“Nick,” I said coolly.
“Harper. You look lovely,” he said, eyes mocking. “Dennis, my man.”
“Dude, how’s it hanging?” They shook hands, doing that automatic grip-shifting male handshake that they must teach in the locker room. Must my boyfriend be BFFs with my ex-husband? Huh? I pinched Dennis’s arm, but he only gave me a confused look.
We had a private dining room, one big table that seated about twenty, antlers decorating the wall, the windows showcasing the deep blue sky and purple mountains’ majesty and all that good stuff. I took a deep breath and tried to relax. Most of the seats were already taken— BeverLee, Dad, Willa and Chris, a few other people I didn’t recognize who were, I assumed, friends of the bride and groom.
Tonight was Thursday—the wedding was scheduled for Saturday afternoon, unless common sense decided to put in an appearance. If not, well, crotch. Life was going to be very different with Nick popping in and out again. Really should work on getting Dennis to marry me.
Willa once again jumped up and hugged me. “Guys,” she said to the four or five strangers, “this is my big sister, Harper! Harper, this is Emily—” She indicated a dark-haired, pretty woman. “We work together in New York. And that’s Colin, he’s Christopher’s friend from here, same with Noreen there, and this is Gabe, he and Chris went to college together. Guys, this tall drink of water is Dennis, Harper’s significant other.”
“Hello,” I said, smiling.
“Hey, guys,” Dennis said.
“And of course, Harper,” Willa continued, “you already know Jason.”
My head snapped around. Willa was pointing at a rather large man about my own age…tall and beefy with curly, angelic blond hair that made him look like a cherub. A nasty, stupid cherub, that was—Nick’s stepbrother, Jason Cruise.
“Great to see you again,” he said, giving me a quick once-over.
“Wish I could say the same, Jason,” I answered, icicles dripping from my words.
“You married?” he asked.
I ignored him, then risked a glance at Nick, who was taking a seat down near BeverLee and Dad, next to Willa’s friend from New York. He didn’t look at me. Willa was already chatting with the friends from the lodge, so I took the last seat, which put me between Jason and Dennis and far from Nick.
I hated Jason Cruise for many reasons. Back when I was with Nick, Jason had been obsessed with Tom Cruise, something that had been true for years, according to Nick. Though he was no relation to the famous actor, Jason liked to hint that he was. “Went out to California,” he’d say. “Hung out with my Cruise cousins, you know. Saw you-know-who and the kids.” Then he’d wait to see if I’d squeal and pump him for star gossip, which he gleaned from the tabloids at the supermarket. When such a reaction failed to ensue, he’d just keep it up. “What’s your favorite movie of his? Call me nostalgic, but I still love Top Gun.” Indeed, I once saw Jason wearing a flight suit. Navy flight suits tended to look great on Navy pilots…on a giant Hobbit of a man, not so much.
But it wasn’t just his idiotic fascination with the film star. Oh, no. That was nothing.
Like me, Nick was a child of divorce. His folks had split up when he was eight. Nick’s father, Ted, had a honey on the side, apparently, and even before the divorce was final, he’d been living with Lila Cruise and her son, who was the same age as Nick. The same day Ted married Lila, he’d also adopted Jason, which might’ve been nice if it hadn’t meant Ted Lowery then forgot about his other son. Christopher, the child of Ted and Lila, was born a few years later.
I remembered Nick telling me about his childhood one winter’s night as we sat on a bench on campus, the stars brilliant, the air still and cold. To sum it up, Ted basically dropped the child of his first marriage. Jason (and later, Chris) replaced Nick in his father’s affections. Jason was the son whose picture Ted carried in his wallet, the one whose Little League team he coached, the one who was given a car for his sixteenth birthday.
The divorce between Nick’s parents had been ugly; his mother never forgave Ted, and her hatred burned for the rest of her life. Ted retaliated by sticking to the letter of the law on the custody and child support agreements. He was never late with a child support payment, but he never gave a penny extra, either. He never denied Nick a visit, but he never took him any more than what the court ordered—one weekend a month, dinner every other Wednesday. Dinner was always with the entire second family…Nick never saw his father alone.
Early on, Nick had learned to ask his father for nothing, because the answer was always the same. If Nick needed a new baseball glove, if he wanted to go to Boy Scout camp in the Adirondacks, if there was a field trip that cost a hundred bucks, his father would say only, “Your mother got a fair settlement. Ask her.” His mother, in fact, got a crap settlement and had to work two jobs to support her boy. If only she’d had a divorce attorney like my bad-ass self.
On the appointed weekend, Nick would take two subways and the train from his home in the working-class neighborhood of Flatbush, Brooklyn, over to the wealthy burg of Croton-on-Hudson. Here, Jason would instantly begin to torture Nick. Jason would gloat over all that he and “Dad” had done. He’d show Nick pictures of their fly-fishing jaunt in Idaho, their vacation to Disney World, their weekend in San Francisco. He’d make sure Nick knew the cost of his soccer cleats, the remote-control airplane, the swimming pool they’d just put in. If Nick was innocent enough to bring some far more humble toy or book of his own, Jason would see to it that the object was broken, or worse, stolen.
Christopher, born when Nick was ten, was in a different class. Nick loved the little guy, and Chris idolized his long-distance half brother. Christopher was, Nick had once said, the only good thing about those awkward, sad weekends spent as the perpetual outsider, watching his father with his new-and-improved family.
“So how is it, seeing Nick again?” Jason asked now, leaning a little closer. He was awash in Polo, a scent I always associated with irritating tourists.
“Lovely,” I answered.
“I’m so sure.” He raised an anemic eyebrow and leered, sort of a chummy, conspiratorial look. Poor thing, I understand completely, he’s a total shit, isn’t he? “So it’s kinda cool we’re related again, don’tcha think?”
“We’re not related, Jason. We’ve never been related. You are my ex-husband’s stepbrother. No relation, biologically or legally.”
“But you’re sort of family. Because of Chris and what’s-her-name.”
“Negative. Willa will be your half sister-in-law, if such a term even exists. As far as I’m concerned, you’re nothing.” I met his piggy blue eyes with my asshole-lawyer stare, and as ever, it worked.
He sank back into his chair. “Bitch,” he muttered.
“And don’t you forget it,” I returned.
Nick was watching me, and there it was, that quivering hum of electricity. I hoped he had heard me smack down his stepbrother, knew that, in my own way, I’d stuck up for him, but before the thought was even formulated, Nick had turned to the dark-haired Emily, who was laughing at something he said.
“Want some bread, Harp?” Dennis asked.
“Sure. Thanks,” I muttered.
“So, Harper, what do you do for work?” asked one of the Glacier friends.
“I’m a divorce attorney,” I answered. Everyone quieted.
Nick choked. “Are you kidding?” he asked.
“No,”