her! She’s not used to it! She went to private school!”
“Let’s see,” said Ruth Thomas, and she drank down the whiskey Chucky gave her, not in one swallow, but pretty quickly.
“Very fruity,” she said. “Very sweet.”
The drink radiated a pleasant warmth in her bowels. Her lips felt bigger. She had another drink, and she started to feel incredibly affectionate. She gave Kitty Pommeroy a long, strong hug, and said, “You were always my favorite Pommeroy sister,” which couldn’t have been further from the truth but felt good to say.
“I hope things work out for you, Ruthie,” Kitty slurred.
“Aw, Kitty, you’re sweet. You’ve always been so sweet to me.”
“We all want things to work out for you, hon. We’re all just holding our fingers, hoping it all works out.”
“Holding your fingers?” Ruth frowned.
“Crossing our breath, I mean,” Kitty said, and they both nearly fell down laughing.
Chucky Strachan made Ruth another drink.
“Am I a great bartender?” he asked.
“You really know how to mix whiskey and ice in a glass,” Ruth conceded. “That’s for sure.”
“That’s my cousin getting married,” he said. “We need to celebrate. Dotty Wishnell is my cousin! Hey! Charlie Burden is my cousin, too!”
Chucky Strachan leaped out from behind the bar and grabbed Kitty Pommeroy. He buried his face in Kitty’s neck. He kissed Kitty all over her face, all over the good side of her face, the side that wasn’t burn-scarred. Chucky was a skinny guy, and his pants dropped lower and lower over his skinny ass. Each time he bent over the slightest bit, he displayed a nice New England cleavage. Ruth tried to avert her eyes. A matronly woman in a floral skirt was waiting for a drink, but Chucky didn’t notice her. The woman smiled hopefully in his direction, but he slapped Kitty Pommeroy’s bottom and opened himself a beer.
“Are you married?” Ruth asked Chucky, as he licked Kitty’s neck.
He pulled away, threw a fist in the air, and announced, “My name is Clarence Henry Strachan and I am married!”
“May I have a drink, please?” the matronly lady asked politely.
“Talk to the bartender!” shouted Chucky Strachan, and he took Kitty out on the plywood dance floor in the middle of the tent.
The wedding service itself had been insignificant to Ruth. She had barely watched it, barely paid attention. She was amazed by the size of Dotty’s father’s yard, amazed by his nice garden. Those Wishnells certainly had money. Ruth was used to Fort Niles weddings, where the guests brought casseroles and pots of beans and pies. After the wedding, there’d be a great sorting of the serving dishes. Whose tray is this? Whose coffee machine is this?
The wedding of Dotty Wishnell and Charlie Burden, on the other hand, had been catered by a mainland expert. And there was, as Pastor Wishnell had promised, a professional photographer. The bride wore white, and some of the guests who had been to Dotty’s first wedding said this gown was even nicer than the last one. Charlie Burden, a stocky character with an alcoholic’s nose and suspicious eyes, made an unhappy groom. He looked depressed to be standing there in front of everyone, saying the formal words. Dotty’s little daughter, Candy, as maid of honor, had cried, and when her mother tried to comfort her, said nastily, “I’m not crying!” Pastor Wishnell went on and on about Responsibilities and Rewards.
And after it was over, Ruth got drunk. And after she got drunk, she set to dancing. She danced with Kitty Pommeroy and Mrs. Pommeroy and with the groom. She danced with Chucky Strachan, the bartender, and with two handsome young men in tan pants, who, she found out later, were summer people. Summer people at an island wedding! Imagine that! She danced with both of those men a few times, and she got the feeling that she was somehow making fun of them, though she couldn’t later remember what she’d said. She dropped a lot of sarcastic comments that they didn’t seem to get. She even danced with Cal Cooley when he asked her. The band played country music.
“Is the band from here?” she asked Cal, and he said that the musicians had come over on Babe Wishnell’s boat.
“They’re good,” Ruth said. For some reason she was allowing herself to be held very close by Cal Cooley. “I wish I could play an instrument. I’d like to play the fiddle. I can’t even sing. I can’t play anything. I can’t even play a radio. Are you having fun, Cal?”
“I’d have