Beautiful Day

SATURDAY
MARGOT

Margot woke up in her bed, sandwiched between Ellie and Jenna. Her left arm was asleep. Downstairs, the phone was ringing.

Margot extracted herself by climbing over Ellie, who wouldn’t wake up unless there was an earthquake and an ensuing tsunami. She shook out her hand in an attempt to get the blood circulating again. Outside, she noted, there was blue sky and birdsong.

I wish for you a beautiful day.

At least they had that.

Margot rushed down the stairs, nearly slipping on the next-to-last step; the treads had been worn down to a satiny finish after so many years of bare feet up and down. I’m coming, I’m coming, she thought. A houseful of people, and somehow she was the only one who heard the phone? Or she was the only one stupid enough to get out of bed at-she checked the clock-6:15 to answer it.

“Hello?” she said.

“Margot? It’s Roger.”

“Good morning, Roger,” Margot said.

“You’re aware, I assume, that your sister left me a voice mail at eleven thirty last night-I’m sorry I was asleep-saying that the wedding is off?”

“Yes,” Margot said. “I am aware of that.”

“Is the wedding off?” Roger asked.

“I’m not sure,” Margot said.

“Okay,” Roger said. There was a pause and a suspicious sound of exhale. Was Roger smoking? Had Jenna’s phone call been the thing that sent him right to Lucky Express for a pack of Newports? “Will you let me know when you are sure?”

“Absolutely,” Margot said. “I will absolutely let you know.”

“Thank you,” Roger said. “I probably don’t need to add this, but… the sooner, the better. Good-bye.”

Margot hung up the phone. She would never be able to fall back to sleep, so she made a pot of coffee. She said to herself, I won’t think about anything until I have my coffee and I can sit for a minute in the sun. She would have liked to sit on the swing, but the swing was down for now. She decided instead to take her cup of coffee and the Notebook out to the bench that overlooked the harbor, the same bench where her father had proposed to her mother in 1968. Margot took in the view-Nantucket harbor scattered with sailboats, the white fence and trellis dripping with New Dawn roses. She opened the Notebook.

Invitations, wedding dress, bridesmaid dresses, dyed-to-match pumps, pearls, rehearsal dinner clambake menu (right down to the blueberry cobbler, but Margot hadn’t gotten a single bite), tenting, dance floor, flowers, antique embroidered table linens, china, crystal, silver, hors d’oeuvres, wine, dinner menus, cake, favors, hotel rooms, bands versus DJs, song lists, schedule of dances, bridesmaid gifts, honeymoon locations. There were many references to their father, including the beautiful last page. And there were many references to Margot. “Margot is the most competent woman you or I will ever know. And to butcher the old song: ‘Anything I can do, she can do better.’ ” Margot had read those lines hundreds of times; they were among her favorite lines in the Notebook. But they missed a fine distinction: Margot could do the things that Beth could do, but Margot could not be Beth. And what Jenna needed now, more than anything, was Beth.

Margot flipped through the pages to the end of the Notebook, where the ancillary material was-the list of Beth’s cousins, the brochure for Caneel Bay in St. John, the name and number of the landscaper to call should the perennial bed be trampled by the tent guys, after all.

There was no mention of Cold Feet.

In composing the Notebook, their mother had left out a few things that were really important.

Tell us what to do when we feel doubt, Margot thought. Tell us what to do when we feel anger. Tell us how to handle our sadness, Mom. We are, every one of us, paralyzed with sadness because you aren’t here today, you weren’t here yesterday, you won’t be here tomorrow.

When Jenna and Margot had first met with Roger, Margot had baldly stated the fact. “We are a family without our mother.”

Roger had nodded in that unflappable way of his, like there was nothing they could say that could shock him, like he had seen it all before.

Jenna had then triumphantly held up the Notebook. “But we have this!”

But this, Margot thought, as she closed the Notebook and headed back to the house, wasn’t enough.

Margot poured a cup of coffee for Jenna and added half and half and three teaspoons of sugar. Jenna, of course, drank it sweet and light, while Margot drank hers hot, bitter, and black. Up in Margot’s room, Ellie was jumping on the bed, chanting, “Auntie Jenna’s getting married today! Married today! Married today!”

Jenna’s spot in the bed was unoccupied.

Margot said, “Eleanor, stop that this instant. That bed is ancient, and you will break it!”

Ellie launched herself off the bed and crashed onto the braided rug.

Margot said, “Well, now the whole house is awake.”

Ellie said, “Can I go up and see the boys?”

“No,” Margot said. “I need you to do something quiet. Get your iPod and go downstairs.”

“My iPod is boring,” Ellie said.

“I don’t care,” Margot said. “I have to talk to your Auntie Jenna.”

Ellie folded her arms across her chest. She was still in her bathing suit, still salt-and-sand encrusted from yesterday’s trip to the beach. The Department of Social Services was sure to arrive at any moment.

“I want to stay and listen,” Ellie said.

“It’s adult stuff,” Margot said. There was a part of her that believed Ellie should stay and listen. After all, Ellie would one day grow up to be a woman. It might not be a bad idea for her to learn now, at the tender age of six, that the world was a complicated place, that other people’s minds could not be read, their emotions could not be predicted, that love was fleeting and capricious, that once you thought you’d figured everything out, something would happen to prove you wrong. Life was a mystery, and nobody knew what happened when we died.

“I don’t care,” Ellie said. “I want to listen.”

“Downstairs,” Margot said.

“No,” Ellie said.

Margot closed her eyes. She was feeling the drinks from the night before, which brought around thoughts of kissing Griff and her treachery and Edge’s impending arrival. Margot’s hands trembled. She set her coffee down on the dresser and sighed. “Okay, go upstairs with the boys, then.”

Ellie let out a whoop, then did a pirouette across the floor. Thank God for Mme Willette’s ballet class; it was the only thing keeping Ellie from turning into a wild Indian.

Margot said, “Where did Auntie Jenna go?”

Ellie said, “Bathroom.”

Margot grabbed her coffee and lay back on the bed, propping herself up against the pillows. The sheets were filled with sand.

What am I going to say? she wondered.

When she’d sat next to Jenna on the front stairs the night before and asked why she was crying, Jenna had told her she was calling the wedding off.

“What?”

“I’m not getting married,” Jenna said.

“Why not?” Margot said.

“Stuart lied to me,” Jenna said.

“He lied to you?” Margot said. That didn’t sound like Stuart. Stuart was as square a peg as had ever lived. He hadn’t even wanted a bachelor party. What man didn’t want a bachelor party? Drum Sr.’s bachelor party in Cabo had included more people than had attended their wedding and had lasted longer than their honeymoon.

Jenna’s lower lip trembled, and she sucked it in the way she used to when she was a little girl. “He was engaged before,” she said.

“What?” Margot said.

“To Crissy Pine,” Jenna said. “His girlfriend from college. He was engaged to her for five weeks! Helen told me, Helen who used to be his stepmother. The woman in the yellow dress tonight.”

Margot’s brain felt like it was going to short-circuit. She didn’t know how to process this information. “Five weeks isn’t very long, Jenna. Five weeks is nothing. It’s negligible.”

“He lied to me!” Jenna said. “He was engaged before! He never told me!”

“You found this out from Helen?” Margot said. “Chance’s mother?”

“It was the first time I ever met her,” Jenna said. “She and Stuart aren’t close; he was shocked his mother invited her. But nearly the first thing Helen said to me was that she was glad things worked out for Stuart this time. And I must have made a confused face because then she said, ‘Well, you know about his broken engagement to Crissy Pine?’ And I said no, and she leaned in conspiratorially, like we were girlfriends, and she said, ‘Stuart was engaged to Crissy Pine for five weeks, and after he broke it off, she refused to return his great-grandmother’s diamond ring.’ ” Jenna was in full-blown tears now. “He gave her his great-grandmother’s ring!”

Margot blinked. Why couldn’t people keep their mouths shut? What did Helen think would be gained by breaking this news to Jenna the evening before her wedding? Did it give her some awful sense of accomplishment?

Margot said, “Helen is an iffy source. She might be lying. Or exaggerating.”

“I confronted Stuart!” Jenna said. “He admitted it was true. He proposed to Crissy, he gave her his great-grandmother’s ring, he broke it off five weeks later, and she was so mad that she never gave the ring back. She still has it!”

She sold it on eBay, Margot thought.

She said, “Why didn’t he ever tell you?”

“He wanted to protect me, he said! He didn’t think I needed to know, he said! He knew it was a mistake the second he asked Crissy, he said! He only proposed because she was nagging him, and so he asked her to get her to stop.”

Oh, dear, thought Margot.

“I’m sure he did want to protect you,” Margot said. “As someone who knows you nearly better than anyone else, I can say that you are a hard person to give bad news. You’re an idealist; you believe in the goodness of your fellow man beyond the point where the rest of us would have given up. Of course he didn’t want to tell you. Stuart has done nothing over the course of your entire relationship except try to make you happy. He bought a hybrid for you! He registered Democrat for you! Honey, trust me, this isn’t a deal breaker.”

Jenna sniffed.

“Jenna,” Margot said. “This isn’t a deal breaker.”

“The rest of Stuart’s family has always been so weird about Crissy,” Jenna said. “No one ever talks about her. There are family pictures in the Graham house with Crissy in them, but Ann cut out black ovals and pasted them over Crissy’s face!”

Margot couldn’t keep from smiling at this. She wondered if Drum’s mother, Greta, had covered her face with black ovals-say, in the photos of Drum Jr.’s christening.

“It’s not funny!” Jenna said. “We bumped into her once, at Newark airport. She was going one way on the moving sidewalk, and we were going the other way, and she called out Stuart’s name and he turned and I turned, and she flipped Stuart off. She gave him the finger! She was pretty-dark hair, pale skin, sort of Spanish looking-and I was like, Who was that and what was THAT all about? Who on earth would flip Stuart the bird? My wonderful, kind Stuart, the man everyone adores and admires? I said, ‘Um. Do you KNOW that girl? ’ He clearly didn’t want to tell me, but then he admitted it was Crissy. And I dragged him to the airport bar and we ordered margaritas and I demanded that he tell me what exactly had happened with Crissy. And all he would say was that in his mind he liked to pretend she had never existed.”

Margot nodded. If everyone told their stories about ex-boyfriends, ex-girlfriends, ex-fiancés, ex-fiancées, ex-husbands, or ex-wives-or those they had to cross paths with either physically or emotionally-there would be millions and millions of chapters. It was a fraught topic, put mildly.

“You’ve had serious relationships before,” Margot said. “What about Jason? You loved Jason. You basically gave yourself an eating disorder and put yourself in the student infirmary because of Jason. Have you ever admitted that to Stuart?”

“I didn’t have an eating disorder,” Jenna said.

“When he broke up with you the first time, you went on a hunger strike!” Margot said. “Do I have to wake up Autumn to corroborate? You lived on toast and vodka.”

“Ever since Stuart proposed, you’ve been urging me to reconsider,” Jenna said. “You told me everyone gets divorced. You told me that love dies.” Jenna blinked, tears fell. Her makeup was a mess; there were black smudges on the skirt of her peach dress. She had been using her dress as a Kleenex. “And you’re right! Love does die, people do change, everyone is unfaithful, vows do get broken, betrayal is real. Stuart Graham, who I thought was beyond reproach, lied to me about being engaged to someone else.”

“Stuart gets a pass on this one,” Margot said. “Forgive him.”

“That’s my decision,” Jenna said, “and I’ve made it. I am not marrying Stuart tomorrow.”

With that, she spun on the balls of her bare feet and walked inside.

Margot had remained planted on the step, her elbows on her knees. She took off her silver heels and wiggled her toes. Jenna needed time to cool down and a chance to come to her senses. She needed sleep.

The funny thing, Margot realized, was that she had won the argument. Love dies. But she didn’t like it one bit.

Jenna was taking a long time in the bathroom. Margot got out of bed and checked down the hall. The bathroom was dark and unoccupied. No Jenna. Shit, Margot thought. She really wanted to have a talk with her before the house sprang to life.

The door to Jenna’s room, which she was sharing with Finn and Autumn, was closed tight, as were the doors to the master bedroom and Kevin’s room. Footsteps from upstairs-the kids-but that was to be expected.

Margot headed back down to the kitchen; she needed more coffee. And she should eat something. Maybe she and Jenna could walk down the street to the Bake Shop to pick up doughnuts. They had time. Margot ran through the day’s schedule in her head. If Jenna could find it in her heart to forgive Stuart for doing what any kind-but-flawed groom-to-be might do (lie by omission about a long-past, ill-advised, super-brief engagement), the following would take place:

The bridesmaids and Jenna were due at RJ Miller for hair at eleven.

The caterers were coming at noon.

The florist was dropping off the bouquets at two.

The photographer was coming at three.

The musicians-two violinists and a cellist-were arriving at the church at four.

The Model A Ford, which was owned and driven by Roger’s son, Vince, was arriving at the house at four thirty to pick up the girls. Then it was showtime. Church at 4:45. The parents would be seated-Pauline first, then Ann and Jim.

The processional would begin at five o’clock. Roger had been eminently clear: he could abide anything but a delayed start to the ceremony. If Jenna or anyone else in the wedding party caused the musicians and the guests and Reverend Marlowe to wait, Roger would levy a ten thousand dollar fine.

He had delivered this news with his usual poker face, though Margot was certain he was kidding.

Margot entered the kitchen expecting to find Jenna. But there, crushed into a corner of the breakfast nook, were Nick and Finn. Nick had his arms around Finn, and his face was in her hair.

“Jesus Christ!” Margot said, mostly out of shock, but partially out of disgust, too.

“Marge,” Nick said in a world-weary voice that made him sound exactly like Kevin. “Please mind your own business.”

Margot stared at the two of them. The sight of them together was profoundly disturbing. It was incestuous! Finn had been a part of the Carmichael family for twenty-five years; she had been at the house all the time-at the table for Sunday dinner, around the tree on Christmas morning. She had gone on vacation with them to Disney World; Margot and Kevin and Nick had ridden Space Mountain a total of eleven times while Jenna and Finn had donned blue Cinderella dresses so that Beth could take them to the castle for breakfast with the princesses.

Now Nick and Finn were having a love thing. And Finn was married. They all realized this, right? Both Margot and Nick had attended the Sullivan-Walker wedding last October. Nick had been Margot’s ersatz date, until he hooked up with the chesty, frizzy-haired bartender. They all remembered that too, right?

“Where’s Jenna?” Margot asked, unable to say anything more.

“No idea,” Nick murmured. He was running his hand up and down Finn’s bare, sunburned arm in a way that struck Margot as very tender, especially for Nick.

“I don’t know what the two of you think you’re doing,” Margot said, “but I assure you, it’s a bad idea.”

“Shut up, Marge,” Nick said. “You know nothing about it.”

I don’t want to know anything about it! she thought. What she wouldn’t give to be blind, deaf, and dumb, or so self-absorbed with her own excellent love life that she couldn’t summon the energy to care about anyone else’s.

She said, “Finn, is Jenna up in your room?”

“No,” Finn said. She wasn’t able to meet Margot’s eyes, the little minx.

“Is Autumn in your room?” Margot asked, knowing the answer even as she asked the question.

“No,” Finn said. “She went back to the groomsmen’s house with H.W.”

Margot nodded. So Nick and Finn had shared Jenna’s room, which was why Jenna had crawled into bed with Margot and Ellie. Autumn had gone home with H.W. This was FINE because both Autumn and H.W. were SINGLE. Everyone did understand the difference, right?

“Good for Autumn,” Margot said. She left Nick and Finn in the kitchen and trudged back up the stairs to Jenna’s room.

In the hallway, she bumped into her father, who had showered and dressed. He was wearing cutoff jean shorts, circa 1975, and an orange-and-navy striped T-shirt that made him look like Ernie from Sesame Street. Margot nearly commented on the awful outfit, but he already looked morose.

“Hi, sweetie,” Doug said. “How’s everything going?”

Margot took a measured breath. She was tempted to tell him that he was going to lose over a hundred thousand dollars in wedding expenses because Stuart hadn’t been able to come clean to Jenna about his past.

Margot gave her father a tight smile. He was, most likely, headed down to the kitchen. What would he say when he saw Nick with Finn? Would he even get it?

“Everything’s fine,” Margot said.

Doug descended the stairs, and Margot turned the knob to Jenna’s room-no knocking, sorry, this had grown too urgent to worry about manners-and stepped in. The room was dim and empty. Jenna’s bed was mussed, but the trundle bed was neatly made. Margot saw sunlight around the edges of the balcony doors, which she opened, thinking she would find Jenna sitting on the deck, drinking her sweet, light coffee, overlooking the stage set for her beautiful wedding.

Nope.

Margot stood on the balcony alone, taking in the pointed top of the tent with its fluttering green and white ribbons, and Alfie’s artificially raised limb. Margot recalled when her most pressing worry had been about rain.

She recalled when her most pressing worries had been about herself: Edge, her drowned phone, the reappearance of Griff in her life.

She stomped upstairs to the attic. The six kids were in the middle of a world-class pillow fight; feathers fell like giant flakes of snow, and Brock, the youngest of Kevin’s sons, was crying. Margot collared Drum Jr.

“Have you seen Auntie Jenna?”

“No,” he said. He frowned contritely. “I’m sorry about the mess.”

Feathers could be cleaned up. New pillows (foam) could be purchased. Brock would stop crying in a minute or two; he, like Ellie, was a tough little kid.

Margot dashed back downstairs. She caught Beanie on her way to the bathroom. Beanie was wearing a pair of men’s white cotton pajamas with her own monogram on the pocket.

“Have you seen Jenna?” Margot asked.

Beanie shook her head. She said, in a froggy voice, “Is there coffee?”

“Downstairs,” Margot said.

Beanie entered the bathroom. The only room Margot hadn’t checked was the guest room, where Rhonda was staying. What were the chances that Jenna was in with Rhonda? Should Margot check? Of course, she had to check. But at that instant, the guest room door opened and Rhonda stepped out, wearing running shorts and a jog bra, which showed off her perfect, if slightly orange, six-pack abs.

Margot said, “You haven’t seen Jenna, have you?”

Rhonda said, “No, why? Is she missing? Is she, like, the runaway bride?”

“No,” Margot said. “No, no.”

“Do you want me to help you look for her?” Rhonda asked. She pulled her dark hair into a ponytail. “I’m happy to help.”

Rhonda was nice, Margot decided. She was, Margot realized-perhaps for the first time ever-her stepsister. But probably not for much longer.

“I’m good,” Margot said, flying down the stairs. “But thanks for offering! Enjoy your run!”

To avoid the kitchen-Nick, Finn, her father-Margot cut through the formal dining room, where the table was laden with hotel pans and serving pieces for the reception. The grandfather and grandmother clocks announced the hour in symphony. Seven. Margot popped out the little-used rear west door, wedged between the powder room and the laundry, to the backyard.

Margot checked the proposal bench, where she had been sitting a short while ago-empty. Then she entered the tent, which looked even more like a fairy-tale woodland now that the sun was dappling in. Margot searched among the tables and chairs, looking for her sister. Was she hiding in there somewhere? Margot peered up the center pole, where she had imagined her mother’s spirit hovering.

No Jenna.

Out the back of the tent, past the as-yet-unmolested perennial bed, to the driveway. All cars present and accounted for. Out to the front sidewalk, where Margot could just barely discern the ghost of her and Griff kissing. It was so early that the street was quiet; there wasn’t a soul around, which was one of the things Margot loved about Nantucket. In Manhattan, there was no such thing as a quiet street.

No Jenna.

She was gone.