Beautiful Day (44 page)

Doug took a handful of potato chips and strolled over to talk to Jenna and Stuart.

“This is nice,” Doug said. The bandleader had a guitar and started to strum the first
chords of “Helplessly Hoping,” by Crosby, Stills, and Nash.

Jenna gazed up at Doug. “Have you seen Margot? I’m worried about her.”

“Not since the bouquet,” Doug said.

Jenna motioned for Doug to come closer, so he crouched by her chair. “Drum Sr. is
getting married again in the fall,” Jenna said. “I think Margot might be shaken up
about it.”

Drum Sr. getting married? That meant Margot would be getting
him
off the payroll—no more palimony. Margot could only feel happy about that, right?
If Margot seemed upset, it would be because of Edge. But maybe Jenna didn’t know about
Edge. Was this possible? Theirs was a family where it was arduous to keep track of
who confided what to whom. Doug was grateful for all he knew, and even more grateful
for what he didn’t know.

“I’m sure she’s fine, honey,” Doug said. “She’ll probably be here any minute.”

“I don’t want her to miss this,” Jenna said. “We planned this part together.”

It was comforting: the fire, the snacks, the guitar, and the singing. Doug poured
himself a beer from the keg, and as he took the first sip, he realized he felt younger
and lighter than he had in years.

He sat in one of the last empty chairs. He wanted to move closer to Jenna and Stuart—they
were all the way over on the opposite side of the circle—but he figured it was now
time to start giving his little girl and her new husband some space.

“I’m going to make a s’more,” he said. “Would someone hand me a stick?”

Beanie passed Doug a stick and the bag of marshmallows. But before Doug could skewer
his marshmallow, someone shoved the back of his shoulder, and he inadvertently kicked
his beer over. He turned to see Pauline, her face lit a raging orange. She held the
Notebook in front of Doug’s face, and for a second he thought she was going to smack
him with it.

But instead she tossed it into the fire.

“No!” Doug said. He leaped to his feet and reached out to save it, but the fire was
too big and hungry. The pages of the Notebook were swallowed in a burst of white light.

There was a confused murmur around the fire. Had anyone understood what just happened?
Pauline dashed for the house. Doug wanted to chase her down and demand an explanation.
What the hell was she
thinking?
What had she just
done?
He collapsed into his chair; his legs felt heavy and useless. As he stared into the
fire, his eyes blurred with tears.

Your father will be a cause for concern.

Doug pinched the bridge of his nose. The wedding was over. Really over. Beth’s precious
words, gone up in smoke. In a way, it felt like losing her all over again. And he
had never gotten to read the last page.

Doug pushed himself to his feet and walked around the circle to check on Jenna. Had
she seen what happened?

No—she was curled up in Stuart’s lap with her pretty blond head resting on his chest.
She was singing along with the guitar player:
They are one person, they are two alone, they are three together, they are for each
other.
Her face was serene, as though everything was right with the world.

B
eau—the White Elephant bartender, originally from Charleston—made the best whiskey
sours Ann had ever tasted. She drank one down as she oversaw the preparations for
the brunch, and doing so put her in an excellent mood. It was a sparkling, sunny day,
and the open-sided tent on the front lawn of the White Elephant had resplendent views
of the harbor. Under the tent were two long tables swathed in white linen, each with
twenty-four seats, and eight arrangements of luscious, multicolored hothouse roses
in round cut-crystal bowls. The waiters had chilled two cases of good champagne (Pommery,
a favorite since the wine-tasting group). The orange juice, Ann had been assured,
was freshly squeezed, pressed by the tiny hands of industrious elves all night long—or
so joked Confederate Beau, who couldn’t have been more beguiling. Ann was wearing
a white lace sundress and her new pearl choker; she could now wear white without worrying
about competing with the bride.

The buffet included standard brunch fare—fruit salad served in a carved-out watermelon,
Danish, bagels and muffins, as well as bacon, hash browns, and home fries, eggs Benedict
with Canadian bacon, spinach, or lobster, and an omelet station. In
addition were Ann’s regional specialties: barbecue from Bullock’s, fried chicken,
collard greens, hush puppies, coleslaw, regular grits and cheesy grits. Later they
would bring out banana pudding, a bourbon pecan pie, and red velvet cake.

The Dixieland band—five men in their sixties, two with white handlebar mustaches,
all five wearing peppermint-striped shirts, suspenders, and straw boaters—were tuning
up. There was a small dance floor. Ann was a little disappointed that only fifty people
had RSVP’d—she had been hoping for eighty to a hundred—but the right people would
be here. All the groomsmen were coming, all the Carmichaels, and Maisy and Sam, and
all of Ann and Jim’s friends from Durham.

And Helen was coming—or at least Ann believed she was coming. She had RSVP’d yes,
although that seemed to have a fluid definition for Helen. She clearly thought it
was okay to say she would be in attendance and then not show. Her place at dinner
the night before had sat empty, although no one had missed her, with the possible
exception of Maisy—and so Ann figured it was probably a wise decision Helen had made,
despite its rudeness. And Jim had been right: Ann was far happier without Helen under
the tent. Ann didn’t know if she should wish for Helen to show today or not. “Not
show” would be the obvious answer—let Helen loll around in bed with Skip Lafferty
all morning—but a part of Ann still wanted to prove something to Helen. This was Ann’s
party—and look how lovely it was!

Ann and Jim stood together in the middle of the tent, and she hugged him tight, and
he kissed the top of her head. The band played “Georgia.” They were, for the moment,
the only guests at their party, and they swayed to the music. It was perfect right
now. Too bad she couldn’t stop time and have it stay just like this.

Forty-five minutes later, the band was in full swing. They were playing “Riverboat
Shuffle,” and the whiskey sours and Lynchburg Lemonades were flowing freely. When
Jenna and Stuart entered the tent—looking fresh faced and completely reenergized,
as though they’d slept for ten hours then awoken and gone for a bracing swim in the
ocean (although Ann knew this couldn’t have been the case)—Stuart led his new wife
right onto the dance floor and swung her expertly around to “When the Saints Go Marching
In.” Everyone burst into applause. Because it was a buffet, people could get up and
move around, switch seats if they wanted to, stand at the edge of the dance floor
and tap their toes, then go out and dance to a few numbers. Yes, everyone complained
about being tired and hung over, but this seemed to add to the conviviality of the
gathering rather than detract from it.

“Hair of the dog!” Robert Lewis said as he toasted Ann with his bourbon.

“
Great
party!” Autumn said. She and H.W. were attached at the hip. Ann watched H.W. fetch
Autumn a plate of barbecue, saying, “You have to try this. It’s from the most famous
smoke pit in Carolina.” He actually went so far as to feed Autumn the first bite,
and Ann had to look away.

Ann hadn’t eaten yet; she was too busy talking and laughing, and then taking a quiet
minute to observe and appreciate. Doug Carmichael seemed subdued, and Ann didn’t see
Pauline anywhere. She approached Doug and said, “Thank you so much for last night.
It was magnificent.”

Doug smiled and raised his drink. “They’re great kids, they deserve the best.”

Ann touched her glass to his own. “Is Pauline coming?”

Doug cast his eyes down at his plate, which held a gnawed chicken leg, the crusts
of an English muffin, and a smear of ketchup. “Pauline headed home,” he said. “There
were some things she had to do back in Connecticut.”

“Oh,” Ann said. She had the urge to sit next to Doug and see if she could get him
to open up—why had Pauline run from the church? Was everything okay? After all, Doug
and Pauline were now Ann’s family; someday they would all be grandparents to the same
children. But Ann was a politician, not a therapist; in conversation, she had always
been a surface glider rather than a deep digger.

As Ann was wondering what to say next to Doug Carmichael, she saw Helen walk into
the party.

Helen. Jaw-dropping, impossible-to-miss Helen was wearing a fire-engine red strapless
patio dress that flowed in one shocking column from her breasts to the ground. Her
hair was tousled and wavy, as though she had just come from the beach. She was on
the arm of Skip Lafferty, who was wearing a navy blazer and a red bow tie that matched
Helen’s dress. The two of them were so tall and so striking that nearly everyone turned
to gawk at them. There was a lull in the tent, then the band launched into “A Good
Man Is Hard to Find.”

“Excuse me,” Ann said to Doug. “I have to go say hello.”

Ann marched over to Helen and Skip. She knew she should wait until Jim was beside
her, but there wasn’t time. She was the hostess of this party; she would greet her
guests. It was, of course, unspeakably rude that Helen had brought Skip with her when
she’d only RSVP’d for one—but at this point, Ann had ceased to be surprised at the
woman’s lack of breeding. When Ann got home, she was going to secretly send Helen
a copy of Emily Post in an unmarked envelope.

“Hello, Helen,” Ann said. She held out a hand, but Helen
insisted on bending down to execute the ludicrous European double-cheek kiss. There
was a slit to the knee in Helen’s patio dress, and Ann caught a glimpse of the red
patent leather platform sandals Helen was wearing, which added at least three inches
to her already formidable height. Ann was so much shorter, she felt like a child.
Why would someone who was already so tall wear platform shoes? She liked lording her
height over everyone else, Ann supposed, and Skip Lafferty was such a sideshow giant,
she could wear whatever shoes she wanted. Ann offered her hand to Skip. “Skip, I’m
Ann Graham. We met briefly yesterday morning.”

Skip shook her hand and smiled. “Yes, I remember. Hello again. Thank you for including
me.”

“Oh, you’re welcome,” Ann said. She turned toward the party, thinking,
Honestly, the nerve of the woman!
In one corner of the tent, she could see Olivia Lewis and Jim both eyeballing her.
“Well, it’s a buffet, so get a drink and help yourself. Enjoy the music.”

Skip took in the scene and rubbed his hands together. He looked delighted to have
scored this invitation, and Ann felt a small ping of gratitude. Then Skip said, “Oh,
look, there’s Kevin Carmichael! I hired his company to help me with a building project
in St. Louis last year. Hold on, Helen, I’ll be right back.” Skip beelined for Kevin,
leaving Helen and Ann standing alone.

Ann thought,
Oh, God, I have to get away.
But walking off now and leaving Helen would be impolite, and Ann refused to stoop
to Helen’s level. A waiter with a tray of champagne approached, and both Helen and
Ann accepted a glass.

“That’s funny,” Ann said. “That Skip knows Kevin. What are the chances?”

“Who?” Helen said.

“Kevin Carmichael?” Ann said. “Jenna’s brother?”

Helen nodded distractedly, and Ann couldn’t be sure that Helen even knew who Jenna
was.

“Jenna,” Ann said. “The bride.”

“Yes, I know,” Helen said. “I met Jenna on Friday night at the rehearsal dinner.”
She smiled at Ann, and Ann was cheered to see that Helen had a smudge of red lipstick
on her front tooth. “I’m afraid I threw her for a loop.”

At first Ann thought Helen meant that Helen’s presence threw Jenna for a loop, just
as it had been throwing Ann for a loop all weekend. But then she wondered if Helen
meant something else. “Threw her for a loop? How?”

“I accidentally mentioned Stuart’s first fiancée,” Helen said.

“Criss—.” Ann swallowed. Her ears were ringing, and the band suddenly seemed too loud.
What was Helen saying? “You were the one who told her about Crissy Pine?”

“Obviously I assumed she already
knew,
” Helen said. “I mean, my God, Ann, she was about to marry Stuart and she didn’t know
that he’d been engaged before? He’d never
told
her?”