Page 2 of Highlands Summer Wedding

“Eric—”

“Really. It’s fine.” He glanced at the ferry schedule board. “Ever heard of the soup test?”

I blinked at him, confused. “The what?”

“When you’re uncertain where you stand with someone, you make them soup. Or bread from scratch. Something thoughtful.” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “If they’re uncomfortable, you have your answer. If they’re genuinely touched, maybe there’s something there. Well… I guess I got my answer.”

“We were never—” I stopped myself, watching him nod. He’d made his peace with this. One less complication for me to manage.

I tossed the flowers and ribbons into the trunk of my rental car. I felt lighter, which made me feel worse. I pulled away from the ferry dock and headed toward Oak Bluffs.

The wedding site—a white wooden gazebo in the town park—looked picturesque in photos but was an obvious disaster to any experienced planner. It sat directly in the path of Atlantic wind gusts and a flock of territorial geese. The reception venue at least made sense: a private waterfront club with actual walls and a roof.

“It’s where he proposed,” the bride had explained, deaf to my concerns. At least he hadn’t bent down on one knee at the Aquinnah cliffs, where one wrong move meant tumbling into the Atlantic.

***

Dark clouds gathered overhead, but at least the indoor gallery was on standby. I clutched my phone under the gazebo’s insufficient shelter as rain hammered the roof and wind tore ribbons loose, whipping into the air.

My phone buzzed. A call from the bride.

“The wedding’s off,” she said, her voice clipped.

My stomach lurched. I’d done this at cost to launch my Vineyard wedding business. Now every plan, every sacrifice, every sleepless hour… gone.

“Wait—what exactly do you mean by ‘off’?” I asked, keeping my voice as steady as I could.

“We’re postponing. Maybe a few years,” she said.

I pressed my hand to my forehead. Rain soaked my sleeve. My chest tightened. I thought of Eric on the dock, drenched, arms overflowing with ribbons, hopeful as always. I hated that I’d pulled him into this mess.

Was I going to have to stay with Eric? Please, no. No—no more favors.

The wind gusted hard enough to shove me sideways. Then the sky cracked.

The sound wasn’t thunder. It was a violent snap directly overhead. For a second, everything went white. My ears rang. I couldn’t tell if I was breathing. Rain pelted my face. My hands shook. I was still standing.

Then I smelled smoke and turned to see flames engulfing the wooden beams of the gazebo.

I called 911 and delivered the details like I was briefing a film crew: location, structure type, visible flames. Calm. Efficient. Useful. It was easier than admitting I’d almost just died under a gazebo decorated in violet ribbon. Then I turned toward the parking lot. Time to drop off the rental car and find a way back to Boston.

***

I fought my way through the crowd at the ticket office where panic had set in amongst the travelers gathered there.

Day-trippers desperate to flee, tourists who’d just arrived already regretting their choice, all of them with dogs and kids and bikes. I managed to snag one of the last passenger tickets. I raced on board the lurching old ferry and took my place in a chair below deck near a rain-splattered window.

I wondered who was more miserable. The bride? The groom? The family, who’d knocked themselves out to travel to this island during a storm and were now trapped in expensive lodgings for a rainy weekend with no wedding to attend? They certainly had it worse than I did. And I hadn’t had to buy some ugly lilac bridesmaid’s dress, so I had that going for me.

I tugged my damp hoodie lower and curled against the window, willing unconsciousness to carry me across the choppy strait.

The ferry horn jolted me awake. Through rain-streaked windows, the gray outline of Woods Hole appeared in the distance. My phone vibrated against my hip. It was my sister, Caitlin, calling from Scotland, where she and her boyfriend had been visiting for the past two weeks.

“Hey, what’s up?” I said with false cheer, trying to sound more awake than I felt.

“How do you feel about bagpipes and kilts?” Her voice had that breathless quality it got when she was holding back big news.

“Please tell me you’re not asking me to wear either.”