Beautiful Day (20 page)

“Sure, Mama,” Chance said.

Helen took Chance’s arm, and the two of them strolled off.

“There,” Jim said. “We don’t have to speak to her again for the rest of the weekend.”

“I guess not,” Ann said. She knew she should be relieved that the interaction was
over, but instead she felt cheated. Where was the thank-you? Where was Helen’s acknowledgment
of Ann’s largesse?

F
or some reason it was Margot who had been chosen to go back to the house and wait
for Nick and Finn to return from the beach while everyone else headed to the yacht
club. Margot understood that her father and Pauline and Jenna and Stuart all had to
get to the club pronto, but why couldn’t Kevin and Beanie go back to the house to
wait for Nick? It was Kevin’s premise that since Ellie had to be walked back to the
house, Margot should be the one to go.

“Brock has to be walked back, too,” Margot said.

“We’re taking the Grahams and the groomsmen to the club,”
Kevin announced. “The pleasures of minivan ownership: seating for eight.” He patted
Margot’s shoulder in the most condescending way possible and said, “We’ll see you
in a few minutes.”

It would be more than a few minutes, everyone knew that, because once Nick and Finn
did return, they would have to shower and change. Margot wanted to go to the yacht
club to see Edge. She had been patient, she hadn’t been a sourpuss about the mortal
damage to her phone, she hadn’t gotten drunk with Griff at ten thirty in the morning—but
now she wanted her reward. She wanted to see Edge.

Back at the house, Emma Wilton was waiting. Margot gave her money to take all six
kids down to the Strip for pizza, then to the Juice Bar for ice cream, then to the
playground at Children’s Beach.

“Please,” Margot said, “try to get Ellie out of her bathing suit. She might listen
to you, since you’re not her mother.”

At eight o’clock, Emma was to bring the kids home to watch a DVD. With the wedding
tents set up, there could be absolutely no roughhousing in the backyard.

Once Emma and the kids took off down Orange Street, Margot was left to sit and stew
alone. She realized it might be a good thing if she wasn’t at the yacht club exactly
on time. If Edge got there first, he would wonder where she was;
he
would be the one waiting while
she
made an entrance. This thought calmed Margot for a few minutes until she grew antsy
again. She allowed herself to grow infuriated first with Kevin, then with Nick. Nick
was thirty-seven years old, he was an adult, he had an advanced degree, he negotiated
player contracts worth millions of dollars, he was quoted all the time in the
Washington Post
and even occasionally on ESPN. How could he allow himself to completely
miss
the rehearsal—and not only him but Finn, as well. How irresponsible!

It had crossed everyone’s mind that something had gone awry. Nick and Finn had been
at least a hundred yards offshore on their paddleboards. When Margot had corralled
the kids to leave, she’d shouted to Nick, and he had waved and pointed to his wrist—indicating,
she thought, that he would be along in a few minutes. Maybe either he or Finn had
fallen off the paddleboard; maybe they’d gotten swept out to sea, maybe they’d drowned.
Jenna had tried calling and texting Finn, and Kevin had tried Nick, with no response.
But of course their phones would be on the beach. Margot knew in her heart that they
weren’t in any danger. Nick was too much of a competent asshole to meet with tragedy.

You can’t tell me you wouldn’t love an opportunity to vent your frustration with your
family to a friendly acquaintance.

The grandfather and grandmother clocks announced the quarter hour in brassy unison.
Margot closed her eyes and tried to achieve a Zen moment. She had always loved the
mellow, honeyed chiming of those clocks; it was a sound particular to the Nantucket
house. It was the sound of summertime; it was the sound of her childhood.

Six fifteen. Margot was the least Zen person on earth. She went to the fridge and
poured herself a glass of wine.

She thought about Griff. He had come into the offices at Miller-Sawtooth in the second
week of March. Griff’s first interview with Margot—for the head of product development
with a pre-IPO tech firm called Tricom—had gone so well that she knew he would end
up on the final slate. Griff’s third interview with the powers that be at Tricom,
including Drew Carver, the CEO, had taken place on the morning after Margot had spent
the night at Edge’s apartment for the one and only time. Margot had been a flustered,
sex-exhausted, lovesick mess. She had spent time in the ladies’ room, trying to pull
herself together—makeup
for under her eyes, perfume to mask the smell of pheromones, her inner voice reflecting
on what Edge had asked of her.
It would really mean a lot to me,
he’d said, tracing his finger along her jawbone. When Margot emerged from the ladies’
room, Harry Fry, her managing partner, had asked if she was okay. Harry had served
as Margot’s champion within the company; he believed she had been blessed with “perfect
instincts.” Harry must have known to look at Margot then that she was
not
okay, but she had stared him dead in the eye and said, “Yes, I’m fine,” because to
be a woman in this business was already a disadvantage, but to be a louche, trashy
woman who would be willing, perhaps, to compromise her principles for her lover was
unacceptable. Harry Fry’s number one mandate—indeed, Miller-Sawtooth’s number one
mandate—was that personal lives did not come into the boardroom. No individual prejudices.
Ever.

Edge had asked Margot for a favor.

Edge, you know I can’t,
she had said.

But once Margot had gotten into the office and reflected on the evening at Picholine
and the deliciousness of waking up in Edge’s bed, she had decided that she would do
anything for the man. She would have wrestled an alligator, she would have tattooed
his name on her lower back.

But she had done worse.

The grandfather and grandmother clocks announced six thirty, and Margot thought,
I’ve had it, I’m leaving. They do not deserve a personal chauffeur. They can walk
to the yacht club.
The wine had buoyed Margot a little, and she thought,
I’m going to see Edge!
She then wished that thinking about Edge brought her more happiness and less self-doubt.

As she stood to go, collecting her wrap and cocktail purse, she heard voices and laughter.
A moment later, Nick and Finn walked
into the house. Nick was carrying Finn on his back; Finn was resting her head on Nick’s
shoulder.

Margot, unable to leave personal prejudice out of this particular boardroom, said,
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

They both gazed at her, startled. Caught. Margot felt like an ugly, mean headmistress,
holding a switch.

Nick set Finn down. Finn was… wow… wickedly sunburned. Her face, her chest, her back—she
was
fried.
Margot thought about the following day when Finn would have to wear the grasshopper
green dress. She would look awful in the photographs, like a frog that had been through
the blender, and no amount of makeup would hide it. This was Finn at her worst, silly
and careless; she was still the same seventeen-year-old girl who had left the Worthington
family high and dry without a nanny after sticking it out for only thirty-six hours.
But Finn’s weak character wasn’t Margot’s primary concern.

She said, “Where the fuck have you two been? You
missed
the rehearsal!”

Nick put a hand up. “Marge,” he said. “Don’t be like this.”

“Be like
what?
” Margot said, although she knew he meant shrill, strident, bitchy. She hated that
she had been left to play the heavy. As the older sister, she had
always
played this role—babysitter, taskmaster, disciplinarian. She never got to be the
goof-off or the princess. “It’s six thirty! The rehearsal started at five! We were
all at the church
waiting
for you!”

“We got left at the beach without a car,” Nick said.

“You could have called a cab!” Margot said. “You could have taken the shuttle!”

“I ran into a buddy of mine,” Nick said. He grinned. “Do you remember Tucker? Because
he remembers you.”

Margot glowered. She didn’t care about anyone named Tucker. He was probably one of
the asinine idiots who used to toss her
into the ocean with her clothes on at the beach parties out at Dionis.

“Tucker said he’d give us a ride,” Nick said. “But he wanted to stop for a beer at
the brewery first.”

Of course, Margot thought.

“And as we were leaving the brewery, Tucker got a call from his wife, something about
their new baby, the wife was freaking out, so Tucker had to boogie home, and he lives
out in Sconset. He had to drop us off at the rotary.”

“I really don’t care,” Margot said.

“Finn lost her shoes,” Nick said. “And the sidewalk was hot, so I had to carry her.
It was slow going.”

Margot glared at Finn. Lost her
shoes?

“I’m gonna hop in the shower,” Finn said. She disappeared out the back screen door.

Nick faced Margot. “I’m sorry, Marge.”

“You suck,” Margot said. “It’s Jenna’s weekend. She and Stuart asked you to stand
up for them, and you let them down.”

“It was the
rehearsal,
” Nick said. “I’ll be there tomorrow. Obviously.”

“And what the hell is going on between you and Finn?”

“Um,” Nick said. “Nothing? She’s just, you know,
Finn,
our neighbor, Jenna’s best friend, known her forever.”

“She’s married, Nick.”

“I’m aware of that, Marge.”

Margot shook her head. She could see right through him.

“I’m leaving,” she said. “I’ve wasted enough time waiting for you. You two will have
to walk.”

“Okay,” Nick said. “Fine.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet you think that’s fine. The two of you will have the house all to yourselves.”

“What’s happened to you?” Nick asked. He shook his bush of
golden hair and brushed sand from his torso all over the bare wood floors—never mind
that 150 guests were coming the next day. “You used to be so cool. Now you’re just…
I don’t know what you are, but you’re not like you used to be.”

“I grew up,” Margot said. “I’m an adult.”

Nick studied her for a second. He had gotten a lot of sun; his face was darkly tanned,
and his eyes seemed very green. Of the four Carmichael offspring, Nick was the only
one with green eyes. Of the four of them, Nick was the free spirit. He had been a
clown in school. He had once skipped class to go to the beach in a Volkswagen bus
filled with girls; he had once gotten suspended for streaking during a Friday night
football game. He had managed to make it through college and law school while closing
the bars every weekend and bedding what Margot was certain was hundreds of women.

Their mother had always stepped in when Nick was about to be punished. Margot remembered
their mother constantly saying to their father,
Douglas, please, don’t clip his wings.

“You grew up,” Nick said. He nodded once, then headed upstairs. “That’s too bad.”

When Margot reached the yacht club, the party was in full swing. The band was playing,
and a number of couples were already dancing—Doug’s friends from East Brunswick, the
Appelbaums, as well as the Riggses and the Mitchells, who were longtime family friends
from Nantucket. Everyone else was still out on the patio, enjoying cocktails as the
sun pinkened in the sky.

Margot’s shoulders were tight, and her stomach was making unseemly squelching noises.
Edge.
She would
not
drink too much. She would
not
say anything silly or inappropriate. She would
not
touch Edge under the table, no matter how much she wanted to. She would be cool,
maybe even a little aloof. Her
dress was a knockout, she thought—lavender silk, very short, with spaghetti straps,
and she had worn the silver heels with silver strings that wrapped around her ankles,
strings that Edge had once dangled from his teeth. She wore long silver earrings and
a touch of perfume. She looked good, she was the maid of honor, she was an adult,
a grown woman. Nick could go to hell. Nick and Finn could go to hell together.

Margot scanned the crowd. She saw her father talking to Everett and Kay Bailey, her
mother’s cousins. She saw Kevin and Beanie with Autumn and the two Carolines (called
Asian Caroline and Caucasian Caroline behind their backs), who had also gone to the
College of William and Mary. She saw Stuart’s brother Ryan with a very handsome black
man. He and Asian Caroline added much-needed ethnic diversity to this event. Margot
saw a statuesque blond woman in a buttercup yellow dress. She saw Pauline sitting
at a table alone, mauling a bowl of cashews. She saw a gaggle of the crunchy-granola
womyn whom Jenna taught with at Little Minds—Hilly and Chelsea and Francie. She noticed
blandly handsome Wall Street types in good suits, who must have been the men who worked
at Morgan Stanley with Stuart. She saw Stuart’s parents with several other couples,
definitely southern, judging by the hairstyles and the pantyhose on the women. Margot
watched H.W. hand Autumn a shot. A shot during cocktail hour, Margot thought.
Really?
And it looked like bourbon. Autumn threw it back without hesitation and chased it
with a sip of her wine.
Stay classy, Autumn,
Margot thought. She caught sight of Stuart and Jenna, arm in arm, parting the crowd
as they moved through. Jenna looked striking in her peach dress, and Stuart seemed
finally to be relaxing. His face had a little bit of color. He was wearing the peach
silk tie that Jenna had bought to match her dress.

Margot did not see Edge.