed of preparing for a wedding this way.”

“And you’ve done a wonderful job, but—”

Claire spoke in a rush. “Don’t think for one minute I’d leave in the middle of this, Nell. I’d never do that. I’ll make sure everything is perfect for the wedding.”

“I’m not concerned about that. I’m just surprised. I thought you were settling in and liking it here. And selfishly speaking, I’m enjoying getting to know you. And I had hoped that would continue.”

Claire was quiet for a minute, her eyes taking in the yard, the plants, the wooded path that led to the sea. She took a drink of water. “I meant it when I said you and Ben have been a bright light in my life. Probably the brightest in years, if truth be told. But you don’t know me, Nell, not really. My life’s been different, not a straight, nice road at all. It’s been—”

Her words dropped off, interrupted by a sound coming from the deck. The two women looked up and saw Ham Brewster and Ben moving two Adirondack chairs into the shade. They settled down in the chairs, each holding a glass of Scotch in his hand. A minute later, Jane joined them and sat on a chaise.

Ben held up his glass and called down to them, “It’s relaxing time. Join us?”

Nell looked at Claire, but she was already shaking her head and rising from the bench. “I have some things I want to do out here before it gets too dark,” she said to Nell. She motioned toward a newly mulched area, filled now with snowy white impatiens. “And later, there’s a stack of books waiting for me inside.” A slight smile lifted her lips as if to reassure Nell that she was fine. “It’s fine.
I’m
fine. It’s my favorite way to spend a summer night,” she said. Then she moved away and turned the faucet until the spray came out full and strong, and she aimed it at the thick stand of roses along the side of the guest cottage.

Nell covered the plate of food with a napkin, reminded Claire that it was there for her, and walked slowly toward the deck. She looked back at the slender woman, now moving in and around the planted beds as if she were among friends.
Curious,
she thought. She wondered briefly if the plants in her garden knew more about Claire Russell than she did. She suspected they did.

Claire turned around then, almost as if she knew Nell would be standing there, watching her.

Their eyes met, and Claire waved, a graceful, slow-motion movement in the darkening sky.

A sudden, discomforting feeling passed through Nell. Finally, she lifted her hand and waved back.

And she hoped it didn’t mean good-bye.

Chapter 11

F
irst she had forgotten the movie date with Ham and Jane.

The next day, Nell stood in front of the kitchen calendar, fresh from her shower, frowning. It had happened again—this time she’d almost forgotten an event that had been on her calendar for weeks.

She knew what the distraction was—it was Tiffany Ciccolo’s death, of course. It was finding her body on the cold floor of M.J.’s cellar. Her heart mourned for the young girl, and her heart yearned for normalcy. The robbery and death had thrown the town into disarray. Things weren’t normal, weren’t what they should be.

That was what was causing Nell to go to the store twice in a day for milk and to leave her debit card in the machine’s slot.

But today’s forgetfulness bothered Nell exceedingly.

She had almost forgotten about the Danvers’ party for Izzy and Sam, scheduled for that night. But there it was on the calendar, as big as life, printed in oversized letters. She stared at the calendar, scolding herself out loud.

“But you didn’t forget,” Ben said, coming up behind her. He wrapped his arms around her.

“Almost.”

“Not even almost. It wouldn’t have happened. That’s why we put things on calendars. What you’re upset about is that there’s a shadow over everything right now. A young girl is dead. We’re not sure why. People are concerned, worried. And you want it all to go away.”

Nell nodded, still looking at the calendar.

“But we won’t let any of this overshadow Izzy and Sam’s time. We won’t. It’s just too fresh right now. Just a few days.”

Nell knew Ben was right. It was all too recent. Too fresh.

Ben nuzzled her neck. “You smell good. And so does the coffee. And that’s all we need to remember right now.”

Nell turned and leaned into his body. Together they walked over to the island to coffee and juice and the comfort of each other.

Ben was right. They wouldn’t have forgotten the party, and it was just what they all needed. And for all Izzy’s protestations, the party would be a good thing for everyone.

Izzy had told them all months ago that she didn’t want a bridal shower. They’d be living in Sam’s place, which was small, and they didn’t need much anyway, she insisted. Each of them had had their own place for a long time, complete with toasters and microwaves. Their wants were few.

Want what you have,
she’d quoted to Nell.

But Laura Danvers would have none of it. She was having a shower for Izzy and Sam whether the bride- and groom-to-be came or not.

In the end, it had been a compromise. Laura had agreed to call it a party—a celebration, the invitation said—the beginning of a glorious life together. And at the bottom, a discreet note, much to Laura’s chagrin and Izzy’s insistence:
No gifts, please.

The Danvers lived in a newer Sea Harbor neighborhood, north of the downtown area. Laura and her banker husband, Elliott, had married right after their Duke University graduations, and he’d built the house for his bride soon after. It was spacious and sprawling, a perfect entertainment house, and the Danvers used it often for just that, giving equal time to parties and to playdates and birthday parties for their two young daughters. The home was up a long, winding road of equally fine residences, but the Danvers’ home was at the very top of the hill, at the end of the road.

“The pinnacle,” Birdie said, climbing the wide granite steps to the house with one hand on Ben’s arm. “A beautiful home. But why would anyone need so many rooms? They only have those two lovely little girls—” She looked up at the dozens of large windows in the contemporary styled home.

Ben simply smiled, and Nell did the same, refraining from reminding Birdie that she lived alone in the magnificent eightbedroom house her first husband, Sonny Favazza, had built for his bride many years before.

The night held a soft breeze, and the large front door was open wide to welcome it.

“The guests of honor are out on the deck; there’s a bar in the great room; make yourselves at home,” Laura said, welcoming them with hugs. “It’s a perfect night. And we all need a celebration, don’t you think?”

“And you’re the perfect person to make that happen,” Nell said. She meant it sincerely. Though younger than Izzy, Laura Danvers was following in her mother’s footsteps as a hostess with impeccable taste and the uncanny ability to make even the stuffiest corporate gathering fun.

But tonight’s party wouldn’t be peopled by bankers and CEOs. Tonight was reserved for all the people who had touched Izzy’s life since she had moved to Sea Harbor and opened the Seaside Knitting Studio—from artists and shopkeepers to bar owners, knitting customers, and band members. A hodgepodge of earthy people. All of whom loved Izzy Chambers and Sam Perry.

Jerry Thompson was near the bar, surrounded by a group of women pummeling him with conversation, with a bit of flirtation peppering their talk. A widower for two years now, Chief Thompson had risen to the top of the list of Sea Harbor’s eligible bachelors over the age of fifty. He threw Ben a “rescue me” look, and he and Birdie headed the chief’s way.

Nell looked beyond the open living space that included a bar and sparkling granite and stainless-steel kitchen. A great fireplace and soft, cushy furniture. A wall of doors opened up to a back stone patio, where she spotted Jake Risso talking with the Brewsters—Jane was wearing a long, flowing skirt. Nell suspected Jane had brought the skirt with her when she and Ham happened upon Sea Harbor in the’70s. They’d fallen in love with the seaside town and never returned to their more bohemian life in Berkeley, California. Ham’s beard was neatly trimmed, his jeans clean, and the sleeves of a crisp white shirt rolled partway up his arms. They stood near the edge of the patio looking down the hill, over treetops and houses and children’s play equipment, to a panoramic view of an endless sea.

Nell looked around at chatting, happy groups of friends, hoping she’d spot Andy Risso. He’d been on her mind all day, and she was concerned about him. She wondered if he had come with his dad. Pete Halloran was there—and Merry and Hank Jackson. Lots of his friends. Surely he’d show.

“I don’t think anyone knows if there’ll be a funeral,” she heard M.J. telling Merry and Hank Jackson. M.J.’s husband, Alex, stood next to her, just outside the patio doors.

“They haven’t been able to find her sister yet,” Alex explained.

“Tiffany had a sister?” Nell asked, coming up behind them.

M.J. nodded. “Sheila was older than Tiff. Tiffany told me her sister ran away from home when she was in her teens, but she called Tiffany often. They kept in close touch.”

“She mentioned Sheila to me once or twice,” Merry said. “She said her sister had a great job somewhere. Tiffany was proud of her.”

“Did she say where she lived?” M.J. asked.

Merry shook her head.

“They’re still looking for contact information,” M.J. said. “The police thought I’d have it, but we don’t ask for that kind of information from our staff. Maybe we should. The phone number would have been on Tiffany’s phone, but it’s missing.”

Father Lawrence Northcutt was standing next to Merry, his gray head leaning in to hear the conversation. The pastor of Our Lady of the Seas had lived in Sea Harbor longer than anyone could remember. He knew everyone in town, regardless of their spiritual beliefs, and his presence almost always brought a comforting hug with it. “Tiffany’s life was sometimes lonely after Sheila went off,” he said. “She’d come see me sometimes. Things weren’t easy at home. But you, M.J., you added good things to her life when you gave her that job. Working for you meant something to her. It made her think better of herself.”

He smiled at M.J. and patted Alex Arcado on the back. “You’ve a fine life partner, Alex.”

“M.J.’s a gem, Father; don’t I know it.” The fire chief’s shoulders were as broad as a Patriots offensive tackle, but his smile was as soft as a puppy dog. He and M.J. had been married twenty years, and Alex Arcado still looked like he’d just proposed to her and been surprised beyond belief when M.J. had said yes.

“It’s all so enormously sad,” Merry said. Hank wrapped his arm around her, nearly burying her in the curve of his large frame, as if to protect her from the sadness. She pulled away. “So sad,” she repeated.

Nell watched them, sensing the comfort Hank wanted to bring to Merry. And then she remembered back to that night at the Palate. That night Hank and Merry both had tried to comfort to Tiffany. She’d been upset. And they had tried to help her.

It was the day Tiffany had missed the meeting with Izzy about wedding day plans.

It was the day before she died.

Nell’s thoughts were tangled, jumping from one thing to the next. Then settling back into the simple, sad fact that Tiffany Ciccolo was dead now, and whatever was bothering her that night was no longer relevant. The randomness of life had stepped in and taken it away.

The tinkling of a fork on crystal called for silence, and a hush fell over the patio. Those inside gravitated toward the open patio doors while Laura and Elliott Danvers moved to an open space near several blooming hibiscus plants, as tall as Laura herself. She motioned for Sam and Izzy to join them. Nell could feel the blush creeping up Izzy’s neck to her face. She’d given many presentations in law school and had been in the limelight during her days in the courtroom, but it had all been in the line of duty; being singled out this way was difficult for Izzy.

But that was just fine, Nell thought. She needed to know how loved she was, and that was why all these people were here. Even if Laura’s speech might be longer than Izzy would like it to be.

But Laura surprised them. She asked everyone to lift a glass and said simply and sincerely, “To Izzy and Sam. Two people whose lives matter greatly to us. Two people who have touched each one of us in many ways. We love you both.”

And that was it.

People cheered and clapped, and some whistles pierced the air from back corners. It was perfect.

To Izzy and Sam.

To Sam and Izzy.

We love you.

Nell’s eyes were moist, even without the more sentimental toast she’d expected. It was as it should be. Laura Danvers got it right.

Izzy was at her side before she could pull a tissue from her bag. She looped one arm through Nell’s and the other through Ben’s. “Hey, you two. I love you, you know,” she said softly. A squeeze to their arms accompanied her words. “Now, come with me. You need to join Sam and me in leading this hungry mob to the gorgeous buffet that Laura has spread out. She says we have to go first. I won’t go without you.”

Tables were set up on the patio and wide lawn, casual and lowkey, just as Laura had promised and just what Izzy loved. No fancy silver or delicate plates that might break.

Wildflowers in clay vases and hurricane lamps kept the brightly colored tablecloths from flapping in the evening breeze, and the food was deliciously simple. Fresh garden and pasta salads, piles of crab and shrimp with spicy dipping sauces. Lobster rolls from Gracie Santos’ Lazy Lobster and Soup Café. Ice-cold beer and mojitos. And a thick, moist chocolate cake for dessert. Hidden speakers sent a mix of vocals and instrumentals out across the air, coaxing bodies to sway and easing everyone into a celebratory evening.