Chapter 55
WILLIAM
It was cooler beneath the tent, cooler the closer you got to the cliff.
Parents had been told not to let their children wander near the edge, that the ground was not as steady as it looked, rooted in soft rock and sand, and so most guests avoided it.
And the tent itself was beautiful, a crisp sail beneath the blue sky.
William wove through the crowd, halted by strangers who knew who he was by the color of his face and hair. They all said the same words.
Beautiful ceremony.
Perfect weather.
You all must be so happy.
His aunts and uncles spoke in more variation. Uncle Stephen mimed a dramatic wipe of his brow, as if they’d all avoided catastrophe. Aunt Janice asked if he was feeling okay. Aunt Pam wondered whether the Pruitts had any pets.
Andrew had not left Shay’s side since he’d pushed a gold band up against her knuckle and kissed her chastely on the mouth.
She had seemed frail but resolute, slowly marching down the aisle, and William had felt compelled to reach for her hand, to ask her if this was what she really wanted.
Their mother had joined William in the first pew, and as if sensing this compulsion, she pressed her palm to his knee as Shay processed, and he had remained seated.
Looking to the back of the church, he’d noticed Joel.
No tie or suit jacket. He must have slipped in after Andrew took his place in the nave, and his face was drawn like he was at another funeral.
William wondered what either of them had expected, feeling a small fraction of his grief.
His heart always cracked when he saw someone else’s break.
When everyone took their seats and the priest began speaking, his mother briefly squeezed his knee, like it had been decided: Shay would actually be wed.
He could not tell if Shay was happy. Her vows were firm and flat, her smile steady but not joyful.
Every once in a while, he’d see her shake her head ever so slightly, like a fly was buzzing at her ear.
He wondered if his father would have cried, how different everything would be if he had been there.
Would their family even be on this island?
For some reason, William had an odd flash of a cathedral in Mexico, an old priest in voluminous robes.
When this priest asked if anyone had any objections, the church was silent.
Under the tent, the boy from the first day in the hotel—the one who had dropped the tray of glasses—offered William a canapé, both of his hands gripping the platter’s edge.
The pastry was soft, the Brie catching in his throat, like his exhaustion made his body forget how to swallow.
He stole a half-empty glass of water from a nearby table.
A trio of musicians played muted jazz, the melody sanded down by chatter and clinking glasses.
A little girl cried from beneath a chair.
“William.” A hand clapped his back. He turned to find Oscar, Scott, and Vivian, each flushed with heat and champagne. “We’ve been trying to find you. It’s a zoo underneath this tent,” Oscar said.
“You’re very popular,” Vivian added. She looked lovely, her hair pinned so it fell over one shoulder in a perfect curl. How did girls learn to do these things? He could barely iron his suit.
“Listen. Listen,” Oscar said. There was an urgency to him, though Scott just took another sip of his champagne and Vivian rolled her eyes.
“For the record, I don’t believe any of this,” she said.
“Believe what?” William asked.
“Scott and I decided to walk to the church because we knew the line to the golf carts was going to be stupidly long,” Oscar said. “And we got a little lost.”
“You got a little lost. I told you it wasn’t so close to the water,” Scott interjected.
“Jesus, fine. I got us lost, but we wound up by the docks, and we saw someone from Synanon.”
“What?”
“A woman,” Scott said, more soberly than Oscar, who seemed to find some glee in this discovery. “Shaved head, overalls.”
“Did you follow her?” William looked around, as if their words would have summoned her. He could still see Shay. Andrew’s arm was wound around her waist.
“She was getting on a boat. We saw it sail away. But what the hell, right? Do you think Shay invited her? Maybe Andrew found out and shipped her off?”
“I . . . don’t know.”
“I’m sure it was just some person wearing overalls,” Vivian said. “Other people wear overalls.”
“But you’re sure they left?” he asked.
“We watched until they were pretty far out,” Scott said.
Another waiter approached with a platter of shrimp on toast, pink bellies curled like question marks. Oscar chewed one and then spat it out into a napkin. The trumpet player blew harder, insisting on being heard.
“If we want to be sure, though, I recognized the man who was with her,” Oscar said, wiping his mouth. “Not the one who steered the boat, but the one who was seeing her off and stayed onshore.”
“Who was it?”
“The one who Vivian tried to make eyes at.”
“What? When?” she said, and then softened with recognition. “Oh, please, that was years go.”
“Who?” William insisted.
“I don’t know his name,” Oscar continued. “But at the ceremony, all he wore was a white shirt.”