2
Kate sat between Conor and Tom at the rehearsal dinner.
Friends and family filled the long table.
The chef had outdone himself, sending out hot buttered lobster dumplings, pan-seared day boat scallops, wild mushroom ravioli, a roasted rack of Australian lamb, and, fresh off the grill, harpooned Block Island swordfish.
At the very start of dinner, Brian had served his cocktail creation, with a mocktail version to those who preferred it without gin and champagne: St-Germain elderflower, lemon, clear honey, and one long, paper-thin twist of cucumber.
He presented a glass to Kate first. The ingredients were local and fresh; the slice of cucumber, twisted around the inside of the glass, gave the drink an alluring pearlescence, a white opacity—like coastal fog.
“It’s delicious,” she said. “And now you have to tell me what it’s called. You said the name was part of the surprise.”
“That’s right,” Brian said. “Can’t you guess?”
She sipped again, thinking of the possibilities. But then he gestured toward the back of the room, where he had placed a large package wrapped in white paper and tied with a black grosgrain ribbon.
“The same as the title of the painting?” she asked in a low voice, so Conor wouldn’t hear.
He nodded, beaming.
She felt delighted. The painting that would be her wedding gift to Conor—James Suydam’s depiction of moonlight and the lighthouse through fog.
It hinted at anticipation, of waiting, of the evening’s romantic mystery, and it had the most perfect title: Foggy Night.
And now, looking at the cocktail, she saw exactly what Brian had been going for; he had absolutely captured the essence of the painting.
It was so thoughtful, she grabbed his hand and squeezed.
“Foggy Night,” he said. “In honor of your wedding.”
Then he filled glasses for the entire table, and he and the waitstaff served them.
Kate sat back, surveilling the table, feeling so happy.
Conor and Tom’s aunt and uncle—Anne and Mike Reid—were speaking with Joe, Garrett, and Belinda.
Mike was a retired Rhode Island Superior Court judge, and both Joe and Garrett had testified in cases before him.
“That’s a sight you don’t see every day,” Conor said, leaning close to Kate. “Cops socializing with the judiciary.”
“Looks as if they’re all enjoying themselves,” Kate said before sipping her drink.
“Uncle Mike loves holding forth,” Conor said. “He’s competing with Bernard for the most booming voice.”
Kate smiled. Bernard Lafond, CeCe’s father, had flown in from Los Angeles and was lamenting how hard it had been to take time off from shooting his hit series, Border Saints.
The director had been furious, but as the star, Bernard got what he wanted.
Bernard had brought a new girlfriend, Miranda, and she was leaning into him and laughing in all the right places.
Kate noticed Suzanne bustling around. She seemed to be making sure the guests had everything they needed.
She spoke to the judge and his wife, then Belinda, Sam, and Hadley.
Then Kate felt perplexed at this “hostess” she’d never met before.
She’d have to ask Maeve exactly how Suzanne had come to work at her rehearsal dinner.
Toasts were made. Some were romantic, some were funny.
Bernard, with his shaggy white mane and actor’s theatricality, slugged down his cocktail and asked Brian to bring him a glass of his favorite burgundy.
Brian obliged, and Bernard stood, cleared his throat, raised his glass of Gevrey-Chambertin, and said in his thick French accent, his deep actor’s voice:
“To our fine couple, Kate and Conor. Nothing less than this poem by William Butler Yeats will do to celebrate them:
Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye . . .”
He finished reciting the poem, bowed his head, and nodded in showy humility at the applause. Kate saw Conor looking not at Bernard, but at CeCe. Bernard was a mostly absent father. She knew that Conor disliked him for that reason—because he loved CeCe so much. CeCe was beaming, proud of her father.
Tom and Jackie stood together. Kate had expected a bantering, teasing toast from Tom, but instead she watched Conor’s brother’s eyes well up.
“Ah, Con,” he said. “I’ve watched you all through life, seen you solve the hardest cases, win medals and awards, rise through the ranks.
You’re tops in all you do, but one thing has been missing.
” He paused, put his arm around Jackie. “Love. Like what I have for Jackie. And now you’ve found Kate.
” He looked at Kate. “Kate, we’ve loved you from the moment we met you. You’re our family, and we’re yours.”
“Thanks, Tom,” Conor said. “What you said means a lot.”
“It should,” Tom said. “I was up all night writing it.”
“No wonder you look like hell today, you didn’t get any sleep . . .”
The brothers kept at it until dessert and coffee were served: strawberry shortcake, pignoli olive oil cake with dark chocolate and brown butter, chocolate profiteroles, and macarons.
Kate walked toward the door, where Brian had placed the painting.
He had arranged to have someone from the boutique wrap it, and she planned to give it to Conor right here, at the dinner, in front of the people they loved most. Suzanne stood beside the painting as if guarding it.
“I am so excited,” Maeve said, coming to stand beside Kate. Her boyfriend, Lincoln Adams, was with her. He had met Maeve at the gallery—his father, Crispin, was one of Kate’s biggest collectors and had become a friend.
“He’s going to love it,” Lincoln said.
“He is,” Kate said.
“It’s so romantic,” Maeve said, giving Kate a hug.
Kate couldn’t have a better assistant or protégé. Maeve had started working at the gallery straight out of college a year ago; she had caught on fast, learning both the business and Kate’s taste.
“Would you like Maeve and me to carry it, so you can give it to him now?” Lincoln asked.
“A grand presentation!” Maeve said.
Kate glanced at the table and saw that Conor was still talking to Tom.
“I’ll do it,” Kate said. “As soon as he sits down.”
She saw Conor glance over and smile at her. She took that as a sign and began to lift the painting. It was large and heavy, but she was used to moving art around at the gallery. As she leaned down to pick it up, she saw Conor’s eyes widen at the sight of Belinda, who was walking toward Kate.
“Kate?” Belinda asked.
She was wearing the same white sundress she’d had on when she’d been down at the seawall with Conor. It suddenly struck Kate as odd, thoughtless—to wear white to another woman’s wedding weekend.
“Hi, Belinda,” Kate said.
“I’d love to talk to you,” Belinda said.
“Me too,” Kate said. “That would be great. A little later?”
“No, now.”
Kate was alarmed by Belinda’s sharp tone.
“Is everything okay?” Kate asked.
“Conor probably told you I’m called ‘Belle,’” Belinda said, her voice a strange, disturbing singsong.
“No, he didn’t,” Kate said.
“Beauty and the Beast,” Belinda said.
“What?” Kate asked.
“They were lovers,” Belinda said. “Beast and Belle. Belle was Beauty’s name, you know.
And my name for my lover is ‘Beast’—he is one, you know.
A beast.” She laughed. “Though I doubt he’s let you see that.
He saves that for me.” She gazed at Kate, watching for a reaction, but Kate was frozen. Was she actually hearing this?
“Excuse me, Belinda,” Kate said. “I have to give this to Conor.”
“No! You’re going to listen,” Belinda said.
“Beast and Belle couldn’t stop. The only word for it is passion—passion beyond your wildest dreams. Well, and love, of course.
Love to the death. They have eternal love—nothing can ever kill it.
Do you believe in fairy tales? Ones that start in childhood? ”
Kate took a step back. There had to be something wrong with Belinda.
Was she drunk or high? She couldn’t believe that this was actually happening, that this person she had never heard of until a few hours ago was standing in front of her, talking about passion and fairy tales.
She noticed how the deep lines in Belinda’s face pulled her mouth down, as if a frown were her natural expression, as if she had spent her life unhappy.
Belinda blinked and looked away. She seemed to lose her train of thought, then returned her gaze to Kate. Her expression intensified.
“I have a great memory,” Belinda said. “It’s one of my superpowers.
When we were little, in first grade, Conor said he wanted to marry me.
It was after he broke his arm. I was the first person to sign his cast, you know.
Our parents took us to Ocean Beach, and when we went on the little train, he proposed.
I still wear the ring.” She held out her hand, and Kate saw the glittery turquoise nail polish that she had noticed earlier, the tiny silver ring on her pinkie finger.
“Lots of little boys want to marry little girls,” Kate said, trying to keep her voice steady. “They grow out of it.”
“Some don’t,” Belinda said. She stared hard at Kate, smiling with wild eyes.
Kate stood still, without expression, breathing calmly, knowing Belinda was unhinged—that was clear.
She and Conor would laugh about it later—he would reassure her that there was nothing to worry about.
She wondered how Garrett could have wound up dating this crazy person, how he could have brought her to the rehearsal dinner.
One thing was for sure: There was no way she was coming to the wedding.
“There’s something I have to show you,” Belinda said, holding her phone out.
Kate turned away. She told herself that nothing on earth could make her look at that phone, but Belinda grabbed her arm with one hand and shoved the phone into Kate’s face with the other.
“Look!” Belinda said, her voice rising, her tone aggressive. “Look at this, now!”
“Kate, is everything okay?” Maeve asked, stepping forward. “Should I get Conor?”
“Yes, get Conor,” Belinda said.
Kate didn’t want to give Belinda the satisfaction of looking at her phone—she had told herself she wouldn’t—but suddenly she couldn’t stop herself. Her gaze was pulled to the screen, where she saw a photo of Belinda holding an infant.
“Our baby,” Belinda said.
“What?” Kate asked, her head buzzing, making her feel as if she might pass out.
“Our daughter. Conor’s and mine,” Belinda said. “Look at her eyes.”
Kate stared at the phone. The photo was a selfie; Belinda had been balancing the baby while holding her camera, and the picture had blurred.
Kate couldn’t tell how long ago it had been taken, although she had a fleeting impression of Belinda looking very young.
But every detail fell away except for one: The baby had blue eyes.
“Conor’s blue eyes,” Belinda said firmly, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. “And he knows all about her. Even if he tries to tell you he doesn’t—believe me, he knows.”
Conor bolted around the table. Garrett was right behind him.
“Belinda,” Garrett said. “What the hell?”
Conor didn’t bother with words. He was very quiet. He stepped between Kate and Belinda. He reached for the phone, but Belinda yanked it away so violently that she lost her balance and stumbled backward into the wrapped package. Kate heard the antique gold frame crack and the painting’s canvas tear.
Garrett crouched beside Belinda, who had struck her head when she fell. He seemed to be checking her over, making sure she wasn’t badly hurt. Kate heard her whimpering, but she could only look at Conor.
“Is it true?” she asked.
“Kate,” Conor said.
“It is true, isn’t it?” she asked. The look on his face, and the fact that he didn’t answer, told her what she had known the minute she saw those blue eyes.
Then she turned and walked away, out of the room, away from the life she had thought was hers.