Last Call

  After spending that first night in the city, I hired a driver and took him away to recuperate. There was an island we’d explored one afternoon the last time we’d been to Ha Long Bay, and I’d been fascinated by the accommodations there. A tiny hotel, remote and isolated. More of a collection of luxury bungalows than a hotel, it offered the kind of piece and quiet we needed. Each bungalow was situated on the beach, with gorgeous sea views all around. There were sumptuous beds, complete with requisite mosquito netting, European-style bathrooms, and twenty-four-hour room service. The drive was only a few hours, followed by a short boat cruise to the hotel.

  When we docked, I helped to make sure the luggage was carried straight to our bungalow, and we headed inside to get checked in.

  “This is incredible, babe, but unnecessary. We could have stayed in the city, wouldn’t have been a problem.”

  “I realize that, Simon, but since we were here, your very dramatic accident and all, I thought we’d treat ourselves a little bit. Have a few days of rest and relaxation before heading back home.”

  “A prehoneymoon honeymoon?” he said, bumping my hips with his own, his hands resting lightly on my waist.

  “Something like that.” I smiled, but shook my head. “But no honey with this moon; you heard the doctor,” I said, and Simon growled. He had delicately suggested that certain things should wait perhaps until Simon had fully recovered from his accident. Between the cracked rib and the head dent, I was in full agreement. Simon was not.

  “You wait and see. Tonight, when the breeze starts blowing and the waves start lapping at the sand, you’ll change your mind,” he murmured, sweeping my hair up to kiss the back of my neck. “Besides, you know I look good in the moonlight. You’ll be all about getting into my pants.”

  “Uh, yes, here are your keys, Miss Reynolds.” I felt Simon tense behind me as I smiled at the desk clerk.

  “Yes, thank you so much.” I smiled, smothering a laugh.

  “You’ll be in bungalow seven; just follow the path. Your luggage should already be there.”

  “Thank you,” Simon piped up from behind me, and this time I didn’t smother anything. Gathering up my purse and the keys, I took him by the hand and led him back out onto the beach. It was late in the afternoon, almost evening, and the light was beginning to change, taking on that magical glow that twilight seems to have. All the edges soften, the colors bleed, and even the air changes a bit. A warm breeze was blowing in off the sea, bringing with it a salty tang that crinkled my tongue. We passed six other bungalows along the rock-lined path, finally coming around a bend to see our own. Lit with hurricane candles, with white linen curtains puffing through the windows, it looked like heaven. Heaven . . . with the option of air-conditioning. Which in the tropics was sometimes a very good thing.

  “Hey look, no neighbors,” Simon said, scanning the corner of the beach we’d been given. It was true, there wasn’t another soul to be seen. A light or two peeked through the trees here and there, hinting at other humans, but other than that it was us and the waves.

  “Let’s check it out,” I said, tugging him by the hand and up onto the porch. Deep, comfy-looking chairs anchored by pillows flanked the ornately carved front door. “Here’s the key, open it, would you? I’m going to see if these chairs are as comfortable as they look.”

  “Sure thing,” he said, taking the key from me and turning it in the lock. Just before he pushed open the door, it opened from the inside. “What the—”

  Benjamin stood in the doorway. Jillian stood next to him. Both were smiling.

  “Wait a minute, how did you guys get—What’s going on?” he asked, looking back and forth between them and me. I just grinned.

  “Good to see you’re still in one piece,” Benjamin said, pulling a still-surprised Simon into a fierce hug. “And don’t ever do that to me again, you hear me?”

  “Move over, move over,” Jillian said, sweeping her husband aside to grab on to Simon and wrap her arms around him as well. “So, so, so glad you’re okay. No more caves, promise me that!”

  “Hey, watch the ribs,” Simon protested, confused but still happy to see them. “But seriously, what are you guys doing here?”

  “We came over to make sure Caroline had everything she needed. She kind of took off like a bat out of hell when she found out you’d decided to examine the cave with your face. That’s a bossy girl you got there,” Benjamin said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and walking him back down the steps to the sand. “Come on back with me to our bungalow; we’re just down the beach, I’ll tell you all about it. Let the ladies settle in a bit.”

  “Okay, yeah, sure. Caroline, you good with that?” Simon asked, still curious.

  “Go ahead, Jillian brought me some things, new changes of clothes and stuff. I’ll powwow with her and then we can all head back up to the main house for dinner, sound good?” I nodded, walking over to the front of the porch, leaning down to kiss him once, then twice.

  “Sounds good, babe,” he said. “Did you know they were coming?”

  “I did,” I said, kissing him once more. “Surprise.”

  “You’re kind of terrific, you know that?”

  “I do know that,” I nodded, then turned him back around. “Go play with Benjamin, I’ll see you in a bit.”

  The pair of them walked off down the beach, and I turned to Jillian.

  “Thank you so much for coming all this way.”

  “You got it. I’ve always wanted to see this part of the world. And Benjamin has been pacing up a storm. He hated not being over here,” she replied, looping her arm through mine and walking with me inside. She handed me an overnight bag I recognized from home.

  “Did you bring it?” I asked, unzipping the bag.

  “I did,” she nodded, and watched as I pulled a long flowing dress from the bag. A long flowing white dress.

  “Perfect.”

  An hour later, Simon and Benjamin came out of the bungalow to find Jillian and me waiting for them.

  “Hey, where have you—Hey. You look gorgeous,” he said, whistling. I stood before him in my white dress, thanked him for the compliment, took his hand, and walked with him down to the beach, leaving our friends behind.

  “What’s going on? Aren’t we going to dinner with those guys?” he asked.

  “Not just yet,” I answered, looking ahead to the beach, where I could see a few candles lit and a tiki torch or two. “I wanted to talk to you, before they join us.”

  “What are you up to, Caroline?” he asked, looking carefully at me.

  “I bought this dress a year ago in a little boutique in Mendocino, when I was visiting Viv. I was on my way out of town, and I was stopped at a light when I saw it in the window across the street. I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. And without having any reason to wear it, and not a clue why I was doing it, I bought it, straight off the mannequin. It didn’t even fit me. I had to take it to a tailor to have the hem lengthened; it was too short for me. The tailor told me it was vintage, probably from sometime in the 1930s.”

  “It looks great on you,” he said, holding me at arm’s length to get a better look. “Go on, gimme a little twirl.”

  I laughed, and then twirled. The dress was ivory, bedecked with old lace along the bodice, with a gauzy lace overlay along the skirt. An afternoon dress, it was made for lazy strolls in town, or a trip to the gardens. It was likely worn with stockings and lace-up shoes. I was rocking it barefoot. And in those bare feet, I tugged on his hand once more and continued on the path toward the beach.

  “When Benjamin told me something had happened to you, I went into crisis-management mode. I didn’t think about anything other than getting to you. To have you that far away, and not be able to know exactly what was wrong or how to help you—I can’t think of the words to tell you how that felt. How it felt to have someone you love so much possibly taken away from you.” I stopped then, just before the pebbles gave way to sand. “But then, I don’t have to give you words. Beca
use you already know what that’s like.”

  A stormy expression stole across his face, and he grasped both of my hands in his. “Caroline, I’m so sorry that you had to go through all of that.”

  “No no, it’s actually fine,” I said, stepping into his arms and bringing them around my waist. “Because here’s the thing. I had hours in an airplane, with nothing to do and no one to talk to, and the only thing I could think about was you. And us. And how much I love you.” I walked him, pushed him really, backward through the sand. “I also thought a lot about something else.”

  “What’s that?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “Garlic foam,” I answered, then spun him to face the beach.

  I love me a speechless Wallbanger.

  Hundreds of candles. Tiki torches dancing as far as the eye could see. Lanterns in shades of violet, indigo, emerald, and ruby bumping around on the breeze. The evening breakers splashing lazily against the beach. In the distance, an early moon lit up Ha Long Bay, with its ancient islands and peaks covered in mist and moss. And before us? An aisle lined with votives . . . with Jillian and Benjamin standing at the end of it. Along with them, the Vietnamese equivalent of a justice of the peace.

  “Marry me, Simon. Marry me right here, right now, without any bullshit. Marry me, with just our two friends to see it happen. No parents, no work friends, no clients, no peppercorn-encrusted blah-blah, just you and me and the stars. I spent a night in a pod wondering if I was ever going to see your eyes staring back at me again, and I can’t manage that again unless I’m your fucking wife. And I don’t give one tiny shit about a big fancy wedding, especially without you getting to have your garlic foam. Which, I’d like to point out, is waiting for you back in the main house, for what I hope is our wedding dinner of giant prawns. I want you, only you, for the rest of my life,” I said, lips trembling but knees strong. “Marry me, Simon.”

  He paused, the corner of his mouth lifting as he looked around at the fairy tale laid out in front of him. The fairy tale that was exactly right for us. On this very important day.

  “One question,” he said, lifting our clasped hands to his lips and placing a kiss right below my engagement ring.

  “Hit me.”

  “What was that about spending a night in a pod?”

  “Seriously? I ask you to marry me, and that’s the line you picked out?”

  “Technically, I asked you to marry me first. Let us never forget this very important bit of information.”

  “So noted.”

  “Can I ask another question?”

  “Just one more, and then I’ll need an answer.”

  “Is this even legal?”

  I laughed, then pulled him down to me for a soft kiss. “Not in the slightest. This is just for us.”

  “You realize you own me, don’t you, Nightie Girl?”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Hell yes it’s a yes, let’s get hitched,” he whispered, and I threw my arms around his neck. “Watch the rib, okay?”

  “Shit!” I exclaimed, and then I heard Benjamin clearing his throat. “Dammit, I just swore at my own wedding. Dammit, I did it again.”

  “That’s three times.”

  “Can it, Wallbanger.”

  And with those revered words, we walked ourselves down the aisle. Spoke the simplest of vows. Promised each other everything we could. Kissed under the stars. High-fived our witnesses on the way back down the aisle. Cut the strings on about fifty sky lanterns and set them loose towards the stars. Then headed inside for garlic foam.

  Because that’s what my husband wanted.

  Later that night, in the honeymoon bed . . .

  “That feels amazing. Don’t stop what you’re doing there, please don’t stop. Right there. Right there. That’s it . . . mmmm.”

  “How many is that?”

  “I’ve lost count.”

  “This is the big one.”

  “I can feel it. Jesus that’s good . . . more . . . more . . . more.”

  “We’re going to run out of calamine lotion at this rate.”

  Here’s the thing about getting married outside in the tropics. Mosquitos. Big fuckers. We spent our wedding night scratching each other’s bites and applying calamine lotion by the gallon. And with Simon still on the disabled list sexy-times-wise, we spooned, scratched, and watched Goonies. With subtitles.

  Best. Wedding. Night. Ever.

  “Do you, Caroline, take this man, Simon, to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?”

  “I do.”

  “And do you, Simon, take this woman, Caroline, to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?”

  “I do.”

  And so we made it legal. Simon and I had our very best friends and our very favorite family members over to our house in Sausalito, along with a judge I’d done a remodel for. Simon wore jeans, I wore a sundress, and we got married for a second time. This one recognized by the U.S. government. Were my parents disappointed they didn’t get to throw me the huge splashy wedding they’d been planning? Maybe a little, but ultimately they understood. As did Mimi and Sophia, and why they didn’t even know about our Vietnamese wedding until after we’d flown home.

  We kept our original wedding date, slashed the guest list by two-thirds, and with the exception of Simon’s friends from Pennsylvania and his old neighbors the Whites, everyone was local. At least local to Northern California. Viv and Clark were there, with Will in attendance as well, cute as a button in a tuxedo onesie. And Chloe and Lucas were there too, in town visiting Sophia and Neil. And get this, Chloe and Clark were cousins. How’s that for six degrees of Wallbanger? I was happy to have them all here on this very special day. This very special casual day. Because in the end, it wasn’t the lace and the tulle that made a wedding—it was about the couple saying their I do’s, and their friends and family being there to celebrate it with them. We threw a barbecue, opened up a bunch of wine and cold beer, set up a makeshift soda fountain to make egg creams and sundaes, and had a party. We dragged Simon’s old record player out onto the terrace, he did some audio nerd stuff with the speakers, and big-band music filled the Sausalito night.

  Instead of having a wedding cake, I’d spent two solid days this week in the kitchen with my mom, my girlfriends, my aunts, and my cousins, and we made pans and pans of Ina’s Outrageous Brownies. She would have been proud. But for Simon, I made him is very own apple pie, which he smeared all over my face in place of wedding cake. We had wedding pie. Fitting.

  I sat on a bench at the edge of our lawn, eating brownies with Mimi and Sophia and watched as our guys played Frisbee with Benjamin and Simon’s high school crew. I’d been holding Mary Jane until Sophia had to take over. Someone was hungry.

  “Not really the wedding I pictured you having, Caroline,” Sophia said, switching boobs. “But it’s pretty fun.”

  “Fun, I’ll take. Fancy, I’ll leave to you. How’s the planning coming along?”

  “It’s coming along great! The binder is really filling out nicely,” Mimi said, interrupting. She was seriously considering starting a second business, and she should. She was damn good at it. “Speaking of the binder, I’ve got pictures to go through with you on ideas I had for your hair, Sophia. I’ve been cutting out stuff from magazines for weeks now. Did you know that Grace Sheridan has your exact same hair color and length? Hers is a little more curly than yours, but it’s essentially the same.”

  “Who’s Grace Sheridan?” Sophia asked, and Mimi and I both looked at her in surprise.

  “You totally know who she is,” I said, shaking my head. “She’s on that TV show.”

  “I totally do not know who she is. Sesame Street and Neil’s broadcasts, that’s all I ever watch anymore. My brain is mush,” Sophia said, shaking her head right back at me.

  “Okay, I got this,
” Mimi said. “She’s Jack Hamilton’s girlfriend. You know, the—”

  “—the Brit? Hello, now I’m right there with you. Holy shit, he is hot. We have to go see the new Time movie when it comes out; we’ll let the boys stay home with Mary Jane while we go have some sweet British hunky time,” Sophia said, already plotting her girls’ night out.

  “Yes yes, she’s with Jack Hamilton, but more importantly, she’s got great hair. And it’s exactly the same shade of red as yours. So I found this picture of her on the red carpet and—”

  Sophia interrupted Mimi again, unable to stop herself. “—when she walked with Jack down the red carpet? Ahhh! I fucking loved that! Remember how everyone was gossiping about who he was dating?”

  “But wait, we were talking about her hair! Listen to me, I’ve got the perfect updo based on—”

  “Oh updo this, let’s talk about Jack Hamilton’s hair instead. It always looks freshly fucked, you know what I mean? I wonder if they do it in the limo on the way to appearances . . .”

  “Stop it—just stop it! We’re talking wedding hair here, dammit, and—”

  I tuned them out mostly, drinking my beer and listening with one ear as Sophia and Mimi began a heated conversation about updos versus long and flouncy. The other ear was tuned to the Glenn Miller currently crackling through the speakers. And within seconds, Simon appeared.

  “Mrs. Parker?” he said, extending his hand.

  “Mr. Reynolds.” I winked and stood. “Bye, girls.”

  “Bye,” they said in unison as I followed my husband out onto the impromptu dance floor. Taking a cue from our original, if not technically legal, ceremony we had lanterns hung all over the backyard, bringing a little bit of fairy tale home with us from Ha Long Bay.

  “Are you happy?” he asked as he spun me across the brick patio.

  “Ecstatically. You?”

  “Oh yeah. Especially since I got some news from my doctor today.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously, babe. I’m good to go,” he whispered, pulling me tighter into his body. Oh boy. He wasn’t lying.