This reporter has been awake all night, monitoring the specific details of Ursula’s well-publicized “bachelorette” weekend in Sicily. There are several hints that allude to the fact that Ursula will not go through with the wedding to Orion this weekend.
Will Ursula leave Orion at the altar?
“Wait a minute,” Charlotte demanded. She inhaled slowly and returned the phone to Christine. “No. It’s just hearsay. All these bloggers and reporters, they just want to gossip to get more readers. If I don’t hear the wedding is off straight from the horse’s mouth, then I’m going to keep going.”
“Is the horse in this metaphor Ursula herself?” Rachel asked, teasing her with a bright smile.
“Very funny young lady.” Charlotte reached for a croissant and took a small bite from the buttery crust. She then grabbed her coat and walked into the gorgeous afternoon, turning her eyes toward the sky and feeling the snow as it flickered and melted across her cheeks.
There really was something magical about Martha’s Vineyard in the winter. It felt a bit like a secret, one the rest of the world missed out on since most saw Martha’s Vineyard only in her summer glory.
Sometimes, on these snowy days, Charlotte found herself imagining Jason heading toward her from the shadows beyond. She always loved him in his winter coat, his beard thick, and his green eyes reflecting the soft light from the snow. He would always wrap her up in his big coat and dot little kisses across her cheek. “That tickles,” she always told him as the bristles of his mustache danced across her skin.
What would Jason say about this wedding?
Jason would say what he always had.
That it was frivolous—but sometimes, the frivolous things in life were the things to celebrate all the more. This was a funny stance from a fisherman. His job, as he always said, was “salt of the earth,” the kind of thing you only did if you didn’t know how to do anything else. Charlotte had always thought it was pretty romantic to have a fisherman husband. Sure—the smell had been a constant battle for her. She had tried every number of lotions and creams and candles to rid herself of the smell. Claire had always insisted that the smell didn’t rub off on Charlotte, but Charlotte had never fully believed it.
Now, she probably would have traded her right arm to have that smell around her again.
She was out of her mind.
Rachel appeared beside her in the snow a few minutes later. She imitated her mother and blinked up at the sky.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yes, honey,” Charlotte replied, easing her daughter’s anxiety. “Just plodding forward, trying not to fall apart.”
“You’ve really proven yourself over the past few weeks, I think,” Rachel said. “Cool under pressure, despite a lot of things not working out. I thought you were going to scream at Zach when he changed the menu, but you kept yourself calm—”
“Well, I mean, I did scream into that pillow later in the afternoon,” Charlotte pointed out.
“Zach’s changes are going to work perfectly,” Rachel affirmed. “He cares about this wedding just as much as all of us.”
“How did you get so wise?” Charlotte asked, looking at her daughter with nothing but love.
Rachel shrugged. “I am almost fifteen now, you know. I guess it was finally time.”
Charlotte heaved a sigh, one of hundreds per day; it seemed like. “You want to head back in? Help Claire with the bouquets?”
“She is on the verge of crying. I swear she is,” Rachel said with a laugh.
When they reentered the flower shop, they found Christine wrapping her scarf around her neck again. She tugged her head toward the door and said, “Those pies won’t make themselves, I guess, and we have way, way too many people coming over tomorrow to let them wait.”
“You’re a master,” Charlotte said. She hugged Christine tight and toyed with the little fluff ball at the top of her hat. “Don’t know what I would have done without you.”
“Well, I guess, Lola and I were the ones who pushed you into this. So, without us, you might be a lot more relaxed right now,” Christine said with an evil laugh.
“Don’t remind me,” Charlotte said.
“You won’t regret it,” Christine replied.
“If you say so.”
She watched as Christine cut back into the snowy afternoon. At that moment, Claire hollered and lifted a hand, which she had accidentally clipped with the shears. Bright red blood oozed down her palm.
“No!” Charlotte cried. She rushed toward the bathroom, where she collected a number of bandages and returned to Claire, forcing her to sit.
Claire matched Charlotte’s sigh as Charlotte began to bandage her up. It had looked much worse at first; really, it was just a little slash against tender skin.
“The real drama is happening here,” Claire said with a half-chuckle. “Not over in Sicily.”
“The tabloids should really feature us,” Charlotte said as she snapped a final bandage into place.
“The Sheridan and Montgomery sisters lose their ever-loving minds over the wedding of the century,” Claire announced, waving her bandaged hand in the air.
“And they all lived happily ever after,” Charlotte said with a smile.
“In the insane asylum,” Claire finished.
Chapter Six
Everett rented a car upon his arrival in Boston and drove over to Falmouth. All the while, snow splattered itself across the windshield, and he forced the wipers to do overtime. He wasn’t used to driving in the winter. He had probably done it only a handful of times.
When he reached the ferry service that went between Falmouth and Martha’s Vineyard, the company told him that the only ferries in operation the rest of the night were ones that couldn’t support vehicles. He cursed himself for having rented the car at all. He passed his keys over to the valet and watched as the energetic twenty-something eased it down the road and toward another garage. He rubbed his arms and shivered in his light jacket.
“You’re not from around here, are you?” the older man who operated the ticket stand
