ANDY
Fun fact: eleven-thirtyon a Friday night was the best time to hit I-93 South and avoid holiday weekend traffic. My drive to the Cape was smooth sailing, and entirely motivated by a desire to avoid Patrick.
The Chatham Bars Inn on the far curve of Cape Cod was my kind of place—straight out of the 1910s, and recently updated with the best modern features while preserving the architectural integrity of the original structure.
On a better day, I would have photographed every nook, archway, and detail of the entire inn, but I was busy cleaving my brain into two separate and wholly unequal parts—the one focused on self-preservation and moving on from Patrick, and the one desperately in love with him.
It was always about Patrick. He was my ignition switch. I loved him years ago when I thumbed through the architecture school’s grad student publications, and his thesis taught me how to cherish and honor the past, all while making it more efficient, more sustainable. Then, he was Patrick the craftsman and Patrick the visionary, and without knowing it, he fostered my architectural spirit.
Working with Patrick changed my life. He changed everything but I didn’t let other people plan my future. I was hurt, and haunted by the reality that he kept something enormous from me for so long. He shook every belief I had, and I honestly wondered whether I wanted to build anymore.
Or maybe I was too busy being wounded to realize I couldn’t even enjoy Bikram yoga or goat’s milk cheese these days, let alone feel passionate about sustainably preserved architecture.
I hoped my late arrival would free me from all Walsh interactions, but Shannon and Lauren were leaning against the front desk when I entered.
“Shan, chill.” Lauren beckoned me closer, and wrapped her arm around my waist while I checked in. “I have a wedding planner, and we’re paying her a fortune to take care of all of these things. If there’s something we’ve missed, life will have to go on.”
“I just want you to have an incredible day,” Shannon said. “I’m annoyed about the gift baskets, and want to have a few words with the manager.”
“I’m not annoyed. This is a party. That’s all. Gift baskets are not required, are they, Curly Sue?” I shrugged and glanced between them. I didn’t want to think about weddings—getting me here was a big enough challenge. “Go talk to Will. He was really excited to meet you.”
Shannon glanced toward the bar area. “He’s at the bar, and Wes is the one talking to my sister?” Lauren murmured in agreement. “Homeboy seems a lot more interested in kicking Matt’s ass than talking to me.”
“And if that happens, my day will be far less incredible,” Lauren said. “Use some of that legendary Shannon Walsh charm, and keep him away from my Matthew.”
Armed with a renewed sense of purpose, Shannon moved toward the bar, and settled beside Lauren’s brother.
“I’m so glad to see you,” Lauren said. “What took you so long? This has been a wild night. I’ve been running all kinds of covert operations to keep these kiddos under control. I met Erin! Talk about a blood feud. She brought me a lava rock from Portugal, because it’s old and new, and I already love her. And I just heard about the tunnel at the house? How crazy is that?”
“It was crazy,” I murmured. “I’m sorry I’m late. It’s been a hectic week, that’s all.”
“I know, honey. Let’s get a drink with the hooligans before we go upstairs.” She led the way to the patio bar, and I willed the sound of crashing waves and the scent of sea air to calm me down.
Sam, Riley, and Matt were clustered on one side, while Patrick stood behind them facing the ocean, his hands in the pockets of his navy shorts with his back to the group. What I wouldn’t give to wrap my arms around his waist, press my face against his back, and just drown in Patrick.
Matt and Sam were recounting a story at Riley’s expense, interrupting each other and dissolving into hysterical laughter while Riley looked as if he was trying to swallow a goldfish. On one of those better days, I would have thrown some gas on that fire and asked about aunts who slept with alligators, and black-eyed meatloaves, but those stories no longer existed in my realm.
Shannon and Will struggled to kick-start a conversation at the bar, and she launched into a detailed accounting of her plan to work her way through locally brewed IPAs this summer. Another redhead was on the opposite end of the patio with Wes, Lauren’s other brother, and neither noticed our arrival. They were too busy staring at the sand dunes and looking like they were being held hostage.
I ordered a Riesling—everyone needed a real housewife—and let Lauren introduce me to her brothers. I couldn’t fathom how curvy little Lauren was cut from the same genetic cloth as Wes and Will. They had Lauren’s golden blond hair, theirs cut in closely cropped styles. They were shorter than Patrick yet huge, and I doubted their broad shoulders fit through standard, code-specified interior doorways. They represented a whole new branch of the Tight T-Shirt Brigade.
“Hey, Will, this is my friend Andy. She works with Matt,” Lauren said, and patted her brother’s shoulder. It looked like bone-in ham. “Andy, this is my oldest brother, Will.”
“Will Halsted.” He offered his hand, and it swallowed mine whole. “You’re not part of them?” Will gestured at the array of Walshes scattered around the patio.
“No.” I wasn’t part of the inner circle anymore, and I’m not sure I ever was.
“Finally, an impartial witness. Sit down. I want the inside story.”
“Are we not having a conversation?” Shannon snapped.
“Apparently she didn’t take the hint. We’ll talk another time, Andy,” Will promised with an exaggerated eye roll, and he motioned to Shannon. “I don’t spend nearly enough time listening to harpies. By all means, continue.”
Lauren clutched my elbow and darted away from the bar as Shannon gasped.
Wes and Erin smiled politely at each other without speaking, and both looked relieved when we approached. “Wes, Erin, this is Andy. She’s one of my very best friends, and an architect at the firm with Matt. Andy, this is my brother Wes, and Matt’s sister Erin.”
I gazed at Erin, taking in red hair and emerald eyes against alabaster skin, and I couldn’t believe her resemblance to Shannon and her mother. “Hi,” I managed, and fumbled to shake their hands.
