Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
Maura
June 21 is the summer solstice. Every year, on repeat, it is the day with the most hours of light and the fewest hours of darkness. The longest day and the shortest night. Yet, somehow, June 21, 1969, is the longest night of my life. Ma said a woman’s wedding day is the most wonderful day of her life. She never said anything about the wedding night.
The Shelbourne has a reputation for punctuality, and it lives up to it when lunch is served at 1:00 p.m. sharp. Da says the turkey and ham is worth every penny. Ma says she’s glad they have only one daughter because weddings are expensive. Christy’s parents don’t say much about any of it. My father and Christy’s father make speeches. Declan is the last to say a few words.
“Congratulations to my brother. He’s finally found a woman who will put up with him. Welcome to the family, Maura.”
Declan’s words wrap around me like a warm hug and my face aches from smiling. At 4:30 p.m., Agatha accompanies me to the ladies’ bathroom on the second floor and helps me out of my dress. I slip on tan trousers and the mustard cashmere jumper that I selected with such vigor and excitement from Switzers. I pair them with a matching tan blazer. I saw Doris Day wearing a similar outfit on a film poster a few months back and everyone called it a bold fashion statement.
“A suit,” Agatha says, goggle-eyed. “You look amazing.”
“Thank you.”
I reapply some ruby red lipstick and tuck a flyaway strand of hair behind my ear as I give myself the once-over in the mirror.
“Are you nervous?” she asks.
I look at her, unsure.
“About later. About tonight.” She shuffles on the spot and makes a face. “About your wedding night.”
I take a deep breath. “No. I’m not nervous.”
“Wow. Have you…” Agatha pauses and looks at my trousers once more. She can’t seem to take her eyes off them. “Have you, you know… have you already?”
I let my breath out with a rough huff. I don’t answer that question. Frankly, I’m insulted that the answer isn’t obvious.
“We should go,” I say. “I don’t want to keep Christy waiting.”
In the lobby, Christy is standing by the front door. His mouth gapes just a fraction when he sees me. My going-away outfit cost me three weeks’ wages but I decide it was a small price to pay when I see the look on his face. Staff and another bride compliment me on my outfit as we leave the hotel. And someone else, yet again, compares me to the legendary Hollywood actress.
Outside, the afternoon sun shines high. I rest my hand above my eyes like a visor and squint, trying to adjust to the light. Momentarily blinded, I don’t see it coming.
Heat explodes across my face. Christy’s hand catches my cheekbone and the side of my nose. The slap sets me spinning and I almost tumble down the steps. I grab the railing and steady myself just in time. Fire pulsates in my face, and my mouth is gaping as I look up at him. He doesn’t meet my gaze.
“Stand up straight,” he says. “The valet will be back with the car any moment.”
Sure enough, within a few seconds Christy’s Ford Capri pulls up at the bottom of the steps. A young man in uniform and cap hops out, hurries up the steps, and passes Christy his keys.
“Thank you,” Christy says, handing the kid some money.
I don’t see or ask how much. My feet are steadying now, but my mind is still spinning. Christy takes my hand, like a perfect gentleman, and guides me down the steps. He opens the passenger-side door and lets go of my hand. I look at him once more, but he still refuses to look back at me. He places his lips next to my ear and whispers through gritted teeth.
“Get in.”
Cheering and clapping carry from the top of the steps. Our respective families have appeared there to see us on our way.
“Enjoy your honeymoon,” my mother calls out.
“Drive safely,” Christy’s mother shouts.
Everyone waves and cheers. Christy places one hand on the small of my back and raises the other in the air, waving back at everyone as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.
“Get in,” he grunts again.
I search for Ma’s eyes at the top of the steps. She looks back at me with so much pride and joy. I look away, certain I won’t be able to keep the tears from falling for much longer. Christy tells me to get into the car for a third time and follows his words with a shove. I don’t want to. I want to run up the steps and into the safety of my mother’s arms. I want to tell her that I’ve made a terrible mistake and ask her to fix everything for me. But of course I know life doesn’t work that way. I’m a doctor’s wife now, whether I like it or not.
I sit into the car. My tan, slim-legged trousers and mustard jumper that I had chosen with such joy as my going-away outfit suddenly feel tight and chafing. Christy lights up a cigarette and walks around the front of the car to slip in behind the wheel. He slams the door behind him and starts the engine.
“How dare you embarrass me like that?” he says, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles whiten.
“Christy, please, you’re scaring me!”
“A suit.”
Christy’s face is puce. I choose my words carefully. “Don’t you like it? It’s new.”
“It’s a kick in the teeth, that’s what it is. My father was horrified to see a woman, my woman, dressed like a man.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I thought you’d like it.”
“I don’t.”
“I won’t wear it again.”
“No, Maura. No, you won’t.”
Silent tears trickle down my cheek when I stare out the window at our family and friends waving as we drive away. I replay Agatha’s question in my mind. Are you nervous?
I’m not nervous. I am terrified.