Page 91 of The Treasure House

“Jake?”

He sighed. “Well, I guess I was going to tell you eventually. My mother did.”

Twenty

OXEYE, MAINE, 1956

“I didn’t take you for someone who weeps at weddings, pixie stick.”

Marly jumped. She’d been hiding behind the outbuildings, trying to find some privacy to pull herself together. Dad had taken Mom inside somewhere; no one else seemed to realize that something was terribly wrong. The garden was full of chatter and music and the clinking of glasses. The June day was sparkling fresh and scented by roses. But Marly felt that nothing would ever be good again.

“It’s awfully sappy of you,” Freddie teased, but she could see he looked concerned.

Marly gave Freddie de Marche a sharp look, trying to hide her real feelings, which were hot and hurting. “All the best people cry at weddings.”

He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket. “Here, I came prepared in case I got a case of the weeps too.”

She took it from him and turned her back on him while she dabbed at her eyes.

“Those didn’t look like tears of joy. Care to tell me what’s wrong?” he asked gently.

“No.”

“Fair enough.” He leaned against the outbuilding at her side and looked up at the sky above. “Seems like everyone’s getting married these days. You know my sister’s getting hitched this summer too. My mom’s already weeping.”

“Are you going to ask Cilla to marry you?” Marly blurted. She hadn’t meant to. It had just come out.

“God, no.”

The vehemence in his voice made Marly’s heart explode in her chest like someone had filled it with gunpowder. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to marry Priscilla.”

Marly turned back toward him, leaning her shoulder against the outbuilding and facing him front on. “Well, why not?” She needed to know.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Marly was astonished. “You’ve been dating her for three years, even if you haven’t pinned her.”

“I haven’t pinned anyone,” Freddie said, sounding put out. “I never made any promises.”

“Dating someone for three years is a kind of promise,” she scolded.

“No, it’s not. It’s movies and walks and dinner. Not marriage.”

“Well, what’s so wrong with marriage?” Marly thought of her father’s tenderness with her mother.

“Nothing. But that doesn’t mean I want to do it.” He thudded the back of his head against the stonework of the wall. “I don’t know. I guess I had an idea about the right girl. That there’d be something extra. Cilla’s nice and all, and pretty and, uh, friendly, but…”

“But…” Marly repeated.

“Yeah. But.” Freddie shrugged. “It’s just nice. And I don’t want nice.”

“What about me?” Marly said abruptly. She straightened up so he could see her properly in her fancy ice-blue bridesmaid’s dress.

“What do you mean, what about you?” Freddie frowned.

“I’m not nice.”