Chapter Twenty-Five
Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to happy hour! We’re Sudden Constellation.”
Ben shot Hector a look. If he didn’t even want this to be a band, I was pretty sure he felt the same about naming it.
Nevertheless, a cheer came from a table to the right of the pool. They had already been there when we arrived, and were less than thrilled when the beach music they’d been listening to was turned off. Still someone whooped again as Hector—back in his vest—pumped his fist.
They began to play a folksy version of the song of the summer, “Shrimp Pimp” by Mo Mel and Rhymes with Boring. It wasn’t terrible. But not great, either. Soon enough, a couple of other tables were clapping and singing along.
I was just past the bar, in a spot I’d chosen specifically because I had a clear eyeline to where Ben stood on the stage.
When he looked over at me, as he had several times, I tried to appear positive but not so enthusiastic he’d not trust I was being genuine.
A delicate balance, like everything else.
Just then, I saw Anne come out on the other side of the pool deck. Her arms were crossed over her chest, eyes straight ahead.
“Hey,” I called out. No response. I went louder. “Anne!”
When she saw me, she bit her lip, glancing at the main building, as if weighing whether to make a break for it. Finally, she came over.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, before I could say it first.
“Watching Sudden Constellation,” I replied.
“Sudden what?” I nodded at the band, now finishing “Shrimp Pimp.” She squinted. “Wait. Is that Ben?”
“Yep,” I said.
“He’s in a band now?”
“Depends on who you ask,” I said.
“Oh, I love this song!” she said as they moved into a bouncy, banjo-heavy take of a disco standard.
The drunk table clearly did too. They were already cheering, even before Hector pulled the microphone toward him, pushing his hair back, and began to sing.
“Ladies,” someone said from behind us. “Can I get you a beverage? Cocktails are half off until six.”
I turned: A guy in Tides whites was standing there. He had on a gold chain and was as clearly of age as we were not, probably somewhere in his late twenties. His name tag said STEVE.
“No, thanks,” Anne said. I shook my head as well.
“You sure?” He leaned toward me, close enough that I could smell his cologne, which was not pleasant. “It’s cool. If you’re under, we can keep it between us.”
“Steve!” I turned: Cardoon was over by the rowdy table. My hero. Again. “Can you get these thirsty folks another round?”
By the time the song wrapped up, a few other groups had come onto the patio: some teenage girls in bathing suits. Three women wearing flowy dresses. A group of kids, who immediately started trying to push one another into the pool.
“We’re Sudden Constellation!” Hector was saying now. “And we’ll be back in five.”
With that, the beach music came back on. Meanwhile, Ben had put down his guitar and was heading toward us. He looked as stressed as I’d ever seen him, including the day we’d run out of bacon at the Egg. Which was really saying something.
“And that’s our entire setlist,” he said. “Now what?”
“Do it again?” I suggested, nodding at the loud table. “You sound good. I was just about to gaze at you adoringly when the break came.”
“You were what?” Anne asked, confused.
“Ben!” Hector, who was talking to an older guy in a Tides golf shirt, was waving him over. “Come meet Mr. Coker!”
Ben didn’t move. I said, “Who’s that?”
“The Tides entertainment manager,” he replied, as one of the nearby kids did a cannonball, a light spray of water splashing us. Still, Ben remained, even as Hector waggled his fingers, impatient. “He’s under the impression that we want a permanent slot here.”
Anne said, “And you don’t?”
“I don’t even want to be playing now.”
She looked at me, as if I could translate. “The whole being in a band thing is… kind of traumatic,” I told her. “It hasn’t gone well in the past.”
“Oh, well,” she said. “In that case, it’s good that you’re doing it. I read this book last year called Hope to Cope?”
Of course there was a book.
“The author says,” she went on as Hector continued to gesture fruitlessly at Ben from the other side of the pool, “that the right thing to do is repeat the circumstances that gave you fear in the first place. Different outcomes lead to different emotions, which then lessen the impact of the initial one. It’s how I got over that whole thing with the mail truck. ”
She had me until the last part. “Mail truck?”
“I rear-ended one last year, backing down my driveway,” she explained as Ben and I exchanged a look. “Beautiful day, I was in a great mood, just heading to work. And then BAM. The poor carrier literally toppled out into the street. I didn’t ever want to get behind the wheel again.”
“But you did,” Ben said.
“Because of that book! Plus Jonathan said having to take me everywhere while my car sat in the garage was making us codependent.” She sighed, shaking her head. “Of course, once I was driving again, I had to pick up a book about that.”
He nodded. “Right.”
“The point is, I got over it.” She took in a breath, then let it out. “Eventually.”
By now, Hector had given up on Ben and was heading back to the microphone setup.
Just past him, down the stairs, I saw another group assembling.
One woman, in a white flowing dress and a bright blue beaded necklace, looked familiar.
Then I placed her: It was Kathy, Jonathan’s mom.
Sure enough, a moment later, Jonathan himself appeared, along with a man in a suit jacket I guessed was his dad.
“There’s—” I began to say to Anne. But something about the studied way she was not looking at them made me pause.
“Ben!” Hector was back at the mike. “Time to rock!”
Ben just looked at him. I nudged him with my elbow. “Go ahead. Just remember the mail truck.”
“Hope to cope!” Anne added.
Despite this encouragement, he hardly looked enthused. But he did go, passing Steve as he reappeared, a trayful of drinks in one hand. “Second thoughts?”
I shook my head. Anne, however, reached over, taking one with an umbrella in it. “Thanks,” she said, immediately taking a sip through the bright pink straw. Now she did look at Jonathan and his parents, but only briefly, before sliding behind me.
“Welcome back, everyone! This is happy hour, and we’re Sudden Constellation!” Hector was saying. “Let’s get this party going.”
Oof. I turned to say something to Anne, accidentally elbowing her in the stomach because she was huddled so close to me. It was obvious she was hiding from Jonathan and his parents, who were now heading down the steps to the beach area. “Hey,” I said, “what is going on with you?”
“Play ‘Shrimp Pimp’ again!” someone yelled. A bunch of the kids, hearing this, began jumping up and down.
Instead of replying, Anne just took another sip with her straw, then looped her arm in mine, pulling me closer. What was I supposed to do as the chorus came around and she began to sing along, poking me with each word? I joined in.
There also was music playing when we pulled up later at the Woods. A first.
“Is that… Prince?” Ben asked.
I paused, listening. It was. Inside, someone was laughing. I turned to look at Anne. But she was still staring out the window, silent, the way she’d been ever since we’d left the Tides, when Sudden Constellation wrapped up their show.
Now I nudged my cousin to get out of the truck. She did, slowly, and I hopped out as well while Ben’s door banged shut.
Inside, more giggling. Then I heard my mom say, “Hello?”
“It’s me,” I responded.
There was a flurry of activity, some clanking, as we came down the hall. Liz and my mom were at the table, a bottle of wine open between them. Someone’s phone was in a coffee mug, a surprisingly effective speaker.
“Hi!” Liz said. Her face was flushed, a paper cup at her elbow. She peered around Ben and me at Anne, now in the kitchen. “The clambake’s already over?”
“Kathy wasn’t feeling well.”
“Poor thing! I hope it isn’t—” But Anne had gone into the bathroom, the door shutting behind her. To me she added, “Hopefully, it’s not serious.”
She went to refill her cup. When my mom pushed her own forward, she frowned. “Now, Cat. What would Nurse Geralin say?”
My mom rolled her eyes. “That I’m your big sister. Either pour it or I will.”
Liz hooted, obeying, although I noticed she still only gave my mom a small bit. Meanwhile, Prince continued to sing about doves.
I sat down next to my mom. But I was very aware of Ben as he moved behind me to go around the table to a chair on the other side. Like I could not ignore the feeling of connection between us, even—especially—when it was unseen to everyone else.
In the end, Sudden Constellation had managed to play for the full hour.
Although it did involve repeating a couple of songs and some unfortunate patter from Hector about the meaning behind the band’s name.
(The fact that stars can be ancient or newly created is a parallel to our lives and their events, forever changing.
Whatever that meant.) Because it was that time of day when people were moving from the beach or pool back to the hotel, though, I was pretty sure Anne and I were the only ones who saw the entire thing.
“Lord,” Liz said now, drumming her fingers on the table along with the music. “Now, don’t tell Trav I was drinking. But I think this is what I needed.”
“Just don’t do more than one,” my mom observed. “You know how you get.”
“What? How do I get?”
“Loud,” my mom said. “Then weepy.”
“What? No. This is good! It’s like old times, us together!” Liz exclaimed. She was talking at a high volume. “Next you’ll give everyone bad haircuts.”
“Don’t tempt me,” my mom said.
The door sounded again and Kasey came in, carrying a paper bag. Lana was behind her. “All I had at the cabin was some champagne and two wine coolers,” she reported, plunking it down on the table. “Also a bottle of brandy that looked older than all of us, which I left.”
“Champagne!” Liz clapped her hands. “To celebrate the sale. Or is it bad luck to do it already?”
“Nope,” Kasey told her, taking out the bottle as Anne returned from the bathroom, taking a seat behind the dollhouse. “All that’s left is signing for the notary.”
I watched as she pulled off the foil, then the metal covering the cork, before grabbing a nearby napkin and wrapping the bottle neck in it. Then, through the napkin, she wiggled the cork, slowly, until it came out with a pop! My mom nodded with admiration.
“Nice,” she said.
“Those years bartending were good for something,” Kasey replied. “Lana, grab some more cups.”
Lana went in the kitchen. When she returned, handing them over, Kasey said, “What do you think, Cat? Give the kids a glass?”
My mom gave me a bemused look. “You want some, Finley?”
The last time I’d had champagne was graduation night, with Colin. Now not my best memory. But this could be a new one. Hope to cope.
“Sure,” I said.
“Small pour,” my mom said to Kasey, while Liz handed an already half-full glass to Lana, then Ben. Accordingly, I ended up with about a single swallow. Which was honestly as much as I wanted.
“Should we toast?” Liz asked as she pushed a cup to Anne, who ignored it. “Who wants to do the honors?”
We waited. Nobody said anything. Finally, Liz took a breath. “To Mom and the Judge, and Grandpa and Grandmother before them,” she began. “Thanks for…”
With that, she got quiet, tears filling her eyes.
“To the Tides,” my mom said, “for—”
Liz sniffled. Now she was all-out crying.
Kasey cleared her throat. “To change.”
She held out her cup. Liz, still sniffly, did the same. Then my mom. Lana, Ben, and I, for proximity’s sake, did our own. Cheers.
Another song came on, this time a woman’s voice, rising up out of the coffee mug. Liz put a hand over her mouth. “Oh! June Carter Cash! She was Mom’s favorite. It’s a sign!”
My mom sighed. Kasey said, “Please don’t let Kenny Rogers be next. I can’t take it.”
Liz sighed. “Remember that cocktail bar the Judge took us to sometimes, where they always played that old country music?”
“Dupont’s,” Kasey said, taking another swig.
“Wasn’t that over by Boatyard?” Ben asked. She nodded.
“Those waitresses in the little skirts!” Liz said. To me she added, “They always gave us free Shirley Temples. Plus as many cherries as we wanted.”
My mom picked up the phone, abruptly switching away from the current song. A beat. Then an older song I knew well from weddings and social media began.
Liz shrieked. “Turn it up.”
My mother complied, cranking the volume before setting the phone back into the mug with a clank. “Oh dear,” Kasey said, giggling. “She’s going to dance.”
“Mom,” Anne said, now paying attention, but it was too late. Liz was up, shaking her hips and snapping as she moved around the table, behind Kasey, who then joined her.
“Whoa,” Lana said.
“Wine.” Anne’s voice was flat. “Wine did this.”
At this, my mom laughed out loud, which was strange enough. Then Liz turned, mid–hip shake, and stuck out a hand. And to my surprise, cold, quiet Catherine Finley Hope took it. Then she let herself be pulled in.
To the circle. The music. The moment. I watched, fixated, as she began to sway to the beat. Meanwhile, Kasey had Anne up and into a dip, both of them giggling,
Liz turned, face flushed, toward the rest of us. “Come on!” she said, waving her arms. “Big finish!”
Lana quickly moved to join them, bumping a hip against Anne.
Kasey started doing jazz hands, while my mom closed her eyes, extending one hand over her head.
Watching her, I had that feeling that she was both known and unknown.
A composed, quiet presence at graduation only three weeks ago.
And now, face flushed, lost in the movement and music but still, somehow, as here with me as she’d ever been.
I looked across at Ben. He was sitting there, a bemused smile on his face as the women of my family spun and twirled around us.
The song was building, and I had a flash of myself at Colin’s church, way back at the beginning of what had once felt like everything.
Then I’d had to wait to be summoned, the biggest moments of my life initiated by others.
Now I pushed back my chair and stood. When Ben looked up at me, I motioned for him to join me.
It was just a moment. One song. Everyone there was caught up in it. Still, as his fingers clasped mine, I again felt that pull, stronger than ever. Ben slid his other arm around my waist. His palm, landing exactly in the stretch between my waistband and the bottom of my shirt, was on my bare skin.
We stood there for a second. Two. The time stretched out both behind and ahead of me. Then I took a step, he did the same, and just like that, we were dancing.