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“Your brother Doug? He already told me.”
Another great laugh from Brady. “Yep, I’m so lucky to have found Yuki.”
He went on in that vein a few more times. It was funny to hear him sounding like a young kid.
And then someone clinked a fork against a glass, and dinner was served. Our private room had its own dedicated chef, and the tables were arranged in a horseshoe so that we could all see the lights of the bridge and the glittering moonlit waters.
Joe and I sat at a table with Brady and Yuki, Brady’s two enormous blond brothers, Greg and Doug, and Yuki’s uncle Jack, her only relative in San Francisco.
Cindy, Claire, and her husband, Edmund, who plays bass with the San Francisco Symphony, completed the guest list at the head table.
The first course, spicy citrus ceviche, arrived, and during the next five courses, there were toasts to the bride and groom. Brady was roasted by his brothers, making everyone laugh helplessly. And Yuki’s coworkers and Murder Club friends offered warm anecdotes and best wishes that made our eyes water with sentiment.
Once the dishes were taken away, the lights were dimmed, and Judge Devine, who was a weekend disc jockey, cranked up the CD player and started with Bobby Darin’s up-tempo classic “More.”
Yuki and Brady took to the floor and soon the space between the tables was packed with couples, backlit by the Bay Bridge.
Rich and his athletic-looking, hot new girlfriend were stunningly good dancers. They had their moves down, as if they’d been dancing together for years. I wanted to be mad at him for bringing Tina to Yuki’s wedding, where Cindy could see how good they looked together, but realistically, a lot of time had passed since he and Cindy had broken off their engagement.
It was okay for Richie to be moving on.
I took a few turns around the floor with Joe, then switched off with Claire and danced with Edmund Washburn, who was very smooth.
When I needed a break, I left the floor and found Cindy, pretty in baby blue, sitting alone at the table. She hadn’t said anything more than hi to me all evening.
I could see it all in her face: the love and the pain.
Judge Devine put on something slow, Nat King Cole’s “Unforgettable,” which was just divine.
I put my hand on Cindy’s shoulder and said, “May I have this dance?”
“You don’t have to do that, Linds. I mean really. No.”
“Come on. Just one dance. No strings attached.”
“And why do you want to dance with me?”
“Uh. Because you look so fetching sitting here, clutching your wineglass?”
“Okay, that’s not it.”
“Because I love you?”
Cindy flashed me a smile and got to her feet, and I walked her a couple of yards to the dance floor.
I took her in my arms, turned her so she was facing away from Conklin and Tina. I said, “Relax. Let me lead.”
She laughed.
Then she said, “I’m fine, Lindsay…”
“And what?”
“And I love you, too.”
CHAPTER 18
CINDY PAID THE cabdriver and stepped unsteadily up the walk to her front door. She fiddled with the key, went inside her dark apartment, and locked the door behind her. She bounced off the hallway walls a couple of times on her way to the bedroom, where she undressed, dropping her clothes on the floor.
