Beach Wedding Read Online Free PDF

loose-spring
beds with nothing but a broken ice machine for refreshment.
    I keep driving further down the coast. Out of town, I can see more
evidence of development. Some big, shiny beach houses sit along the
shore, and a small complex of townhouses and vacation apartments are
arranged around a pool. The scenery turns rural, until I finally turn
off the highway and down a near-dirt road into the trees.
    ‘Xanadu’, the sign above the rusted gates reads. My aunts
are both artsy and, well, eccentric is the polite way to put it. They
were just a little older than I am now when my mom died and I arrived
on their doorstep, but they never skipped a beat. They quit their
jobs and moved here so I could have some sense of continuity to my
life. They found this old ranch and gradually fixed it up, adopting a
whole menagerie of animals along the way. Now they live in rustic
bliss, with plenty of space for whatever creative projects strike
their fancy.
    I drive on, keeping an eye on the road for stray wildlife. This
time, I just see a couple of llamas munching in the undergrowth –
from that time Bettina decided to start selling their wool –
and some tropical birds circling overhead. I pull around the bend in
the road, and there’s the ranch: peeling paint, a bright purple
shed, and a daisy mural all along the far wall.
    Home.
    “Watch out!” I hear a cry, and slam on the brakes just
as a squawking bundle of feathers bounds across the road. It’s
a pelican – with a sling?
    “Get him!” my aunt Rae calls, racing out of the house.
She’s dressed in a bright yellow kaftan, her hair dyed red.
“We’re trying to fix his wing.”
    I climb out, and join the chase. My other aunt, Bettina, circles
around from the left. She’s wearing denim overalls with her
hair up in a bun, banging two saucepans together and trying to scare
the injured bird back towards the house. “A little to the
left!” she calls.
    “Try singing!” Rae urges. “He loves that!”
    Bettina begins to sing a familiar song.
    “What is that?” I ask, dashing to block the pelican’s
escape.
    “Freebird!”
    “Isn’t that giving him the wrong idea?” I laugh.
    She bangs louder. “That’s it! He’s moving!”
    Whether it’s the singing or the sight of Bettina doing her
percussion, the pelican decides it’s not worth the fight. He
turns and hops back into the house. Rae slams the door behind him
with a cheer.
    “Phew,” she gasps. “I could use a drink. Mai Tai
time?”
    “Sign me up, sugar,” Bettina agrees. I’m catching
my breath when they both grab me for a hug.
    “Welcome home!”
     
    Inside, everything is the same as I remember: eclectic woven hangings
on the walls, and Rae’s sculpture pottery displayed on every
surface. She’s actually well-respected. There are galleries all
the way up the Keys displaying her weird fusion of ceramics and found
objects.
    “Want see my new centaur?” she asks, heading for the
kitchen. “I call him George.”
    I wonder for a second if my aunts have started taking in mythological
creatures in addition to emus and injured pelicans, but then Rae
shows me a rather dashing looking terracotta centaur. “I based
his face off Colin Firth and his horse body off Secretariat.”
    I laugh. “Physical perfection.”
    “A centaur aficionado out of Key West wanted one for his
sculpture garden. I’m also making him a Burt
Reynolds/Seabiscuit as a fountain.”
    Bettina joins us and pours some sweet iced tea from the pitcher in
the fridge. “What are you working on?” I ask her. Bettina
is a composer and musician, and keeps her studio out back. “Any
more TV jingles?”
    “Just a couple. I’m mainly doing background scores,”
she says. “You know, the ‘duh duh duh’ music for
when the cops catch the bad guys.”
    “She’s also working on an opera, composed to the music of
Prince,” Rae pipes up. “It’s really coming along.”
    Bettina nods. “I’m on the fifth part already.”
    “How many parts