Chapter 25 #2
"Thanks," Ben said, the single word designed to end the conversation. It didn't work.
"Here's what I'm thinking," Rob said, and the words carried the unmistakable weight of a pitch.
He turned his body, his knee nearly touching Ben's.
"You've got the track record. The connections.
The reputation. And I've got the financial expertise, the local knowledge, the relationships in this community.
Between the two of us, we could do something real. "
Christ on a unicycle.
"Rob," Kelly interjected, her voice firm. "The ceremony's about to start."
"I'm just talking," Rob said, not looking at her. His attention was locked on Ben. "Think about it. I could be the brains, you could be the money. We'd make a hell of a team."
Ben let that description settle. The brains and the money.
Rob had assigned himself the intellectual role without a moment's hesitation, leaving Ben as the wallet.
It was, in its way, a perfect summary of how Rob Bateman viewed the world.
Everyone had a function, and Rob's function was always the most important one.
"I appreciate the thought," Ben said, his voice neutral enough to pass for polite. "But I'm not really looking at new ventures right now."
"Just think about it," Rob insisted, leaning even closer. "No pressure. But when you're ready to get back in the game, you're going to want someone who understands numbers. And I understand numbers."
"Rob, seriously," Kelly said, placing her hand on Ben's arm in a gesture that was partly affectionate and partly territorial. "Can we talk about this later? Your sister is about to get married."
Rob finally leaned back, though his expression suggested the conversation was merely paused, not finished. He straightened his tie and turned to face the aisle with the air of a man who had planted a seed and was confident it would grow.
Ben exhaled slowly through his nose. Beside him, Rob's wife caught his eye and offered an apologetic half-smile that communicated everything words couldn't. She'd been living with this for years. Ben had only endured fifteen minutes.
But Rob, it turned out, was not finished talking. He’d only stopped to change seating positions and take a breath.
"You know who you should meet while you're in town?" Rob said, twisting back toward Ben as if Kelly's intervention had been a commercial break rather than a request. "Ethan Walters. Local attorney. Sharp guy. I'm going to get him elected as mayor in the next election. He's a shoo-in."
Ben nodded in what he hoped was a sufficiently interested manner. He was running out of polite responses. His reserve of "that's interesting" and "sounds great" was dangerously low.
"Ethan and I go way back," Rob continued, puffing out his chest in a way that seemed involuntary, like a reflex triggered by the sound of his own voice.
"High school. He was the student class president, a smart kid, but he needed direction.
I'm basically the reason he even got into a good school.
He was ready to blow his entire future, and I was able to get him to see reason. He'd be nothing without me."
Ben wondered what "blow his entire future" meant in this context. Frankly, if Rob had worked on Wall Street with Ben, no one would have even put him in charge of the company’s happy hour.
He glanced at Kelly. She was looking straight ahead, her jaw set, but she caught his sideways look and gave a subtle shake of her head. The gesture was small, barely perceptible, but it said everything. Don't engage. Don't encourage. Just let it pass like the weather.
"Ethan's got the whole package," Rob went on. "Good looks, good education, the right connections. Once I introduce you two, you'll see what I mean. He could use someone with your kind of financial background advising his campaign. Pro bono, of course. It's about civic duty."
Pro bono. Of course it was. Rob's generosity with other people's time and money was apparently boundless.
"I'll keep that in mind," Ben said, which was technically true.
He would keep it in mind as an example of Rob's endless capacity for self-promotion.
Rob opened his mouth to continue, but the universe, in a rare act of mercy, intervened.
The first notes of a string quartet drifted across the garden, gentle and clear in the afternoon air.
A violin led the melody, joined by a cello that added depth to the simple tune.
The guests shifted in their seats, conversations dying away as attention turned toward the back of the aisle where Celia’s bridesmaids were lined up.
Rob closed his mouth. Even he recognized that talking over the wedding processional would be a step too far.
Ben settled back in his chair and focused on the ceremony unfolding in front of him. The officiant, a tall man in a dark suit, took his position beneath the arch, along with the groom and his groomsmen.
Trevor stood at the altar, his hands clasped in front of him, his fingers visibly fidgeting. His eyes were fixed on the far end of the aisle, waiting. His best man, whoever had accepted the role Rob had claimed to decline, stood beside him looking appropriately supportive.
The bridesmaids came first, walking in measured steps down the rose-petal aisle. Lavender dresses, matching bouquets, practiced smiles. They took their places on either side of the arch with the choreographed precision of a group that had rehearsed this several times.
Then the music changed. The quartet shifted into something more traditional, and the guests rose to their feet in a collective rustle of fabric and creaking chairs.
Celia appeared at the end of the aisle on her father's arm. David Bateman walked with the careful dignity of a man who understood that every eye in the garden was on him, and he intended to make the most of it. His suit was impeccable, his posture military-straight.
But it was Celia who drew the attention.
Her gown was simple and elegant, white, with a modest train trailing behind her.
She held a bouquet of white roses against her waist, and her dark hair was swept up with small flowers tucked into the arrangement.
She was smiling, and it was the kind of smile that had nothing performative about it. Pure and unguarded.
Ben turned to watch Kelly's reaction.
She was standing beside him with her hands clasped at her waist, her eyes following her sister's progress down the aisle. The tension that had been in her shoulders all afternoon was gone, replaced by something quieter.
Her expression had softened in a way Ben hadn't seen directed at anyone in her family since they'd arrived in Bergen. Whatever frustrations she carried about her sister, whatever resentments had built up over years of being compared and found wanting, they weren't visible now.
She was watching her little sister get married.
Celia reached the altar. David Bateman placed his daughter's hand in Trevor's with a formal nod, then stepped back to take his seat beside his wife, who was already dabbing her eyes with a tissue. The officiant began to speak, his voice carrying across the garden with practiced projection.
Ben was half listening to the standard wedding preamble when he noticed Kelly's chin dip slightly. She blinked twice, rapidly, and then a tear slid down her cheek. She didn't wipe it away. She just stood there, her hands still clasped, letting it fall.
Without looking at her directly, Ben reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his handkerchief. He held it out at his side, low and quiet, the way you'd pass a note in class without the teacher seeing.
For a moment, their hands overlapped. Her fingertips were cool against his, and the contact lasted just long enough to mean something before she took the handkerchief and pressed it to her cheek.
She gave him a small smile. Not the bright, social smile she'd been deploying all afternoon for relatives and strangers. A real one.
The vows were traditional. Love, honor, cherish. Sickness and health. Richer and poorer. The words were familiar enough to wash over the crowd like warm water, and Ben found himself thinking not about the couple at the altar but about the woman beside him.
They'd known each other for less than a month.
They'd already fought and reconciled, investigated a murder, faced down a difficult family, and spent two nights together.
It was, by any reasonable measure, too much too fast. The old Ben would have been concerned about the pace, would have wanted to slow down, assess the risks, and create a spreadsheet.
He didn’t do spontaneity. He wasn’t in the least impetuous.
But the current Ben was holding Kelly’s hand, and he didn't want to let go.