Chapter 30
No disease could destroy Wes’s memory of his first wedding—not even the all-powerful dementia. Images of that long-ago day were drilled into him—Anna walking toward him in a glowing white dress; his father getting weepy-eyed as he gave a speech about commitment and the power of family; his mother trying to clean up after everyone, even in the middle of the reception as a way to feel useful and distract herself from her emotions. He’d slow-danced with Anna all night long and into the morning, whispering into her ear, “I’ll love you till the day I die, Anna Banana. That’s a promise. And Wes Sheridan has never told a lie.”
It was true that Wes still loved Anna deep in his bones. But it was also true that on July 6, 2024, he stood before one hundred of his family members and dearest friends before the splendor of the Aquinnah Cliffside Overlook Hotel, preparing to marry Beatrice—a woman beyond his wildest dreams. A woman who accepted him for who he was right now at the age of seventy-three. A woman prepared to take him and the plaque in his brain and his wrinkles and his bad knees and all. A woman who so often said, “Wes Sheridan, sometimes I think I dreamed you up.”
It was remarkable to do that here at the Aquinnah Cliffside Overlook Hotel. It was where his parents had met back in the forties—when his mother had been married to someone else. His parents had had to fight everything, including a violent hurricane, to be together. It was only because of their love that he was here.
There wasn’t a dry eye across the lawn as Beatrice walked up the aisle arm in arm with Tommy Gasbarro. Even manly Tommy’s chin wiggled. Apparently, his fears for Wes’s health had waned. He just wanted Wes and Beatrice to have a lovely life together. He wanted everyone to have the kind of tenderness and support he and Lola had together in their little cabin in the woods.
Beatrice was a knock-out. Her cream-colored gown was simple and classic, like something out of the forties. Wes had been told his tuxedo had a remarkable cut. “Your style is outstanding these days, Grandpa,” Amanda had said many times.
A pastor Wes had known forever joined Wes and Beatrice in holy matrimony. He said everything the way it was meant to be richer or poorer; in sickness and in health; all the days of your life. And Wes kissed Beatrice with his eyes closed and knew in his heart of hearts he would never forget this day. Even on his deathbed, he would recount it back to himself.
Charlotte had done a marvelous job of planning the wedding. This was no surprise. Wes felt as though he floated through the festivities. He kissed his sister Kerry on the cheek and shook Trevor’s hand wildly. He sipped small amounts of champagne—never too much. And he never strayed far from Beatrice, who looked seventy going on twenty-five, such was the energy of her joy. Over and over again, she showed off her rings and her stylish hairpiece. She spoke of the honeymoon they’d planned—one to Jamaica, a place Wes had never dreamed of going. Beatrice had shown him photographs of the birds they had down there. She’d even gotten him a pair of new binoculars as a pre-wedding present.
That night, as the stars spackled the night sky, the band Charlotte had hired played an inspired rendition of “Moon River” as Beatrice and Wes swayed.
“I keep wanting to say something,” Wes told her tenderly, touching the tip of his nose to hers. “Something important. Something that will crystallize this moment in time.”
Beatrice shook her head ever so slightly. “You don’t need to say anything at all. Let’s just live in it.”
As the song drifted out to bring in the more upbeat track of “Pennsylvania 6-9000,” Wes turned as Amanda and Audrey swarmed him with hugs and happy smiles. Just as they had all those days at the Sheridan House, they cackled and danced, moving their hips and waving their hands. It reminded Wes of when Lola, Christine, and Susan had been girls dancing and jumping around to Michael Jackson in the living room. That was the thing about dancing: you did not think about getting old when you did it.