“Um…before we do…I…um…I have something for Abby,” said Nick. He pulled a slim box out of his pocket. “I know we said we weren’t going to, but…”
Abby opened the box. She smiled at Nick and lifted out the gold chain. On the end of it was a diamond, floating on two waves of white gold. It was a perfect match for her engagement ring. “How long have you been carrying that around?” she asked, as Nick moved behind her and fastened the clasp.
“I just got it,” he said. “This week.” He squeezed her shoulder.
“I got you something too,” said Abby. She picked a small, square box off the mantel.
Nick opened it and stared at the contents. It was a small piece of black marble, shot through with white streaks. Nick took it out of the box and held it in his hand. His thumb began idly stroking the cool surface.
“It’s perfect,” he whispered. Abby and Nick looked at each other for a long moment, their history together flashing before their eyes…Brookhaven Lodge, email, phone calls, Thanksgiving weekend. Nick picked up Abby’s hand and kissed her fingertips. “Let’s do it, my friend,” he whispered.”
My friend. Abby nodded. “Exactly,” she said.
John cleared his throat. “Um…well…Sharon and I wanted to get you two something, but Abby refused. So, we…um…we made a donation to your charity…your Oceans Campaign.”
“Wow!” said Nick, “that’s really nice of you. Thanks.”
“And that’s what we told everyone who asked,” said Sharon. “We said ‘no gifts’, but if people insisted, we mentioned your foundation.” She looked at the slim, gold band on her wrist. “Now, we really must…"
“Yes, the car is here,” said John. He had hired a car for the evening. His security chief had forced him to. He wanted a professional driver at the wheel if there was going to be a crowd of love-crazed, grief-stricken teenagers.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~They rode in silence, Nick and Abby holding hands, John and Sharon with theirs folded primly in their lap. Snow covered the ground, but the roads were clear.
“We’re going in the back way,” said John as the car drove past the entrance.
Abby could see a small crowd, maybe twenty people. They had lawn chairs and blankets. They were busy with signs and candles. They were laughing and happy. “Sort of a Nick tailgate party,” said Abby.
Nick laughed and squeezed her hand. He knew he’d be way more comfortable out there with the fans than inside the country club under the probing, critical eyes of Sharon Fremont and her cronies.
There were nearly two hundred people expected, friends of the Fremonts and business associates of John’s. There were some younger people on the list, second generation snobs, Abby called them, sons and daughters of her parents’ friends, ones who had stayed in Chicago. The society columnists for both major newspapers were there.
Abby had wanted to invite Rita and Susan from the school, but her mother had suggested crisply that the guest list was getting full but they would certainly be invited to the wedding.
“It’s not like they’d be bringing the children,” retorted Abby, knowing her mother would shudder at the thought. “Although,” she continued, “maybe that would be a good idea. The class could come and perform, sing a little song, or something.”
“How can they sing if they’re deaf?” asked her mother, before realizing that her daughter was teasing her. “Abigail, that was tasteless,” she reprimanded her when she figured it out.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~“The invitation said ‘eight o’clock’,” said Sharon, ironing out the last few details as the car pulled up to the stone portico at the front doors of the club. “We will do the receiving line until precisely 8:45. Anyone who has not arrived by then will have to seek you out.”
Nick looked at Abby. Receiving line? She squeezed his hand. “Think of it as a meet-and-greet,” she said, as he helped her from the car. Nick nodded. He knew how to do that.
They stood for forty minutes. First was John, who shook hands with the guests and passed them on to his wife. Sharon spoke with each guest for a sentence or two and then introduced them to Nick. Abby stood on the other side of Nick and whispered comments in his ear. While Sharon was saying, “Harold Stone, Viacorp Enterprises,” Abby was saying, “Cheapest man in Chicago. Won’t spend a dime.”
George and Marian Brisbane, friends of ours. They both have affairs all the time.
Kenneth and Louise Taunton. We go way back. She’s had three facelifts.
Miles and Jeannette Fenton. Our closest friends. He’s nice. She’s a Sharon wannabe.
Malcolm and Sylvia Porter. Malcolm works with John. He’s gay. She has an eating disorder.
Donald and Miranda Howell.
The name flitted across Nick’s brain but was gone before it could really register. He’d heard so many names tonight. Seen so many faces. They were all blending into one. He’d never be able to remember any of them. Nick wanted to move. He wanted a drink. He looked at Abby. Were they nearly done?
Abby was impressed with how well Nick had done. Of course, none of the women had fainted or cried, although Abby thought he might have handled that well too. He smiled through the compliments from the women…I enjoy your work…I love your music. The men just shook his hand and moved on. He wasn’t a businessman in Chicago. They didn’t need him. They spent their time with Abby, giving her best wishes in carefully rehearsed phrases that wouldn’t lead to an accidental faux pas, like ‘Congratulations, you finally found a man’ or ‘we thought we’d never see this day’.
“It’s almost 8:45, so I guess we can take a break soon…what do you say, make a run for it, head for the border?” laughed Abby. Then her face sobered. “Here’s a few more. Oh look…Lady Vera has arrived.” Abby felt her stomach turn over.
Nick turned to the doorway, where a group of people was making its way forward. He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. Ronni. Oh, good Lord. Breathe, Nick, breathe, he told himself.
"Veronica Fenton. I hate her more than anyone I’ve ever met,” hissed Abby bitterly in Nick’s ear, as Ronni flirted with John, holding his hand just a little too long and patting the top of it.
Ronni was wearing a slinky, black dress, low-cut with a slit up the side. It was the same dress she had worn to the party at the Fentons on Thanksgiving weekend. When James suggested she might not want to wear it, as everyone had already seen it, she’d replied, “Not everyone.”
Sharon announced them. James and Veronica Fenton, friends of Abigail’s. Nick shook hands with James without looking at him. His mouth was dry. He ran his tongue over his lips to moisten them. Ronni smiled at Sharon. “Mrs. Fremont, thank you for inviting us. Such a happy occasion.” Sharon nodded and turned to the next person.
“She made my life a living hell for years,” continued Abby, as James moved from Nick to her.
“Abby.” A hand offered. A cool nod.
“James.” A hand accepted. A cool nod.
“Nick,” said Ronni softly, taking his hand.
“Ronni,” said Nick equally softly.
James and Abby froze in the act of shaking hands. They looked at the other two. “You know each other?” asked James.
Nick and Ronni did not take their eyes off each other or let go of their hand. “When I was in California,” said Ronni, not elaborating further.
Typical, thought Abby. She can’t stand not being the center of attention. This will make her day having Nick staring at her like that, ignoring me. Abby hated that the mere presence of Ronni in the room turned her into Ducky.
James put his hand on his wife’s elbow. “Come along, Darling, let’s get something to drink. There are other people waiting. Best wishes to you both.”
Ronni allowed her husband to move her along. She shook hands with Abigail. “Congratulations,” she said. “You’re a lucky woman.”
“Thank you,” said Abigail simply, shaking hands and turning to the next person.
But Ronni wasn’t done. She looked back at Nick. “I never did find out, Nick,” she said. “Where were you planning on taking me…you know, on that surprise vacation?”
“The Bahamas,” said Nick shortly. His face was deathly pale.
Abby looked at Nick and then at Ronni. An evil smile flitted across the blonde woman’s lips. “The Bahamas in June? How interesting.”
It all fell into place for Abby. June. Rose Cottage. This was the woman. Omigod. The hated Ronni was the woman Nick wanted to marry. She looked at Nick. He was as white as a sheet. He looked at Abby with pain-filled eyes and she could see that he knew that she knew. Abby swayed and might have fallen if Nick hadn’t slipped his arm around her. Abby was shaking and her breathing was labored. She shook hands quickly with the last couple and turned away. She walked blindly to a door and went through it into a small hall. She stood against the wall, fighting back sobs. Not Ronni. Oh, God, not Ronni. Anyone but Lady Vera.
“Abby?” Nick had followed her through the door.
“It was her, wasn’t it? At Rose Cottage. She’s the one.”
Nick nodded. It was all he could do. Seeing Ronni had thrown him. The old feelings washed over him before he could hold them off, reminding himself that he was standing at his own engagement party being introduced to her husband.
“Oh God, why her? Of all people, why her?” All of the torment from high school flooded back. And all of Abby’s hard work at reforming herself was lost. Just when Abby thought she was winning, she had lost again. She couldn’t live the life they’d planned if Ronni was in it…She couldn’t be the new Abby. She could only be Ducky.
Abby grabbed at the ring on her finger, pulling at it. Nick put his hand over hers. “Stop it,” he said.
“This ring was meant for her,” she said hysterically, pulling her hand away from Nick.
“No,” said Nick. He grabbed Abby’s arms and pinned her against the wall. He leaned his body against hers to calm her. He took her face in his hands. “That ring was bought for her. But it was meant for you.”
Abby shook her head, willing the tears not to fall.
“This changes everything,” she said.
“What? No, it doesn’t. This doesn’t change anything.”
“But you…” Abby couldn’t bring herself to say the words.
“She’s married, Abby. And I’m engaged to you. End of story.”
“But…”
“Don’t do this, Abby. Nothing’s changed. Don’t make a scene.”
“Yes, Mother,” retorted Abby bitterly.
Nick wasn’t in the mood for this. If anybody should be crying right about now, it should be him, not Abby. He didn’t know if he would ever have been able to prepare for seeing Ronni, but this had come right out of the blue. All Nick wanted to do right now was throw up and then curl into a ball and stay that way forever. But he couldn’t. He had to suck it up. And now here was Abby coming unglued. “There are two hundred people out there waiting for us…to wish us well on our engagement. Now, come on Princess Penelope. Don’t let Lady Vera win.” He cupped her chin in his hand. “Don’t wreck this for us, Abby,” he pleaded. Don’t make me sing the Pain Song again, he begged silently. Nick knew that if Ronni had any inkling of how he still felt about her, she would do something to…he didn’t know what, but he knew she would do something.
Abby gave her head a shake to clear it. “I’m sorry,” she said. “How selfish of me! You’re right. I just…she…if you knew what she was like...” Then she realized that Nick did indeed know that, that he was the one who was in pain, that he needed her help. “Oh God, I’m sorry,” she said. “Of course, you know. Are you going to be okay?”
The pain that moved across his eyes was like a knife in her heart. He was still in love with Ronni, she could see that. She could also see his determination to get past it.
“Suck it up?” she suggested softly.
“Yeah. I can’t let her see…”
Abby slipped her arms around him. Princess Penelope to the rescue, she thought. She was going to save the handsome prince from the evil clutches of Lady Vera.
“Um, Nick…you know the whole ‘it is what it is’ thing?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, don’t be fooled by the next couple of hours. Don’t think I’ve suddenly…you know…” Abby fluttered her eyelashes.
“What are you going to do?” he asked, squinting at her.
“Be your friend,” she answered, reaching up to kiss him softly on the corner of his mouth.
“Good,” he said. “I kind of need one right now.”
