Page 66 of The Beachgoers
twenty-three
— Then —
10 Years Ago
The Dance
THE LIGHTS DIM AS THE wedding reception begins.
Only the wagon-wheel chandelier strung with vines casts golden light on the empty dance floor. Around the room, glass hurricane-lantern centerpieces flicker on each of the guest tables. The lanterns’ candlelight falls on white linens covering those tables. Lace-trimmed burlap packets hold glimmering silverware at each place setting. The chairs are white, too, wrapped in blue sashes matching the bridesmaid gowns. And each sashed white chair is occupied by men and women dressed in their finest clothes. Suits and dresses. Neckties and sequins. Shoes are polished; hair, pinned up.
What happens next, after the room’s lights dim, is that those guests quiet. The wedding party, seated at the head table, does too. All chattering and laughter stops. Now a candlelit hush falls over the reception hall.
Not for long, though. A DJ set up near the room’s entrance makes the announcement all have been waiting for. He presents the newly married couple. “I introduce to you Kyle and Lauren Bradford,” he says into the microphone. “Husband and wife. Mr. and Mrs.—showing us clearlythisis what bliss is!”
After the applause fades, after Kyle and Lauren make a grand entrance onto the dance floor beneath that vine-strung chandelier, the hush returns. Standing motionless in their tux and wedding gown, the bride and groom face each other. Kyle’s head is tipped down to Lauren. His hands rest on her waist. The ruffled organza of her gown is still. An occasional whistle rings through the room. A hoot, too, from a table in the back. Then, nothing.
Nothing except a soft song from the DJ’s amplifiers. The melody fills the reception hall. Piano notes rise like a cat’s-paw moving over the sea, rippling the surface of the salty water. Strains of strumming guitar, too, and the chime of a triangle, wind around the tables and through the shadows. At first you might not hear it all. Not until you see Kyle take his bride in his arms and begin a few slow dance steps. Lauren follows his lead and they tentatively move together. Step almost in sync. As they do, the singer croons about falling in love. And about fate, and rivers… flowing to the sea.
Kyle and Lauren, though, dance as if these are steps they’ve recently learned. There’s some awkwardness to their moves; a stiffness. It seems like maybe Kyle’s counting the beat in his head. Or Lauren’s focusing on her feet moving smoothly in the right direction.
As though this is new to them, this intimacy.
But anyone closely watching sees, eventually, this is not the case. Because something changes as the song goes on. As the singer asks if he should stay, if it would be okay.
As Kyle pulls Lauren closer.
As his hand holding hers folds in near to his chest—so that their hands are now entwined between them.
As his other hand resting on her shoulder embraces her such that she’s pressed fully against him, then.
Which is when their dance steps lessen. They merely shuffle, their bodies touching. Kyle is tall and bends close to Lauren. At one point, it’s hard to tell in the candlelit room, but did his thumb brush away a tear? If so, that’s when Lauren rests her face on his shoulder and closes her eyes—all while Kyle keeps her subtly swaying. Something about their bodies, about Kyle then pressing his cheek to the side of Lauren’s head, lends a sadness to the moment. The room is so hushed, their dance movements so slight, you’d think the couple has forgotten anyone else is there—the intimacy of the dance now being that profound.
Minutes pass like that.
Some resistance at the start of their first dance—a hesitancy that made them look like novices on the dance floor—has drifted away with the song. In its place is a physical honesty rarely seen. It’s raw, actually. The sight is so powerful that when the song concludes and Kyle, holding Lauren’s hand, backs up and gives her a graceful twirl, the guests all stand, their applause rising to the banquet hall’s rafters.
