A Galveston Novel
by Maria Elena Sandovici
Available August 31st 2025. Preorder now!
Enjoy this little preview of how the story starts.
The last time we all saw Crystal Dugas, she was walking out of her best friend Beth’s rehearsal dinner at a burger joint on the Strand in Galveston. We saw her tattooed back, completely exposed in her shimmering baby blue backless bridesmaid’s dress, which she had worn to the rehearsal dinner to everyone’s dismay, disappear through the tall doors of the historic building, and then meander down the empty street. She was walking in the direction of the Airbnb.
“Rude,” Beth had said, her flute of Sprite, which looked very much like champagne, held mid-air. Her face was flame red, clearly heated up from the angry words she’d just exchanged with Crystal, and her eyes danced around the table as if seeking our validation. We looked down at our plates.
“Should someone go with her?” Garrett, the groom, sitting at Beth’s side, had asked.
Miss Cleo, the bride’s mother had puffed in irritation. “It’s not like she has far to go. And she’s not drunk enough to stumble or anything.”
Just then, the waitress had interrupted. She had our burgers, chicken sandwiches, and fries. Not fancy fare, mind you, but, all things considered, the Hickleys were spending a pretty penny on their only daughter’s nuptials, and Garrett’s mom couldn’t compete with their affluence or even pretend to. She had insisted on paying for the rehearsal dinner, as was tradition, and she had picked something she could afford. Or rather, something that would land her into less debt than a fancier establishment would have. We liked burgers anyway. We were not fancy people. We were decidedly no frills, a fact compounded by our youth, our inexperience in the ways of the world, us having lived our entire twenty or so years in Pineville, a small town in South-East Texas where the buffet at the Golden Corral was considered a treat. A trip to Galveston, a two-hour drive and short ferry ride away was an adventure for us, and Beth’s wedding the event of the year. As bridesmaids, we were luckier than most. While other wedding guests, including most relatives, would make the two-hour trek back and forth in one single day just to be there for the vows and the reception, Mr. Hickley had covered a nice Airbnb on the Strand for us girls in the bridal party, covered it for two whole nights, with late checkout too, and we were grateful to be there. Grateful and in awe. The wedding reception would be held on the Strand too, which was quite something, but this is where the financial abilities of the Hickleys began to show their limits. For Mr. Hickley was wealthier than most, especially in dingy little Pineville, but he was, by his own admission, only a glorified grease monkey who had worked hard all his life and made good clean choices. Mr. Hickley owned the auto repair shop in our town, which was lucrative indeed, but his wealth had its limits. The reception was to be held outdoors, in a charming little park on the Strand. There would be no steak and shrimp, no open bar or other such luxuries. There would be coffee and cup cakes. Mind you, none of us had ever been to a wedding reception nicer than that. The kids we went to high school with and even the ones lucky enough to make it into our local college, were slowly but surely all getting hitched in their parents’ back yards or at the VFW, where people graciously toasted them with sparkling apple cider or the cheapest bubbly from California. But, obviously, we had seen nicer weddings in movies and magazines, and these things fed Beth’s imagination to the point where she complained about what we all knew was a wedding much nicer than any of our circumstances would ever allow. The most impressive part of Beth’s wedding was actually what followed after. For we would all see her and Garrett to the cruise terminal where they’d embark on one of those Carnival cruises that had all you can eat buffets, drinks with little umbrellas, and swimming pools with looping slides. We were all jealous of Beth, which seemed odd now that she was eating her bun-less burger in dainty bites, while still red in the face and blinking back tears. One of us should have comforted her, but we felt awkward doing so, plus we were all mighty hungry. Our last meal had been a hurried early lunch in Pineville before piling into Callie’s car.
Wasn’t it Garrett’s job to comfort his bride, anyway? Shouldn’t he be putting his arms around her and telling her she’d been right to fuss at Crystal, instead of devouring his burger and chugging his beer, visibly oblivious to Beth’s distress? We had an uncomfortable suspicion that, perhaps, like so many other things, this was a woman’s job and one of us should have stepped up to address the Crystal drama and reassure the bride that it was her right to ask us to uphold certain standards. But none of us wanted to cause an additional disruption to the evening. We were grateful to be included, thankful for the Hickley’s generosity, and afraid to step out of line.
It was ungracious of Crystal to get drunk and stupid and act a fool, then leave the rehearsal dinner. At least she wasn’t the maid of honor. She didn’t have to give a speech. But still, she should have acted more demure. Blended in. Kept the peace. Worn a normal dress, any dress, instead of defying and provoking Beth, upsetting her during her rehearsal dinner.
Crystal was definitely no angel, and none of us could say we liked her. But in hindsight, one of us should have gone with her. Preferably one of the guys. Galveston could be dangerous, even the Strand. It was dark and empty out there, not safe for a young woman, intoxicated and nearly naked, and showing off all those tattoos as if to advertise to the world that she had a wild streak. We’d never learn what happened. Had someone pulled her into a waiting car? Had she gone willingly? Did she meet a grim end somewhere so far off the grid nobody would ever find her? Did the dark waters of the Gulf swallow her? Was she pushed off the ferry? Did she jump? Did she simply duck into an alley and vanish? Was she now one of Galveston’s many ghosts? Was she looking over our shoulder as we sat huddled together speculating about all this? Would she follow us, hunting for the perfect opportunity to take revenge for leaving her to fend for herself when she was drunk and visibly upset? Or had she, somehow, through sheer stubbornness and a hefty dose of luck, escaped the confines of our stifling small-town world and launched herself into adventures so big and bold the likes of us could not even begin to imagine?
