How to Align the Stars

Chapter Twelve

Heron

Heron’s eyes snapped open sometime in the early morning hours of New Year’s Eve. Of all the nights not to sleep well. Although the household would rise early as always and Charlie and his dad would go into the city, they were coming home early to get ready for the gala at the country club. She needed to steel herself for a late evening hobnobbing with the Brewsters’ social circle.

The gala had been all Andrea was able to talk about when they went for their facials. Quiet, relaxing time to herself at the spa would have been a welcome respite, but Andrea booked them into a two-table treatment room. “So we can have girl time,” she’d said, but it was most likely an opportunity to keep track of any social blunders Heron might commit.

She didn’t want to give Charlie’s family any more ammunition. Heron would need to be bubbly and charming this evening, but the strain of the week was beginning to get to her and she was finding it difficult to remain unflappably pleasant. To keep her agreeable veneer from slipping away, she’d need sleep. Lying here staring at the wall wasn’t helping.

Heron disengaged the arm Charlie was using to spoon her and turned over. Maybe she would be able to drift off if she were on her back. Before bed, she’d steamed the dress she brought to wear to the gala, a strapless column of emerald satin she’d been so pleased with when she packed it. Surely Andrea or Julia would ask where she got it, and she would have to tell them it was her prom dress, remade by removing the tulle overlay, leaving a straight, plain skirt which fell to the floor in an elegant line. She’d swapped the rhinestone belt for a wide black grosgrain ribbon, which she’d also used to trim the top of the bodice, raising and straightening the sweetheart neckline. A dark shape on the hanger, it hovered on the back of Charlie’s closet door like a specter. She could almost imagine the dress spitting the derisive comments she expected from his family at her: We see right through you. You aren’t one of us.

Heron’s heart raced and sweat prickled along her back. Suddenly, the room was too hot, the plaid duvet on Charlie’s bed too heavy. She couldn’t find any cool, smooth relief in his flannel sheets. She looked over at him, in what she knew was a vain hope he’d be awake to talk through this with her, but in the traces of light seeping through the curtains she could see that he was sleeping peacefully.

To avoid waking him, Heron eased carefully out from under the covers. She threw Charlie’s robe on over her pajama bottoms and the high school lacrosse t-shirt she’d stolen from Charlie’s closet. The robe smelled like him: a mixture of his cologne, the fabric softener Mrs. Brewster’s housekeeper used, and a little of the scotch he’d had with his father before coming upstairs. She pulled it around her more closely, drawing more comfort from it than she had from the actual man sleeping next to her. Barefoot, Heron eased out the door and into the hallway of the Brewster family home. As quietly as the polished hardwood floors would allow, she padded through the darkened house.

She wandered down the hallway, past the room where Charlie’s parents slept, past Emma’s empty room and the Dutch blue guest room where she’d left Andrea’s mended skirt. Next she made her way down the front stairs, stopping short as one creaked, a sound she hadn’t even noticed when the house had been awake. It seemed deafening now, and she froze for a moment, but she didn’t hear any stirring from the household. It was irrational to feel like an intruder, afraid of being caught, but that was exactly how she felt.

Heron continued into the living room, where she sat for a long while watching the unlit Christmas tree loom gray and lifeless. Then into the dining room, where the family gathered for meals and conversation, no one saying anything of substance over the clink of fine silver against fine porcelain; into the family room, where the family didn’t seem to spend any time; past Charlie’s father’s study; past the den where the men had gathered on Christmas day for Manhattans and football while the women tore Heron apart; the kitchen, where the marble tile was much colder on her feet than the hardwood had been, and where she filled and gulped down two glasses of icy water from the tap. And finally, up the back stairs and through the hallway to Charlie’s room, where she softly shut the door behind her with the faintest of clicks.

He hadn’t moved at all while she’d been gone. The worry about waking him had dissipated while she’d been up, anyway. He could go back to sleep, she was sure. Charlie didn’t seem to be having any trouble sleeping at all.

The solution had become clear to her while she’d been downstairs staring into the (coordinated, designer) ornaments on the tree. Heron’s horoscope yesterday had warned about staying out in the rain too long. Now she knew what it meant. Her time was wasted here; the wedding planning was almost done and Charlie’s mother clearly didn’t need her for it anyway. All of her excitement about planning a perfect day had diminished, squashed under Julia Brewster’s thumb. Now she just wanted to get the wedding over with so they could begin their marriage. She wasn’t spending any quality time with Charlie. She could, and should, be using the two weeks before the new semester began to make headway on her thesis.

And she just couldn’t face tonight’s gala. It would be different, she hoped, when she could be on Charlie’s arm as his wife, after she got a little more used to all of this. But Heron had learned that it was important for her to pay attention and avoid pushing herself into things that were truly too difficult. The country club gala, staying here another ten days? Heron had gotten good at knowing her limits, and that would be a push.

Telling Charlie she was leaving early would be a push, too, but it would be worth it when she was back home with her dad and Bea. Leaving abruptly was going to leave a poor impression with Charlie’s people, but having a breakdown while she was here would be much worse. So, Heron set her resolve and reached for Charlie’s laptop. By the time he opened his eyes and asked what time it was, she was packed and dressed.

“Hi babe,” he said, the slow, lazy morning smile spreading across his face. “You’re ready early. What’s on your agenda for today?”

“Actually,” she said, “I need to grab a ride into the city with you and your dad.” She sat on the edge of his bed and took his hand. “Charlie, listen, I’m going home. You need to focus on your test, and I should be working on my thesis.”

“What? But I thought you were excited about the party tonight.”

“I was,” she said, hoping it sounded true. “But I’ll go next year. You don’t need me there. I met a lot of these people at Christmas, and I’ll see them again at the wedding. There’s plenty of time.”

“Heron. My parents are expecting us to go to this thing together. What am I supposed to tell them?”

“Tell them your future wife is thinking about your law school admission and I’m leaving so you can focus on your studies.” Not that she was distracting Charlie, but she had a feeling the Brewsters wouldn’t see it that way. “Or tell them I had a family emergency if you want.”

“This is ridiculous, Heron. You have to stay. I know my mom can be a lot, but I’ll tell her to give you a day off from wedding errands today. You can hole up here with a book, recharge.”

It might have been enough two days ago, but Heron was past that point now. She shook her head. “I already changed my flight. It’s at ten-thirty this morning, out of JFK. If I get a ride to the train with you, I can take a cab from Penn Station.” (At least maybe she could drive past the Rockefeller Center tree before she went to the airport.)

“Charlie,” she said, knowing her voice was breaking, “I just can’t.”

He knew her well enough to know when she’d hit her limit. “Okay.” His lips pressed into a tight line. In a resigned voice, he said, “If you can’t, you can’t. I’ll tell them something happened with your mom, and she needs you.”

Heron finished packing her book and phone into her bag and said, “I’d rather you told them I need to get back to schoolwork, but you know what? Whatever.”

“What? You said I could tell them it was a family emergency.”

“You’re right.” She opened the door and stepped into the hall. “I did. It’s fine, Charlie.” She didn’t like him scapegoating her mother, but just wanted to get home with as little fuss as possible. “Let’s get going. I don’t want to keep your dad waiting.”

Breakfast was a tense affair, full of prying questions from Julia, thinly veiled as platitudes, which Heron dodged by repeating variations of “everything is fine, I just need to get back home” as many times as it took to get them through coffee and toast and into the car, where Charlie and his father seemed to forget her presence once she was buckled into the backseat of the BMW.

“Well, Heron,” said Mr. Brewster as they stood on the train platform. She’d hoped to have a minute with Charlie alone to say goodbye, but his father lingered. “I’m sorry I couldn’t take you all the way to the airport, but I have an early meeting and this one”—he jerked his head toward Charlie—“has studying to do. Have a safe trip home.” Pleasantries sounded perfunctory and overly formal coming from him.

“Thank you for having me,” she said. Then to Charlie, who laid a hand limply on her waist as he pecked her on the lips, “Bye.”

“Bye,” Charlie said. And then she was pulling away from the curb.

From the cab, she texted her dad to let him know she was coming home. He replied:

“I’m sorry to hear that, honey, I love you. Call me, or we can talk about it when you get here if you want.”

It was a balm to her frayed nerves. She knew when she got home, she’d be safe. Her dad would listen, Toni would feed her, Bea would make catty commentary on her stories about Charlie’s family. It would be so nice to be with people she could be completely herself around. Here, she hadn’t even really felt entirely at ease with Charlie. The only person who’d made her feel welcome and comfortable was Emma.

Come to think of it, it was too bad she wouldn’t have a chance to see Emma again before she left. She had a feeling if she explained what happened, Charlie’s sister might understand. She sent a breezy direct message: “Hey! I had to go home a little early. Family stuff.” Not technically a lie. Just not her own family. “I’m sorry to miss you at the gala, but I’ll be in touch about bridesmaid details soon. XO.”

Emma sent back an exclamation point and a frowning face emoji, but Heron didn’t hear anything else from her before she got on the plane. She didn’t hear anything more from Charlie either, but hoped he was busy studying. If so, good; the sooner he got this test over with and had a law school acceptance letter in hand, the sooner the pressure would be off and he’d be back to his true self—her fun, funny, sweet fiancé again.

Bea

Ben had been back in town for a day but between helping Toni with the party preparations and fetching Heron at the airport after her unexpected return home, Bea hadn’t had a chance to see him. She’d barely had time to shower, dress (the blue velvet looking much more elegant with heels than it had with the riding boots she wore in Portland) and spoon some wet food into Herschel’s dish, before Ben knocked.

She didn’t have time to realize she was nervous, either, until the split second before she opened the door, when her stomach dropped. Seeing him there on her porch, that easy smile spread across his face, settled her nerves. It felt like they were picking up right where they left off; the kind of ease she’d felt with him wasn’t something that went away after a week apart.

“Hi,” he said, stepping forward to kiss her cheek in a chaste greeting.

She raked her fingers through the short hair at the back of his neck, pulling him closer for a real kiss. “Hello.” She’d never seen Ben in a suit before. He looked crisp and elegant, like a grown up. “Wow, a tie and everything.”

“Uh, yeah, this is new, actually. From ‘Santa.’ My sister told my mom I was going to a party with a date, and she said she didn’t raise me to wear jeans to formal events.”

“Well, you look nice.”

“You look fantastic,” he said.

“This is a magic dress, I think.” She smoothed it over her hips. “I should probably call the shop and ask them to make me a bunch more from the same pattern.”

Ben’s smile dimmed. “It’s a nice dress, Bea, but it’s not magic. You are lovely and the dress brings it out.”

Bea’s cheeks burned. She didn’t know quite what to say. It was nice of Ben to go out of his way to flatter her; it pleased her that he would try so hard to make her feel attractive.

“I’ll get my keys,” she said, picking up her clutch and coat, too.

The Heron Acres tasting room was all evergreen swags and twinkly white lights. A jazz quartet was set up in one corner, playing softly enough to allow for conversation. The party, approaching full swing when they arrived, was reflected in the wall of windows facing the dark terrace and vineyard. Len and Toni had invited their friends, some fellow vintners, and the winery staff. Bea knew most of the guests, but they were new to Ben, and she stumbled over the introduction to the owner of the neighboring farm, “Ben is my, uh… date…type…person.”

“Ben Addison, Bea’s boyfriend,” he finished for her, sliding his arm around her waist, and extending the other to shake hands with Len’s neighbor. In her ear, he whispered, “Right?”

She answered by finding his hand where it rested at her hip and covering it with hers. “Right.”

Heron

Despite the whirlwind of plane-changes and explanations, followed by a ride home from the airport during which she filled Bea in on all of the highlights and some of the lowlights of the trip, Heron made it home in time to take a short nap before her dad’s party. It only took half an hour of rest in her own quiet bed to wake up and see her world through refreshed eyes.

When she’d boarded the plane in New York, it had been with a dense pellet of dread in her stomach, the certainty that she’d ruined everything. Now things didn’t seem nearly so dire. She had overreacted, but only because she pushed past her breaking point. Clearly, staying so long in Connecticut was a mistake. It would be wise to limit the duration of future visits with Charlie’s parents. If everything went according to plan, they’d be living so close to the Brewsters that they could drop in for dinner or an occasional overnight stay. Like Emma. Yes. Staying for weeks with people she didn’t know well had been the mistake, along with her unrealistic ideas of the recreational time Charlie would be able to spend with her. She should have managed her expectations better.

Heron shook the wrinkles out of the emerald gown she had intended to wear to the country club gala and put it on. Maybe it was overkill for this setting, but she felt festive and elegant in it as she entered the party. And confident—no one here would care that she’d worn it before or sewn it herself, that was for sure. No one would know how close she came to falling apart last night, either.

To reduce the need for catering staff, Toni prepared a buffet of things that didn’t require a lot of attention or temperature control: a few hot appetizers in chafing dishes, salads, fruit. One entire table had been turned into a grazing board towering with cheeses, charcuterie, fruit, and other little tidbits. The colors and textures were visually pleasing as well as delicious; a Dionysian pile of bright grapes, thin breads arranged in vases towering over mesas of cheese, little pots of jam and honey placed everywhere like treasures.

Guests circulated, laughing and hugging as they filled their plates with their favorites. This was what she’d wanted for her wedding, not some stuffy plated dinner with no choices and too many forks, no one talking to anyone but the others at their own table (undoubtedly with a seating chart crafted by Julia Brewster to exile Heron’s friends and family to back corners).

Bea, often found holding court at the center of an amused huddle at parties, appeared to be in particularly high spirits tonight. On Ben’s arm, she was radiant, and if Bea was a charming conversationalist on her own, Heron could see even across the room that together they were captivating, each bouncing quips off the other, finishing each other’s sentences. This was the potential she had seen between them, fulfilled. It was how she felt when she was with Charlie, and what she’d wanted Bea to experience.

“There she is,” Bea said, as Heron approached. “My cousin,” she told the group of vintners she was entertaining, “has recently returned from visiting her future in-laws in Connecticut.” Bea pulled a face and the group laughed. She adopted a mid-Atlantic accent and said, “It was all very top drawah.”

“They weren’t so bad.” Heron blushed. “But it’s very different there. Kind of a culture shock.”

“I’ll bet,” said Ben. “Now that I have had”—he squinted at his glass—“four glasses of wine, and turned in my grades, I can say you were my favorite student from last semester’s class. I get a lot of kids thinking it’s an easy credit, but you took it seriously and I appreciate that.”

“Oh, but Charlie worked on every project with me,” Heron protested. “He took it seriously, too.”

Ben raised an eyebrow. “Right.”

Heron was about to respond when Bea gently took her by the shoulder and spun her to face the archway between the entryway and the tasting room. Charlie stood there in a rumpled suit, scanning the party.

She moved toward him, and he moved toward her, and it was exactly like the movies; everything else faded away. The crowded party didn’t matter, their tense morning seemed years away. She threw herself into his arms and kissed him, forgetting herself in the reality of him—her Charlie, solid, there, smelling a bit like an airplane, but whatever—pulling her into him. Applause, faint friendly laughter, and the tinkle of silverware tapping glasses brought her back to herself.

She pulled back and asked, “What are you doing here?”

Charlie gave her a half-smile and said, “After you left, Emma came to Dad’s office and pretty much ripped my head off. She said you’d left because I abandoned you to Mom and Andrea, and I should realize how much that sucked for you.”

As she listened, she pulled him out to the foyer, where she could hear better over the band and chatter. It was colder out here, and she shivered as they sat on one of the padded benches near the door. Charlie shrugged his jacket off and draped it around her shoulders. The silky lining radiated his heat and smelled like his cologne.

“I wasn’t thinking, Heron, and I’m so sorry. I was only thinking about the test and studying for it the way Dad wanted me to. I should know better than anyone that my family is a little…overbearing.”

She smiled at the understatement.

“So, I called the testing company and was able to talk them into changing my registration to Spokane. Today was the last day to make any changes, so I won’t tell my dad about it until tomorrow morning.” He grinned.

“Charlie!”

“And then I changed my flights, and here I am.”

She took his face between her hands and kissed him. “I’ll help you study. Or leave you alone until you need a break. Whatever you want.”

“I only want to be with you,” he said. “I know I can get a better score if I’m not trying to do schoolwork at the same time. It doesn’t matter where I am or whether I take an occasional break to go ice skating or whatever. I tried to explain that to Dad, but you know. My family”—the corners of his mouth twitched down—“listening skills are not their strong suit.”

“They can be a bit much,” she said, taking care to arrange her face into a neutral expression.

After a moment, Charlie’s face became serious again. “That’s the other thing, Heron. Right before I left, I told Mother we want to get married here.” He dipped his head to catch her eyes. “If it’s still okay with you.”

“Charlie,” she breathed, “that’s all I really want.” If a weight had lifted from her shoulders when she left the Brewster house, now she felt buoyant enough to fly. The joy about their wedding returned to her. There would be no country club. No hulking, musty stone church. No more wincing concessions to Mrs. Brewster’s demands. Just her and Charlie making promises to each other in the sunlight.

“Great. Maybe we can talk to your folks tomorrow about turning the party they’re throwing for us into a ceremony?”

“Let’s go find them right now.” She pulled him to his feet.

Bea

Shortly before midnight, Bea snagged a bottle of cabernet from the bar, saying, “I know champagne is traditional, but trust me, this is better.” She led Ben out across the patio. After the warm press of the party, they drank in the chill and the stars. “See,” she said, gesturing up once they’d gotten away from the building, “I told you the sky was amazing out here.”

“Wow. Yeah.”

They’d put on their coats but staving off the cold night was still a bigger task than their formalwear was equipped for. The icy air numbed Bea’s exposed skin quickly, but the wine heated her from the inside out. They drank straight from the bottle, passing it back and forth as they huddled together for warmth. Ben pressed against Bea’s back as he wrapped his arms around her from behind. They looked up together.

After a few minutes of silence, Bea disengaged one arm and lifted it to name the stars in Orion and point out Canis Major, Canis Minor, Auriga, Perseus. “To see the Pleiades, you have to relax. Fix your eyes here,” she pointed, “and keep looking. The sisters are shy, but you can see them if you’re patient.”

His breath was warm in her ear while they watched. Their eyes adjusted to focus on the faint seven sister stars. And then, very slowly, his teeth closed on her earlobe and she yelped, breaking the silence and her skyward gaze.

“Sorry,” Ben said. “I can only be so patient.”

She spun in his arms as the shouted countdown, followed by celebratory cheers and the band’s swingy version of “Auld Lang Syne” reached them across the darkened terrace.

Ben stopped laughing and looked into her eyes, “To you, Bea,” he said, lifting the wine in a toast, “and our new beginning.”

“To new years and new beginnings,” she said, taking the bottle to drink after him.

He kissed her, long and lingering, full of nudges and wandering hands. Eventually he pulled away to say, “I mean, it’s pretty out here, but holy shit it’s cold.”

“You’re cold?” Bea gestured downward toward her bare legs and strappy heels. “At least you’re wearing pants, buster.”

As they scurried back to the shelter of the winery building, it occurred to Bea that she always seemed to find herself running somewhere, laughing, when she was with Ben.

Heron

Just after midnight, Heron led Charlie away from the party and back to the empty house. She felt every inch like Cinderella fleeing the ball, except her prince would be there in the morning. Once they reached her room, they fell into each other as if they’d been apart for weeks, and in a way that was true. Connecticut had been so full of stilted conversations, and they were so often pulled apart by circumstances, neither of them had been themselves.

Lying in bed, Heron mapped out the next two weeks in her mind. Charlie could move into her room in the apartment to study—Maggie wouldn’t be back before the start of the semester, and it was quiet there. She’d alternate between joining Charlie to help him get ready for his test, the campus library to do her own studying, and her dad’s house.

At least every other day they should take time to do something fun. It was no Rockefeller Center, but Millet had a temporary outdoor ice rink set up not far from campus. Or they could cuddle up and watch a movie. Whatever they did, they would be together. Forever, she thought, as she drifted off to sleep in her future husband’s arms.