CHAPTER 44
Remy took one last look at herself in the mirror. She was wearing the blue and white linen dress and matching shoes she’d bought in Chatham—and she’d finally taken off the tags. She sighed resignedly. “Oh well, it’s the best I can do,” she said, picking up her purse and opening the door.
John—who’d knocked a moment earlier—looked up and smiled. “Wow! You look lovely!”
Remy raised her eyebrows. “I won’t believe you if you overdo it.”
“You should believe me because you do.”
“Thank you,” she said, hearing her mother’s admonishing voice: “Always accept a compliment graciously.” He offered her his arm and she took it, too, leaning lightly on it as he escorted her down the stairs and through the lobby.
“You kids look great,” the innkeeper said. “You’re going to wow your old classmates,” he added with a grin. “Have fun!”
“Thank you,” Remy said, feeling her heart start to race at the mention of her classmates.
A half an hour later, John parked near Gifford Hall and walked around to help her out of the car. “We have arrived,” she murmured nervously, looking up at the stately stone building.
“Indeed, we have,” John said, smiling, “and it’s a beautiful night. I heard it’s raining back home.”
“It is?” Remy frowned, picturing the rain on Cape Cod—which suddenly seemed very far away. She pictured Route 6, wet with puddles; she pictured the cars traveling with their wiper blades splashing back and forth; she imagined the rain on her stone steps and gardens, and suddenly, she missed it very much. “Let’s go home,” she said, pulling John to a halt.
“Go home?” he said, looking at her in surprise.
“Yes, I’m suddenly very homesick . . . and I don’t really want to see any of these people anyway.”
“Let’s just go in and have a drink,” John encouraged. “And afterward, if you still want to leave, we will.”
Remy nodded, gripping his arm for support—moral and emotional—and went inside.
“Remy Landon!” a woman called from across the room, waving her hand. She swooped toward them like a hawk, and gave Remy a hug and a peck on both cheeks. “I would’ve known you anywhere! You haven’t changed one iota!”
Remy smiled, trying to place the woman, and then noticed her name tag. “Paula Peck,” she said, “you haven’t changed a bit, either.”
“It’s incredible,” Paula said conspiratorially, “our children have all grown up, but we’ve stayed the same age!”
Remy laughed in polite agreement.
“And who is this handsome fella on your arm?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Remy said, feeling flustered. “This is John Sanders.”
Paula held out her hand in greeting. “You’re a doctor, I see,” she gushed.
Remy frowned. How did she know that?
John nodded, lightly touched his lapel pin—the one Remy hadn’t noticed—and shook her hand. “Yes . . . yes, I am. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Oh, trust me, the pleasure’s all mine,” Paula swooned.
John smiled politely.
“Well,” Paula said, turning back to Remy. “We’re so glad you came. We haven’t seen you since the first time you came . . . you know, after Jim died . . . and we were wondering if we would ever see you again!”
Remy wondered why Paula kept using the word we—was she speaking for herself and her husband or was she speaking on behalf of the whole class? “Well, here I am,” she said awkwardly.
Paula nodded and motioned in the direction of the bar. “The real party’s getting started over there . . . and the name tag table is over there,” she said, pointing, “but I don’t think you need a name tag because everyone will know who you are!” She gave her another kiss and swept off in the direction of the bar.
“Wow,” John said, laughing. “I didn’t think they made ’em like that anymore.”
Remy shook her head. “Yes, and now I remember why I didn’t want to come.”
“Well, let’s get a drink before you really decide. What’s your poison?”
She smiled—John was definitely making it more fun. In fact, she was certain, if she’d come alone, she wouldn’t have made it this far. “Just a glass of white wine.”
“Chardonnay or pinot?”
“Pinot.”
John turned to the bartender, asked for two glasses of pinot grigio, and returned a moment later, holding a glass out to her. “Cheers!” he said softly.
“Cheers,” she said, smiling and clinking his glass.
Remy looked around the room and saw Paula standing with a group of people, nodding in their direction, but she didn’t mind. They could talk all they wanted. She was a proud alumna of an old New England college. She’d graduated with honors and married a wonderful man. She’d survived his loss and soldiered on alone. She’d raised three amazing children and kept current with the times by reading and continuing to learn. And now, years later, she was here again and she’d brought an old friend who thought she had a wonderful, warm personality. And she wasn’t going to be intimidated by the sideways glances of former classmates—who were probably just curious, friendly old people—like herself.