Beautiful Day

MARGOT

The mood in the backyard was funereal. At quarter to nine, Margot stood in her ersatz pajamas-an old blue oxford shirt of Drum Sr.’s and a pair of cutoff gray sweatpants-holding a cup of coffee that Rhonda had thoughtfully made at seven o’clock before she left for her twelve-mile run. Margot was in her bare feet, they were all in their bare feet-Margot, Jenna, the three kids, and her brother Nick. They were gathered in a semicircle a safe distance away from where the men were clipping the ropes of the swing. Ellie was crying.

The tent guys were young, handsome El Salvadorans. The one named Hector clipped the ropes, and the wooden plank of the swing crashed to the ground. Margot felt her heart drop.

Jenna hid her face in her hands. “Oh, God,” she said. “I can barely stand to watch. This is all my fault.”

Nick was wearing nothing but a pair of red Hawaiian-print swim trunks. His hair was overgrown and sunbleached, and his torso was tanned golden brown. He did have a job, right? He looked like he’d just spent two months in California surfing with Drum Sr. He turned to Margot.

“I don’t know about this, Marge,” he said. “Marge” was his nickname for her, bestowed in 1989 with the first season of The Simpsons, and Margot detested it, which only made Nick’s enjoyment of it more profound. “This is Alfie we’re talking about. This tree should probably be listed in the historic registry. It’s two hundred years old.”

“I know,” Margot snapped. She was impatient with Nick and everyone else who was lagging behind; she had traveled this emotional highway yesterday. “It’s just one branch! There’s no other way, believe me.”

Ellie sobbed into Margot’s leg. Margot watched Nick pick the swing up off the ground and loop the rope around his arm. The plank of the swing was worn smooth. Margot was forty years old, and the swing had been there as long as she could remember. Who had put it up? She thought it might have been Pop-Pop; she would have to ask her father. Forty percent chance of showers, she thought. There was no doubt in Margot’s mind that now, because the branch was coming down, there wouldn’t be a cloud in the sky all day tomorrow.

Hector and his associates indicated that they should all back up even farther. He set up a stepladder, and one of the other guys brought out the chain saw.

“I can’t watch,” Jenna said.

It did seem morbid, all of them standing around, gawking like witnesses at an execution. Margot reminded herself that it could be worse. Alfie might have been struck by lightning. As it was, he would still stand guard over their property, still shade them; birds would still sing from their unseen perches in his upper branches. They were only taking off one limb-and Roger was right, that branch was hanging awfully low. It might have snapped on its own with the next nor’easter.

There was a honking, and Margot turned to see a silver minivan pull into the driveway.

“It’s Kevin!” Jenna said. “Oh, thank God!”

Margot made a face. Their whole lives it had always been “Thank God for Kevin.” Kevin was eleven months younger than Margot-an oops baby, Margot was certain, although neither of her parents had ever admitted to it-but because Kevin was a boy, he had often been treated as the oldest. And to boot, he had been born with the unflappable calm and unquestioned authority of an elder statesman. He had been class president all through high school, then had attended Penn, where he’d been the head of the Student Society of Engineers. While in college, he had performed CPR on a man who collapsed on the Thirtieth Street subway platform, and he’d saved the man’s life. Kevin had been awarded a medal by the mayor of Philadelphia, Ed Rendell. Kevin Carmichael was, literally, a lifesaver.

He unfolded himself from the minivan-he had no shame about driving the thing, despite ruthless teasing from both Margot and Nick-and stood, all six feet six of him, in the sun, grinning at them.

“We’re here!” he said. “The party can start!”

Beanie materialized at his side, all five foot two of her, and slid her arm around Kevin’s middle so that the two of them could be frozen in everyone’s mind for a second, posed like a photograph captioned “Happily Married Couple,” before the three boys busted out of the back of the car and all hell broke loose.

Kevin strode forward, shielding his eyes from the sun as he gazed at the tree and the stepladder and Hector with the chain saw. “What’s going on here?” he asked.

God, his tone drove Margot insane. Was it normal, she wondered, to have your siblings grate on you like this? As much as she was dreading the amputation of Alfie’s branch, she now wished it had already happened, just so she didn’t have to stand by and watch Kevin weigh in on it. Kevin was both an architect and a mechanical engineer; he had founded a company that fixed structural problems in large buildings, important buildings-like the Coit Tower in San Francisco. Like the White House.

“They have to cut that branch,” Margot said. “Otherwise the tent can’t go up.”

Kevin eyed the branch, then the upper branches of the tree, then the yard as a whole. “Really?” he said.

“Really,” Margot said.

At that moment Roger appeared, holding his clipboard; Margot hadn’t heard his truck, so he must have parked on the street. Plus, that was Roger’s way: he appeared, like a genie, when you most needed him. He could explain to Kevin about the branch.

Margot turned her attention to Beanie and gave her sister-in-law a hug. Beanie had looked exactly the same since she was fourteen years old, when she and her family moved to Darien from the horse country of Virginia. Her brown hair was in a messy bun, her face was an explosion of freckles, and she wore horn-rimmed glasses. She never aged, never changed; her clothes were straight out of the 1983 L.L. Bean catalog-today, a white polo shirt with the collar flipped up, a madras A-line skirt, and a pair of well-worn boat shoes.

Beanie had probably worn this very same outfit on her first date with Kevin in the ninth grade. He had taken her to see Dead Poets Society.

Beanie said, “You look great, Margot.”

Beanie was a true golden good person. It was her MO to start every conversation with a compliment. Margot adored this about Beanie, even as she knew the compliment to be a lie. She did not look great.

“I look like a dirt sandwich,” Margot said.

“Last night was fun?” Beanie said.

Margot raised her eyebrows. “Fun, fun!” she said. She thought briefly of her sunken phone, Edge’s lost texts, and the reappearance of Griff. Oh, man. It was quite a story, but Margot couldn’t confide it to anybody, not even Beanie.

The Carmichael boys-Brandon, Brian, and Brock-were racing around the yard, chasing and tackling Drum Jr. and Carson. Ellie was perched above the fray on her uncle Nick’s shoulders. Nick came over to kiss Beanie, and Margot turned her attention to Roger and Kevin, who were deep in conversation. Then Kevin started speaking to Hector in fluent Spanish-what a show-off!-and pointing up at the tree branches.

Roger came over to Margot with an actual smile on his face, and Margot shivered, despite the warm sun. She had never seen Roger smile before.

“Your brother has an idea,” Roger said.

Margot nodded, pressing her lips together. Of course he does, she thought.

“He thinks we can lift the branch with a series of ropes that we would tie to the upper branches,” Roger said. “He thinks we can lift it enough to clear the height of the tent.”

“How is he planning on reaching the upper branches?” Margot asked. The upper branches were high, a lot higher than Kevin standing on top of the ladder.

“I have a friend with a cherry picker,” Roger said.

Of course you do, Margot thought.

“I’m going to call him right now,” Roger said. “See if he can come over.”

“Will a cherry picker fit through here?” Margot asked. Alfie dominated the eastern half of the backyard. Beyond Alfie was Beth Carmichael’s perennial bed and the white fence that separated them from the Finleys’ next door. Any kind of big truck would mow right over the flower bed. “My mother was very clear that no one was to trample her blue hardy geraniums.”

But Roger was no longer listening. He was on his phone.

“Isn’t it great?” Jenna said. “Kevin found a way to fix it! We don’t have to cut Alfie’s branch.”

“Maybe,” Margot said. She wondered why she didn’t feel happier about this breakthrough news. Probably because it had been Kevin who came up with the answer. Probably because she now looked like a knee-jerk tree-limb amputator who would have lopped off a piece of Carmichael family history if Kevin hadn’t arrived in time to save the day.

Margot smiled. “Thank God for Kevin,” she said.

She knew she sounded like sour grapes, and Jenna kindly ignored her.

Margot heard the back screen door slam, and she turned, expecting to see Finn or Autumn emerging-but the person who came through the door was her father. And behind her father, Pauline.

“Daddy!” Margot said.

Doug Carmichael was dressed in green golf pants and a pale pink polo shirt and the belt that Beth had needlepointed for him over the course of an entire summer at Cisco Beach. The outfit said “professional man ready for a day of good lies and fast greens,” but his face said something else.

For the first time in her life, Margot thought, her father looked old. He was a tall, lean man, bald except for a tonsure of silver hair, but today his shoulders were sloping forward, and his hair looked nearly white. His face held the same hangdog expression that he’d worn for the two years after Beth died, and it broke Margot’s heart to see it now.

As he approached, Margot held her arms out for a hug, and they embraced, and Margot squeezed extra hard. He still felt solid and strong, thank God.

“Hi, sweetie,” he said.

“You made it,” Margot said. “Is everything okay?”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t, he had to move on to Beanie and Nick-and Jenna, whom he picked clear off the ground. Margot felt a crotchety old jealousy. How many times had she wished that she was the little sister instead of the big sister, the youngest instead of the oldest? She never got coddled; she never got picked up. Jenna was the Carmichaels’ answer to Franny Glass, Amy March, Tracy Partridge. She was the doll and the princess. Margot used to comfort herself with the knowledge that she had been their mother’s confidante, her right hand. In the weeks before Beth died, before things got really bad and hospice and morphine were involved, she had said to Margot, “You’ll have to take care of things, honey. This family will need to lean on you.”

Margot had promised she would take care of things. And she had, hadn’t she?

“Hello, Margot.”

Margot snapped out of her self-indulgent bubble to see Pauline standing before her. Usually, Pauline was breezy and officious, as though Margot were a woman at a cocktail party whom Pauline knew she had to greet and give five minutes of small talk before moving on to mingle. And Margot liked things that way. She had never discussed anything personal with Pauline. On the occasion of Doug and Pauline’s wedding at City Hall in Manhattan, Margot had kissed Pauline on the cheek and said congratulations. She had meant to say, “Welcome to the family,” but she couldn’t form the sentence. She always referred to Pauline as “my father’s wife,” never “my stepmother.”

Something about Pauline’s demeanor and her tone of voice was different now. It was apologetic, nearly obsequious.

Pauline isn’t coming to the wedding.

Margot realized that Doug and Pauline must have had a fight, a fight big enough to warrant the sending of that text. She had never once considered that her father and Pauline were a couple, who might have problems. At their age, Margot assumed, the drama would be all dried up. She didn’t like thinking about their intimate life-sexual or emotional.

“Hi, Pauline,” Margot said. She gave Pauline a hug, smelled her familiar perfume, wondered if Doug had wanted Pauline to stay home, or if Pauline had been the one who hadn’t wanted to come. She wondered what the issue had been.

“What’s going on here?” Doug asked.

At that second, Margot felt the weight of the late night and the drinks. The weekend had only just begun, and she was already exhausted. She didn’t want to explain about the tree to anyone else, she would let Kevin explain it; she needed to go upstairs and lie down, just fifteen minutes and she would be fine.

But once she headed upstairs to the relative peace of her bedroom, she felt ill at ease. It was a well-known fact that once you left the room-or in this case the yard-the rest of the family would start talking about you. Margot lay across her bed, feeling as though her head was filled with pea gravel. She could hear the voices and laughter coming from the yard, and she thought, really, this was the best part of any wedding, not the ceremony or the cake or the dancing but the downtime when they were all together without the lights shining on them. Her mother, if she had been alive, would be snapping pictures, asking the kids to pose, deadheading flowers, pulling weeds. Her mother would have had a platter of bacon and eggs ready, a pitcher of juice, and boxes of doughnuts from the Nantucket Bake Shop.

The problem, Margot realized, with having had a wonderful mother was that it was impossible to live up to the standards she had set.

Margot couldn’t sleep. She knew they were all down in the yard, calling her a tree killer.

She stood up, and seeing that the door to Jenna’s bedroom was open and the room was empty, she walked through and stepped out onto the deck. From this vantage point, she could see everything. Nick had his arms wrapped around both Finn and Autumn. Okay, that was dangerous: Autumn and Nick had had a not-so-secret fling during the weekend of Jenna’s college graduation eight years earlier. (They had nearly broken the bed at the Williamsburg Inn; everyone had heard them, including Margot and Drum Sr., and in the morning over the breakfast buffet, Drum Sr. had given Nick a high five.)

Next Margot’s attention was drawn to Pauline and Jenna, who were standing apart from everyone, alone. They seemed to be engaged in the kind of deep conversation that Margot studiously avoided having with Pauline. Pauline was doing most of the talking, and Margot wondered what she was saying. Then Pauline pulled the Notebook out of her enormous handbag and handed it to Jenna, and Jenna and Pauline hugged, and Margot thought, Ohhhhhhh. Pauline had the Notebook. And Margot thought, Ohhhhhhhhhhh. Oh, boy. Had Pauline taken the Notebook from the dinner on Wednesday night? Had she absconded with it? Maybe that was what the fight with Doug was about. He had banned her from the wedding. Or she had said she didn’t want to come.

Margot was flushed with high emotion. She wondered if Pauline had read the Notebook. She bristled at the thought. Pauline had only met their mother once or twice, a thousand years earlier. The Notebook was none of Pauline’s business.

Jenna accepted the Notebook graciously, then hugged it to her chest. She didn’t seem the least bit ruffled by the exchange. She was their mother reincarnated. She had probably thanked Pauline for returning it, instead of asking why she had taken it in the first place, which was what Margot would have done.

At that moment, heads swiveled, and Margot knew someone had just entered the yard, but she couldn’t tell who. It was Rhonda, back from her half marathon. Pauline ran toward her daughter, and in the middle of the Carmichael chaos, the two Tonellis embraced, and Pauline’s shoulders heaved. She was sobbing. Doug took no notice of this, nor did Nick or Kevin or Beanie or any of the kids-they were either oblivious, or too consumed with Alfie’s branch, or willfully ignoring the teary scene. Rhonda wisely shepherded Pauline inside. A moment later, Margot could hear them in the kitchen. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, only the sounds of their voices. If Margot had moved to the staircase, she would have been able to hear every word of their conversation, and while it was tempting to eavesdrop, Margot refrained. When it came to weddings, all people were not created equally. There were insiders, and there were outsiders. There were people like Finn, who had been Jenna’s friend since diapers, and then there was a couple attending whom Stuart and Jenna had just met in their premarital counseling. Jenna admitted they barely knew the couple, but she felt like they would be friends going forward, and she wanted to include them. Edge was coming to the wedding, but there were law school friends of Doug’s coming who had never even met Jenna. Pauline and Rhonda must have felt like outsiders, too, although Pauline was Doug’s wife and Rhonda was a bridesmaid. Or maybe they didn’t feel like outsiders, but neither did they feel like insiders. They were family… but not family. It was no secret that Pauline didn’t like the Nantucket house; she only let Doug visit the island once or twice a summer. Pauline found the house dusty and moldy and decrepit; she didn’t appreciate its charm, she hadn’t bothered to learn its nooks and crannies, she hadn’t experienced it as a summer haven for decades the way the rest of the Carmichaels had. Maybe she sensed that although the house was the ancestral abode of Doug’s family, it had really been Beth’s home. Beth had planted the perennial bed and cultivated the climbing roses; Beth had chosen the artwork and sewn the slipcovers. Pauline wouldn’t give two hoots about Alfie’s branch or the swing, but at the same time, she yearned for a connection. She wanted to be a Carmichael. She must have thought the Notebook would provide a secret clue, the elusive key to understanding. How do I fit in here? How do I become one of them? What Margot knew and Pauline must have figured out was that the membership was closed; Pauline had arrived too late in the game. The Carmichaels were incapable of forming any meaningful new memories because the old memories-the ones with Beth in them-were too precious to replace.

This weekend would be difficult for Pauline. Really difficult. Margot decided to forgive her for taking the Notebook.

Margot, Jenna, Finn, Autumn, and Rhonda were due at the RJ Miller Salon at ten o’clock for manicures, pedicures, and facials-but it was such a splendid day that Margot decided to cancel her appointment. She was going to hang out at the house for a while and then take her children to Fat Ladies Beach. Margot thought Jenna might be bummed about this-really, Margot was proving to be the lamest maid of honor in the history of weddings-but Jenna just grinned wickedly and said, “Great idea. I’m canceling, too. I’m going to go kayaking with Stuart in Monomoy Creeks.”

“Wait,” Margot said. “You can’t cancel. You’re the bride.”

“So?” Jenna said.

“Don’t you want your nails done?” Margot said. “Don’t you want your skin to glow? Tomorrow, all eyes are on you, angel bear.”

“I couldn’t care less,” Jenna said. “Do you mind calling the salon?”

Margot didn’t mind calling the salon at all. First she checked with the other bridesmaids to see if there would be any other truants.

Autumn wanted to keep her appointment.

Rhonda wanted to keep her appointment, and she asked if there was a tanning bed.

“Tanning bed?” Margot said. She studied Rhonda, whose skin was evenly bronzed-possibly, if Margot was being super critical, even a little orange. Rhonda must have used a tanning bed in New York; the thought struck Margot as amusing. She had thought that tanning beds went out in the 1980s with perms and Loverboy. “If you want to get some sun, come to the beach with me and the kids,” Margot said.

“No, that’s okay,” Rhonda said quickly. “I was just wondering.”

Finn opted to cancel her appointment-not because she planned on wallowing in misery in her room, and not because she was tagging along with Jenna and Stuart’s kayaking expedition. She canceled because she was going to the beach with Nick. He was going to teach her to paddleboard.

Oh, boy, Margot thought.

“Nick is coming to Fat Ladies with us,” Margot said. “So we’ll all go together.”

Beanie and Kevin and the kids were also coming to the beach, so there would be eleven people headed to Fat Ladies.

“I’ll make sandwiches,” Margot said.

“Since when do you make sandwiches?” Kevin said. “Call Henry Jr.’s and order sandwiches. Nick and I will go to Hatch’s and get chips and soda and beer.”

“I am capable of making sandwiches, Kevin,” Margot said. “It’s not always takeout at my house, you know.”

Beanie patted Margot’s arm. “You have a job,” she said. “It’s okay.”

“What’s okay?” Margot said. “I can make sandwiches! I bought deli stuff yesterday and Portuguese bread at Something Natural. I can do peanut butter and fluff. I bought fluff! I can cut the crusts off.”

“You don’t have to prove anything,” Kevin said. “We know you’re capable of making sandwiches, but it will be easier for us to call them in.” He handed her a notepad. “Here, take everyone’s order.”

“Why don’t you take everyone’s order?” Margot said. She was inexplicably furious. She didn’t care if they made lunch or ordered it from Henry Jr.’s, but she didn’t like Kevin’s insinuation that Margot was incapable of making sandwiches and his further insinuation that in offering to do so, she was trying to prove something. Prove what? Prove that she didn’t subsist on pizza from Lombardi’s and Thai takeout? Prove that she was like their mother-she could have a career and make sandwiches?

At that moment, her father stuck his head in the back door. “Margot?” he said.

Margot thought their father was going to weigh in on the sandwich decision. Everyone had an opinion. Even Beanie had said, You have a job. It’s okay. What had that meant? Beanie could normally be counted on to side with Margot, but apparently not today.

“What?” Margot snapped.

“Can I chat with you a second?” Doug asked.

Margot stormed out the back door. Roger was directing the cherry picker into the side yard. Miraculously, the big machine steered clear of the perennial bed. The five boys stood a few yards away, their mouths agape as the cherry picker rose up and Hector clambered with the ropes into Alfie’s upper branches.

By the time they all got back from the beach, Alfie’s lowest branch would be lifted, and the tent would be up. All these emergency services would cost her father an arm and a leg, but although the Carmichael family had loads of problems, money wasn’t one of them.

“There’s an issue with the cars,” Doug said.

“The cars?” Margot said.

“You and Kevin will need your cars to get everyone to the beach,” Doug said. “Pauline will need my car to take the girls to the salon.”

“Oh,” Margot said. The logistics had eluded her. “What is Pauline going to do?”

“She’s going to the salon as well,” Doug said. “She wants to be with Rhonda.”

“Okay,” Margot said. “She can take my appointment.”

Doug nodded. “Thank you, that’s very nice. But what I really need is for you to drive me out to the golf course.”

“Okay,” Margot said. Was this okay? Hadn’t she just committed to making eleven sandwiches, or had she been overruled? She was so addled that she couldn’t remember how the disagreement had ended. “When?”

Doug looked at his watch, the Submariner that Beth had bought him for his fiftieth birthday. “Right now.”

“Right now?”

“My tee time is at ten thirty. I’m playing at Sankaty.”

Margot nearly said, Can’t Kevin take you? Or Nick? But that was ridiculous. Her brothers were never summoned to onerous tasks such as shuttling their father out to his golf game. Kevin probably felt he had to be here to supervise the branch tying or the sandwich ordering. Nick was either flexing his muscles for Finn or waxing his paddleboard. Margot’s mood grew darker. But then it occurred to her that this was exactly what she wanted-some time alone with her father. He must have wanted it, too, and that was why he’d asked her.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s go.”

Margot negotiated Doug’s Jaguar through town, around the rotary, and out the Milestone Road. Every year as children they had ridden their bikes to Sconset to get ice cream at the market and traipse across the footbridge.

“You and Mom were such good parents,” Margot said. “You gave us a lot of great memories.”

Doug didn’t respond to this. When Margot looked over, she saw him gazing out the window.

“Kevin is probably right,” Margot said. “The only memories I’m giving my kids are ones of me arriving home late from work and calling up samosas from Mumbai Palace.”

Margot could hear her father breathing. He said, “Your mother always worried that you were too hard on yourself. The curse of the firstborn.”

“Sometimes I’m glad she can’t see the ways that I’ve failed.”

“Oh, Margot, you haven’t failed.”

“I’m divorced.”

“So what,” Doug said. “Didn’t work out, nobody’s fault.”

“Carson is in danger of repeating the fourth grade,” Margot said. “Drum Jr. is twelve years old and afraid of the dark. Ellie is a hoarder.”

Doug laughed, and even Margot cracked a smile. But she hadn’t wanted her father alone so she could bemoan the missteps of her own life.

“So what’s going on with you?” she asked. “That text you sent me was pretty startling.”

Doug leaned his head back against the seat and let out a sigh. “Long story,” he said.

“We’ve got a few minutes,” Margot said. It was easy to break the law in the XJ, so she made a point to slow down. “I figured out that Pauline took the Notebook.”

“She didn’t take it,” Doug said. “At least she says she didn’t. Jenna left it on the table at Locanda Verde and Pauline picked it up, then she just forgot to return it.”

“Oh,” Margot said. Was she a horrible person for feeling skeptical about that story?

“I’ve decided to believe her,” Doug said. “It’s easier.”

“Right,” Margot said. “Did you ask if she read any of it?”

“She read it,” Doug said. “She claimed it was making her crazy, not knowing what was in it.”

“Wait,” Margot said. “Did she read the last page?”

“I don’t know,” Doug said. “I would assume so?”

Margot said, “Have you read the last page?”

“No,” Doug said.

“Well, you should,” Margot said. “Make a point of it. Today, when you get home from golf, ask Jenna.”

“I don’t know about that, honey,” Doug said.

Margot said, “I can’t believe Pauline read it. I’m sure you were pissed.”

“I was pissed,” Doug said. “If Jenna had wanted her to read it, she would have offered.”

“So you were pissed enough to tell Pauline not to come?”

“I didn’t want her to come,” Doug said.

“Oh.”

“But as you may have noticed, she came anyway.”

“Yes, I did notice that.”

“She thought I was just angry. She thought I would change my mind back.”

“Weren’t you just angry?” Margot said. “Didn’t you change your mind back?”

“No,” Doug said. “I didn’t want her to come-for a whole host of reasons, really-but she insisted, and I wasn’t brave enough to press the issue.”

“Oh,” Margot said.

“It’s Jenna’s weekend,” Doug said.

“Right, I know. But what…? What are the host of reasons? What are you not saying?”

“I don’t love Pauline,” Doug said. “When we get back to Connecticut, I’m going to ask her for a divorce.”

Margot gasped. “You’re not!”

“I am.”

Margot clenched the leather band that swaddled the steering wheel. Her father was sixty-four years old. She had thought him too old for this kind of upheaval. When she thought about Doug’s life, she imagined him retiring from the firm and doing a little pro bono work on the side. She imagined him golfing, she imagined him and Pauline eating at the country club and the two of them taking a vacation to Maui each February. But he might live another thirty years. Thirty years was a long time to be saddled with a woman he didn’t love.

“Wow,” Margot said.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything.”

“Of course not,” Margot said. “What will you do? Where will you live?”

“Oh, maybe in the city,” Doug said. “I’ve been toying with getting a suite at the Waldorf like Arthur Tonelli. Or maybe I’ll live on the Upper West Side near Edge. I could walk to work, subscribe to the philharmonic, spend more time with you and the kids.”

The thought of her father as a sixty-four-year-old single man alarmed Margot. The thought of her father and Edge living in the same neighborhood and going out to bars, or even to the philharmonic, together made her tongue swell to twice its normal size. She couldn’t speak. And, thankfully, she didn’t have to-because here they were at the Sankaty Head Golf Club.

Margot pulled up in front of the clubhouse. Her father’s family had belonged to Sankaty since its founding in 1923, but nowadays her father was the only one who played. Nick hated golf, and Kevin didn’t have time. Stuart played golf-the membership might pass on to Stuart and Jenna, and the children they would someday have.

“Just think,” Doug said. “Once I’m single, I can come to Nantucket for the whole summer. I can play golf every day.”

“Just think!” Margot said. She tried to smile as he unloaded his clubs from the trunk.

Once he was single.

Doug waved to Margot, and she thought, Yes, now she was supposed to drive away, burdened by an impossible secret. She put down the passenger side window. “Am I coming back to get you?” she asked.

“Pauline will come,” he said.

“Oh,” Margot said. “Okay. Does she know how to get here?”

“No,” he said. “But she’ll use the GPS.”

Margot nodded and watched her father head up the stairs into the clubhouse. She sat for a long moment after he was gone, thinking, Okay, wow, who knew. Wow.

She had an overwhelming desire to text Edge. It was a good thing her phone was dead.

There was a tap on the driver’s side window, and Margot jumped, inadvertently hitting the horn. Standing next to the Jaguar in a pair of stone white pants and a navy golf shirt and that damn white visor was Griff.

Margot thought, This just isn’t happening.

She had half a mind to drive away without a word, but she didn’t have it in her to be rude. Unprofessional and unprincipled-yes. But not rude.

He said, “I thought it was you, but then I asked myself, ‘What are the chances?’ Three times in twenty-four hours?”

“Hi,” Margot said.

“I think we both know what this means,” Griff said.

Margot thought, It means I’m destined to be haunted by my worst mistake.

Griff said, “It means you’re stalking me.”

Margot smiled. The guy was charming, there was no denying that.

She said, “I was dropping my father off.”

Griff said, “I just finished my first round. We teed off at six this morning, and I think I was still drunk.”

“Nice,” Margot said.

“I stayed at the Box until close,” Griff said. “Drowning my sorrows after you rejected me.”

“I didn’t reject you,” Margot said. Then she realized she needed to be careful about her wording. “I was just tired, and the thing with my phone bummed me out. I needed to get out of there.”

“You can make it up to me now,” Griff said. “Come on.”

“Come on where?” Margot asked.

“Have a drink with me at the bar,” he said.

“It’s ten thirty,” Margot said. “In the morning.”

“So?” he said. “You’re on vacation, right? This is your sister’s wedding weekend, right? You can’t tell me there isn’t a part of you that’s dying for a drink. You can’t tell me you wouldn’t love an opportunity to vent your frustration with your family to a friendly acquaintance.”

“I don’t feel any frustration with my family,” Margot said.

“Now you’re lying to me.”

Margot smiled at this. “So what if I am? I can’t just drink my morning away. My kids want to go to the beach. They’re at home, waiting.”

“Drum… Carter… and Ellie?”

Margot was flabbergasted.

“Carson,” she said. “But wow, good memory.” She recalled having asked Griff about his children at his first interview; his children were similar in ages to her own, but she would never have been able to come up with their names. And Griff, in turn, had asked about Margot’s kids, which wasn’t really standard protocol-she was interviewing him, not the other way around-but she had told him their names and ages. That he remembered was astonishing. If pressed, Edge probably wouldn’t be able to produce any name but Ellie’s, because she was the one in Audrey’s ballet class. Margot mentioned the boys all the time, but Edge never seemed to be listening.

“Well, I’m not a man who would deny three kids the company of their mother,” Griff said. “You should go, although I wish you’d stay.”

“I can’t stay,” Margot said.

“But I’m getting to you, right?” Griff said. “Just admit it, you’re starting to like me.”

“I like you just fine, Griff.”

“I mean, like me like me. Come on, I’m nice,” he said.

Margot allowed herself a glance at him. He was nice. If things were different, if she didn’t have a horrifying history with him, she would be willing, possibly even eager, to go for a drink with him. He was attractive and smart and personable, and he’d remembered her children’s names. But she had wronged him. And how.

“I have to go,” she said.

“What are you up to tonight?” he asked.

“Rehearsal at the church at five o’clock. Rehearsal dinner, six o’clock at the yacht club.”

“I’ll be at the Boarding House tonight,” he said.

“You’ll like it there,” Margot said. “The food is terrific.”

“Come meet me,” Griff said.

“I’ll be too busy getting frustrated with my family,” Margot said. “But thanks for the invite.”

“Tell me something,” Griff said. “Do you have a date for this wedding?”

Margot blinked. It was none of his goddamned business if she had a date or not. Then she considered the question. Did she have a date for the wedding? Edge would be in attendance-tonight and tomorrow and Sunday-but Margot wouldn’t be able to kiss him or hold his hand or claim him as anything more than a friend of her father’s. Margot had asked Edge if they might be able to dance together to just one song, and Edge had said he didn’t think that was a good idea.

“Not really,” Margot said.

“Not really?” Griff said.

“No,” Margot said.

Griff looked off into the green distance, then crouched down by Margot’s window so that his face was right by her face and her stomach did a funny, inside-out flippy thing. His blue-and-green eyes were spellbinding. What was going on here? This was very bad.

In a low voice, he said, “I don’t believe in love anymore, and I’m never getting married again… but I’m free tomorrow if you need me.” He held up his palms. “Just saying.”

Margot couldn’t tell if the guy was earnestly pursuing her or if he was batting her around like a cat with a mouse because she’d signed him off. She, with her perfect instincts, could not tell.

She said, “Okay, thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”