Page 91 of A Nantucket Wedding

“Thank you, Doctor,” Scott said.

They wanted to thank the doctor by name, but even though the name was on a tag, it was so very Welsh it was unpronounceable. Jane had found the Welsh for “Thank you” on her phone, and she and Scott both said, “Diolch. Diolchfor everything.” The way the nurse grinned told her she didn’t have the correct pronunciation.

They took a cab to Scott’s hotel in Portmeirion because his rental car was parked at the base of the Watkin Path. The A487 meandered past sunny coastlines and through shady forests. Jane held Scott’s good hand as they rode along, looking out the windows at the lush mountainous landscape. Finally the driver turned onto a long private road and suddenly they were driving under an elaborate arch, entering the dreamlike seaside village created by the eccentric architect Sir Clough Williams-Ellis. They’d discovered this place online together when they researched hotels near Mount Snowdon. They’d agreed it would be fun to spend their days climbing a mountain and their nights in such a charming resort. But Jane had seen only pictures on a screen. The real thing was strange and wonderful.

“Wow!” Jane pressed her face against the window like a child at a candy shop. “How beautiful!”

The cab dropped them at the bottom of a hill, in front of the hotel.

“Do you like it here?” Jane asked as she helped Scott from the cab.

“I do. Very much, and I’ll admit I’m surprised. It’s outrageous, such a mixture of architectural styles, yet it’s beautiful. Magical.”

“It’s magical that you’re alive and safe,” Jane told him.

Scott’s suite was on the first floor of the hotel, the Peacock Suite.

“I remember reading about it on the website,” Jane said. “King Edward the Eighth stayed here in 1934, right?” She set her suitcase down in the bedroom and walked around, taking in the views. “Would you like to lie down? Rest?”

“I’ve spent too much time lying down. Let’s walk around the grounds. They’re spectacular.”

She had never seen any place quite like this resort. It was a mixture of architectural styles and lush gardens. Here, a Greek temple with columns, there a great gold Buddha, statues and steps and everywhere an arch or a porthole showing a glimpse of yet another strange and beckoning landscape. There was a long, turquoise reflecting pool surrounded by pots of red geraniums, and farther down, a swimming pool not far from the estuary. They strolled along the paths, stopping in the temple, the grotto, the stone boat set in the estuary. The woodlands were as extravagantly ornate as the village with towering rhododendron, monkey puzzle trees, palm trees next to evergreens. They passed through the ghost garden and sat for a while at the overlook, watching the shining water of the Irish Sea slowly flow into the estuary.

Later, they showered and changed and had dinner at the elegant restaurant, overlooking the water. The late summer sky blazed with stars. They drank champagne and ate pheasant and fish, lingering over their desserts of fresh berries in cream.

“I’d like to return here someday,” Jane said.

“So would I. Right now I’m ready to go home and collapse.”

“Are you sore?”

“Sure, some. Mostly I’m just tired, really tired. Huddling on a mountainside seems to have used up my energy.” He reached for her hand. “But I’d like to come back here, too.”

“And maybe, if we find an easier trail, we can try Mount Snowdon again,” Jane said, smiling.

“Or maybe we’ll be so busy raising children, we won’t get back here for years,” Scott replied.

Jane squeezed Scott’s hand. “You mean that, don’t you? You’ve truly had a change of heart.”

“Yes. Although I reserve the right to grumble and complain about sleepless nights and smelly diapers.”

Jane quickly took a sip of wine to hide her smile. Waleswasmagical. Scott had gone from no children to more than one in a space of twenty-four hours.

The next day they reentered reality. They took a cab to the car park at the base of the Watkin trail, picked up Scott’s rental car, and drove the long, winding road back to the Manchester airport. Jane did all the driving, of course, and for a while she was nervous about driving on the left side, but by the time they reached the highway to Manchester, she was comfortable. Scott slept beside her, his head against the window. They found business-class space on a flight to New York. They settled in, ate and slept and watched movies, and at last the huge plane landed at Kennedy airport. Their luggage arrived safely. They were sixth in line for a cab. Finally they were being driven from Kennedy to their apartment on the right side of the road.

twenty-six

Alison stood in the middle of her kitchen with a notepad in one hand and a pen in the other, and all she was doing with the pen was tapping it against her lip. All summer she’d prided herself on being the kind of mother/mother-in-law/fiancée who could, at a moment’s notice, provide a delicious meal for fifteen when only ten had said they’d absolutely be there. This meal she had intended to be especially nice, because David’s assistant, Heather, and her surgeon husband, Cecil, were coming and also because it would be the first time that Scott with his broken arm was on the island after his exciting adventure in Wales. Felicity and Noah and the children were out playing volleyball on the beach, one happy family. Ethan was here, and so were Poppy and Patrick and their children, so that made fifteen people.

To complicate matters, the weather had turned cool, windy, and cloudy. This often happened, Alison knew, but she wished it hadn’t happened this weekend. David’s beach house, and the beach itself, were at its best on the sunny hot days when they could all gather on the deck and watch the sun sparkle on the ocean. Today the ocean reflected the gloomy gray of the sky. It wasn’t quite cold enough in the house to ask David to build a fire in the living room, but it was cool and dismal enough that Alison was changing her menu on the spur of the moment, from cold pasta dishes to hot.

She had enough striped bass for all the adults. Daphne and Hunter could have hot dogs. Or if they preferred, they could have sandwiches and chips and take trays into the den to watch television while they ate. Poppy’s children were easy about food, they’d eat anything. She’d intended making a cold salad of brown rice with cooked broccoli florets and corn and chopped red peppers tossed in olive oil and balsamic vinegar, but now she decided to serve the rice and vegetables separately, and hot, so the children could pick and choose.

She sighed. Then she laughed at herself for sighing. Oh, what a difficult time she was having, what a terrible burden, to have to change her dinner plans! Here they were, two days before the wedding, and all she had to worry about was how to feed her family and friends! It had been a worry this summer, sensing that Jane and Scott were at odds, and knowing that Felicity’s marriage was rocky, too. And Poppy had been such a brat, and Ethan had tried to seduce Jane, although maybe Alison should give him a break and believe that Ethan had fallen for Jane. He had acted that way. Alison had often wanted to warn Jane or reprimand Ethan, but they were adults. They wouldn’t have listened to her.

But finally here they all were at the end of the summer, and Jane and Scott were, to hear Jane tell it, madly in love again after Scott’s accident in Wales. And David had been so incredibly generous, investing in Green Food, which had seemed to transform Noah from an anxious, frowning, bad-tempered bag of nerves into the charming family man Alison had known him to be when Felicity first married him.

Life was never simple and not all days were happy, but over the years, Alison had come to believe, a normal life had its ups and downs, its sadnesses and its joys. And marriage certainly had its seasons. Often, you had to make the sunshine yourself. Today she determined not to allow one neuron in her brain to worry or fret. Today she would be grateful for all she had!

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