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But alas, Brea and Kenny had booked their wedding for the third weekend in June. And there was nowhere in the world they’d rather have the occasion, even if Martha’s Vineyard was rain-soaked.
On the morning of the wedding, Brea awoke in her house, in the bed she normally shared with Kenny. The skies were gray, as usual, and there was a patter of rain atop the twittering of birds. Beside her in bed, a blond woman sighed and flipped over, then smiled sleepily.
“Brea, darling! It’s your wedding day!”
Brea laughed and sat up in bed, her hair tousled. Last night after the rehearsal dinner, her bridal party had returned to her home— Oriana and a few other friends from high school and college. Together, they’d stayed up past midnight, laughing together as another storm passed through the night sky.
“Oh gosh. I’m hungover,” Oriana groaned, rubbing her eyes. “Are you?”
Brea was surprised to say she wasn’t. Perhaps due to nerves, she’d kept her drinking to a minimum, feeling fizzy on love, conversation, and laughter.
“I’ll make coffee,” Brea assured her best friend and maid of honor. “You’ll be better in no time.”
“I hope you’re right!”
Brea hurried down the staircase of the Victorian home she and Kenny had purchased six months ago when Brea and Oriana had decided it was time to take their art dealing back to Martha’s Vineyard. They’d had enough of the city. Oriana had a hefty client base and plenty of contacts, and even Brea had cultivated a client list of her own— one that most art dealers coveted. New Yorkers had begun to call them the “dynamic duo” of the art world.
In the kitchen, the coffee bubbled and spat into the pot, and Oriana collapsed at the kitchen counter and rubbed her temples. Despite the alcohol, she looked bright and beautiful, her skin shining.
“I still can’t believe you and Kenny bought this old place,” she said, eyeing the beautiful kitchen, the big bay windows that looked out across the water, and the living room featuring a baby grand piano. “I mean, don’t you remember walking past it as kids? We always prayed one of us would end up here. And you did!”
“Your place isn’t half-bad, either,” Brea reminded her.
Oriana’s place was three times the size of Kenny and Brea’s, something both of them knew. What Oriana didn’t know, of course, was that part of what Brea had earned through Neal for switching the forged painting had gone into this place’s purchase. This had been essential, as Brea’s client list wasn’t comparable to Oriana’s— not yet, anyway.
Still, for whatever reason, Oriana hadn’t questioned it, as though to her, everyone had just enough money to go around.
Brea poured them both mugs of coffee, and together, they sat out on the back porch and watched the rain patter across the pavement and lush grass. The air was clean and crisp, and the coffee was hazelnut and warm, and Brea wasn’t sure if she’d ever been half as happy as this. Everything had fallen into place. And best of all, Oriana had never caught on to her scheme. Perhaps her lie would go on forever. Perhaps Brea would be able to convince herself that it had never been a lie, that she’d never made the switch in the first place.
People convinced themselves of lies all the time.
Not long afterward, the other bridesmaids awoke. Oriana and Brea busied themselves with making eggs, turkey sausages, and biscuits for breakfast, plus slicing some strawberries and brewing more coffee. Brea allowed herself to drown in the beautiful voices of the women she loved the most.
A few hours later, Brea, Oriana, and the other bridesmaids got ready in a little room at the church, stepping into dresses and buttoning one another up. In the mirror, Brea saw the portrait of a young and beautiful bride with an iconic dress with artistic flair, a long skirt, and a sleek off-the-shoulder top. It was a dress fit for the kind of artist she wanted to grow to be.
“You look stunning,” Oriana said from behind her, smiling with tears in her eyes. “I can’t believe my favorite couple is finally getting married.”
* * *
Brea walked down the aisle to marry Kenny, the love of her life, the only man with whom she wanted to have children and grow old with. Kenny had gained back all the weight since his surgery in late 1998; his hair was glossy and wild, and his eyes were alight and filled with optimism. As they held one another’s gaze, Brea swam in memories of their many years together, of all the trials and hardships they’d been through. She tried not to remember what she’d done and stolen, all in the name of his health. But when she found herself thinking of it, a single voice in her mind told her to look at what good it had done!He’s alive! Who cares about that stupid painting?
A pastor asked them to say their vows, and with their family and friends as their witnesses, Brea and Kenny pledged their love and their lives. And afterward, they kissed, with Kenny dipping her down low and lifting her back up again as the crowd went wild.
Because the rain just wouldn’t quit, Brea’s family set up a huge circus tent, beneath which they’d placed twenty round tables with eight chairs at each. Kenny and Brea sat at a long table at one end of the tent, with Reese and Oriana on either side of them. One after another, Oriana and Reese made speeches, honoring their long friendship and looking forward to many more years.
“Kenny, you’ve been through a lot, my man,” Reese said into the microphone. “And we’re just so dang glad you’re healthy, with your best girl by your side. Looking forward to many more years with you. Life wouldn’t be the same without you.”
For dinner, they ate seafood— trout and sea bass and clam chowder, potatoes, roasted vegetables, and Kenny’s favorite, macaroni and cheese. Brea had laughed at that choice, saying, “Regular people don’t have macaroni and cheese at weddings! Do they?” And to this, Kenny had reminded her, “We’re not regular people, baby.”
And it was true. For together, they’d beaten death. That wasn’t regular in the slightest.
A couple of hours later, as the music pumped from the speakers, family members whirled around in shining shoes, and people attacked second servings of cake, Oriana walked across the dance floor to loop her arm through Brea’s. Kenny was busy with Reese, laughing about something with their arms thrown across one another’s shoulders and beers in their hands.
“So! Tell me,” Oriana said mischievously. “When can I expect cousins for my kids?”
“You were never very patient, Oriana Coleman. You know that?”
“I’ve been told my impatience is one of my best attributes,” Oriana joked. “It means I get things done.”
