“I’m having trouble with Cole and want to bounce something off you. You mind?”
“Not at all.” I was so casual, but I can be honest with you—I have never been so flattered in my life.
“I need to push him, Sam. I need to bring Cole to the point of breaking, but I don’t have somewhere safe for him once I do that. Does that make sense?”
“He’ll need to heal.” I thought about it for a moment. “What do you do? Where do you go?”
“I write.” Alex paused. “Obviously, that won’t work for Cole. You?”
“I run.”
“I should’ve figured that out. How does that work? I run, but not like that.”
“I run until I find myself. Sometimes it takes just a few miles and I know. Other times it takes ten to fifteen, even more, but I know when it happens. It’s peaceful, and I feel whole and strong and nothing can touch or hurt the real me.” I stopped, suddenly remembering it was Alex, not Kyle, to whom I was speaking. I felt confused.
“Can I use that, Sam? I see that working for Cole, but I don’t want to take it from you.”
“Please do. I’m honored.”
“I like that. Sam?”
“What?”
“I write and run.” He paused, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “You run and write.”
I almost spoke, but he got there first. “Back to Cole now. Thanks. I can’t tell you what this means to me.” He hung up.
And I need to go,
Sam
JULY 18
Dear Mr. Knightley,
I just got back from Constance’s wedding. There were over six hundred people there. Mrs. Walker said, “Everyone who’s anyone is here”—so I wondered, did we bump into each other? With your own foundation, you must qualify as someone.
The ceremony was held in the Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church, and the reception filled the Peninsula Hotel. It was spectacular . . . the quintessential fairy-tale wedding.
Mrs. Walker was at her finest and clearly relished every moment. She had on the most beautiful navy dress with diamonds and sapphires dripping all over her. And her smile was radiant. It was like she had planned and lived for this culminating shining evening, and it answered all her dreams. Maybe she had and maybe it did. At one point I wondered if she was trying to outshine the bride, but who competes with her own daughter? And on her wedding day?
Ashley was the maid of honor in a beige/gold-toned dress. She looked like a glass of champagne from her blond hair to her dyed shoes. Each bridesmaid wore the same dress, but carried different flowers. The other five girls held small bouquets full of strong colors. Ashley held Peruvian lilies and Constance held a tight bouquet of white lilies. I love lilies. They are the most perfect flowers—so strong, yet infinitely detailed and delicate. I once looked them up at the library, and all that information flooded back during the wedding. I wondered if the florist was oblivious or possessed a sharp sense of humor.
Ashley’s bouquet: Peruvian lilies—the symbol of friendship and devotion.
Constance’s bouquet: White lilies—chastity and virtue. No comment.
Bradley’s boutonniere: A single bold white stargazer lily—sympathy.
Mr. Walker’s boutonniere: A lone pink stargazer—wealth and prosperity.
One must admit—that’s funny. And while they are most often associated with funerals, the beauty and innocence lilies represent felt perfect for the wedding. And the fragrance floated through the entire church, for a small bouquet was tied to the end of every fourth pew. It was exquisite.
I arrived Friday and went straight to the rehearsal dinner. Ashley looked shredded. I gather Mrs. Walker had provided her with a date of “suitable income and good family,” and Ashley was ticked. Mrs. Walker didn’t offer me the same service and seated me as ninth at a table for eight. I got the message, but I was there for Ashley so I let it slide off.
The next day was chaos: hair appointments, makeup, brunch with all the women invited (at least three hundred of us), then photographs. I trailed Ashley for support. She knew the other bridesmaids, but clearly wasn’t good friends with them. They all reminded me of Constance in her more vapid moments. Their conversations and concerns never dipped below the packaging.
But they all looked great in that champagne color, and I’ll give them this—not one of them said a mean or catty thing about the wedding. They were insipid, but not unkind. What could one criticize? Constance glowed and Bradley looked equally thrilled. Mrs. Walker looked tense at first entering the church on Saturday, but soon relaxed under the warm glow of adoration and praise.
