Beautiful Day (30 page)

“Oh, dear,” Ann said. “How upset is she?”

“Really upset,” Stuart said. “Like,
really.
”

“As in…” Ann said. Suddenly she imagined the wedding weekend going up in flames as
dramatic as the ones that had swallowed Atlanta in 1864. Jenna would call the wedding
off; Ann would watch her marriage to Jim fail again, she would lose him to Helen
again.
It was too hideous to contemplate; Ann felt light-headed.
Quaalude!
she thought.
Please!

The spot between her toes throbbed with pain. She hated these shoes.

“Is Dad here?” Stuart asked hopefully. “I think I need to talk to him.”

“Not here,” Ann said. “I don’t know where he is. I threw him out of the room last
night.”

“You did?” Stuart said.

Ann nodded slowly and whispered, “I did.”

She and Stuart were quiet for a moment. Ryan would have demanded every detail, but
Stuart wouldn’t ask a thing.

“You don’t really need Dad,” Ann said. “Maybe I could talk to Jenna.” Ann was certain
this was the solution. She would convince Jenna that Stuart’s not disclosing the full
story about a very brief engagement was a minor infraction. Minor! Ann would say,
And believe me, sweetie, I know what I’m talking about.

“No,” Stuart said. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

At that moment, Ann heard new voices in the living room. Helen’s voice. Most definitely
Helen’s voice. Ann said to Stuart, “Helen’s here. I’m going downstairs.”

Stuart said, “I can’t deal with Helen right now. I don’t care if H.W. eats my breakfast.”
He shut the door, then opened it a crack. “Thanks, though, Mom.”

“Oh, honey,” she said. “I love you so.”

Ann descended to the living room. Helen had just walked in the door with a man who
towered over her, which was no small feat. The man was a giant; he must have been
six-nine or six-ten. He was good looking, early fifties, graying hair, wearing a pair
of white Bermuda shorts embroidered with navy whales, which would have gotten him
egged on any street corner south of the Mason-Dixon Line.

Helen said, “Hey, y’all! Is Chancey here? I’ve come to take him out for breakfast.”

Chance emerged from the kitchen, still wearing only his boxers. He said, “Mama?”

“Honey, your clothes.”

“Oh,” he said. “Yeah. I just got up a little while ago.”

“Chance,” Helen said. “This is Skip Lafferty, a friend of mine from Roanoke, way back
in the day. Skip has a house here on Nantucket. He’s going to come with us to breakfast,
then show us around the island.”

Skip Lafferty offered his hand. “Nice to meet you, Chance.” Then he waved at the rest
of the room. “Nice to meet y’all.”

Ann was so relieved, she nearly levitated. She stepped forward and offered her hand.
“I’m Ann Graham,” she said. “Lovely to meet you.”

Chance said, “I kind of just ate breakfast. Eggs and everything.”

“But sweetie,” Helen said, “I told you I’d be here at nine to pick you up.”

“I know,” Chance said. “But I think I just want to hang here with everyone else.”

Helen opened her mouth to speak just as Autumn stepped out of the kitchen. H.W. ’s
shirt, Ann saw now, barely covered the girl’s tiny behind, and whereas ten minutes
ago this might have bothered Ann, now that Autumn was displaying herself to Helen’s
old friend Skip Lafferty, whose eyes were popping out of his head, Ann wanted to break
out in peals of delighted laughter.

Jim wasn’t with Helen. Of course he wasn’t! Ann felt happily like an idiot.

Autumn said, “Oops, excuse me.” She winked at Skip Lafferty before scurrying up the
stairs.

Chance said, “I’m not hungry. I want to stay here.”

“Honeybun,” Helen said. “Skip is eager to show us around. He has a restaurant picked
out that serves the best corned beef hash.”

“But I already ate,” Chance said.

Ryan piped up. “Mom came over a little while ago, Helen, and made us all breakfast.”

Jethro appeared from the kitchen with a dish towel slung over his shoulder. He said,
“Those were the best eggs I’ve ever eaten.”

Ann said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize Chance already had breakfast plans.”

Helen wrinkled her nose, maybe because her senses were assaulted by the beer-and-cigarette
miasma of the house, or maybe because the circumstances were so distasteful to her.
Ann, of all people, had made Chance breakfast. “Well, he did and he does, and he’s
going to honor them. Chance, go put clothes on, please.”

“Sorry, Mama,” Chance said. “I’m not going.”

There was an awkward silence in the room that was so refreshing, Ann could have swum
around in it for hours.

Skip Lafferty said, “It’s okay, Helen. We can just go into town together, you and
me.”

Helen put her hands on her hips. “Chancey,” she said.

“I’m nineteen, Mama,” he said. “Not nine.”

Helen kept her stance for another couple of seconds. H.W. burped. Ann watched Helen
debate whether or not to persist with the tough-guy approach, or beg, or give up.
Helen had always worn her emotions right on her face. There had been a time, after
Jim had left Helen to come back to Ann, when Helen had shown up out of the blue at
Ann’s office at the statehouse. She had Chance with her; he was three years old, a
towhead with skin so pale it looked nearly albino. That was the first time Ann had
ever seen Chance in person.

Helen had been a mess—crying, trying not to cry, screeching, beseeching. “Please,”
she’d said. “My child is younger. I need Jim more than y’all do.”

Ann had seen and recognized the particular brand of pain
Helen was feeling; she knew only too well what it felt like to be left by Jim Graham
for another woman.

“I don’t need him, Helen,” Ann had said. “I just love him.”

Now, Helen capitulated. She said, “Fine, then, stay.” Her voice sounded like that
of a jilted lover, or maybe that was just Ann projecting. “I’ll see y’all later, at
the ceremony.”

If there is a ceremony,
Ann thought.

Helen took Skip Lafferty’s arm and turned to go, without a good-bye to anyone.

Just then, the front door opened. Margot Carmichael stepped into the living room.
Her cheeks were pink, and her forehead was shiny with perspiration.

“Hey,” she said. “Has anyone seen Jenna?”

S
he was determined to do this by herself. She would find Jenna, she would save the
wedding.

She left the children with Beanie, saying she had to run some errands. Kevin, who
was reading the
Times
at the kitchen table, huffed.

“Why can’t your kids go with you?” he said.

“Because,” Margot said. “They can’t.”

“It’s not a problem for us to watch them,” Beanie said. “They’re all happier when
they’re together anyway.”

Kevin arched his eyebrows. Margot could hear his thoughts:
Margot is outsourcing her children again.

He said, “What errands?”

“I need to pay my cocaine dealer,” Margot said.

He said, “You might try and get Ellie out of her bathing suit before you go.”

“Fuck you, Kevin.”

“Nice,” Kevin said.

“What do you care what Ellie wears?” Margot said. “She’s not your child.”

“She’s a girl,” Beanie said. “Girls are different. Kevin doesn’t understand that.”

Kevin eyed Beanie over the top of his newspaper. “I don’t understand that girls are
different?”

“You’re trying to make me feel like a bad mother,” Margot said. “You’re being passive-aggressive.”

Kevin said, “Along with apparently not understanding that girls are ‘different,’ I
have also never understood that term. ‘Passive-aggressive.’ What does that actually
mean?
”

“It means you’re a jackass,” Margot said. She hated acting this way; being around
Kevin and Nick made her revert to twelve-year-old behavior.

Beanie pretended to search for something in the refrigerator. Margot needed to ask
Kevin or Beanie for one of their cell phones—she couldn’t go on this quest without
a phone—but she was so pissed at Kevin that she wasn’t willing to ask him for anything
else.

“I won’t be gone long,” Margot said to Beanie, hoping this was true.

She left the house by the side door.
Thank God for Kevin!
she thought angrily. But she was glad to have avoided her father and Pauline, and
Nick and Finn. Suddenly everyone was a land mine.

Margot had read all the Nancy Drew mysteries as a girl; she had waited thirty years
to do some sleuthing of her own. How had Jenna traveled? All the cars were present
and accounted for. Had Jenna gone by foot? If so, the only logical place to look for
her was in town. She might be browsing in the stacks at Mitchell’s Book Corner, or
maybe she’d bought a strawberry frappe at the pharmacy and was sitting on a bench
on Main Street, counting the number of Lilly Pulitzer skirts that passed her by.

Bicycle?
Margot wondered. And sure enough, when she checked the shed, the padlock was hanging
loose, and the door was ajar. The bikes in the shed were the bikes of their childhood,
Schwinns circa 1983, all rusted and, Margot had assumed, unrideable.

But Jenna had taken a bicycle somewhere.

Where?

Well, if Jenna was dead set on canceling the wedding, there was one person she would
have to talk to.

As Margot was unlocking her Land Rover, Rhonda popped out of the house with white
earbuds in.

“Hey, Rhonda,” Margot said.

Rhonda removed her left earbud, and Margot could hear the tinny screeching of Rihanna.
“I’m going running!” she said, too loudly.

“Is there any way I could borrow your phone for an hour?” Margot asked. “I sunk mine
on Thursday night, it’s useless, and I really need a phone this morning.” She swallowed.
“Secret wedding mission.”

Rhonda’s face was uneasy as she regarded her phone. “I can’t really run without music.
And Raymond is supposed to call…”

“Oh,” Margot said. “Okay, no problem.” She looked at the house and sighed. She would
have to go back in and ask Beanie.

Rhonda said, “Don’t be like that.”

“Be like what?” Margot said.

“You know like what,” Rhonda said. She shoved her phone at Margot. “Just take it.”

“No, no,” Margot said. When she looked down at the phone, she saw that the screensaver
was a picture of Rhonda and Pauline taken the night before at the Nantucket Yacht
Club. They were standing in front of the giant anchor with their arms wrapped around
each other. Pauline, in her blue suit, looked like Gertie Gloom, but Rhonda was smiling
wide enough for the two of them, perhaps realizing that it was up to her to put forward
a good face on behalf of the Tonellis. “It’s okay, Rhonda. I’ll ask someone else.”

“You asked me,” Rhonda said. “Just take it.”

Margot couldn’t tell if Rhonda was being passive-aggressive
(whatever that meant) or genuine. Margot didn’t really have time for games or mind
reading, so she accepted the phone.

“Thank you for this,” she said. “I’ll bring it back as soon as I’m done.”

“Whenever,” Rhonda said, shrugging. “Glad I could help.”

Margot considered asking Rhonda to come with her. This would then become the story
of a woman and the stepsister she had never appreciated and was about to lose, as
they hunted down the runaway bride.

But no, Margot wanted to do this herself.

“Thanks again,” Margot said.

“Good luck,” Rhonda said.

Margot turned the key in the ignition. The radio was playing Elvis Costello, “Alison,”
and Margot thought about Griff the night before at the bar and how he had so easily
identified her favorite lyrics in the other song, and she wondered what it would be
like to be with someone who actually wanted to understand her, then she wondered if
anyone would ever kiss her again the way Griff had kissed her, and she knew the answer
was no. She was doomed to have experienced the very best kissing of her life with
someone she would never kiss again.

This might have seemed like a problem if she didn’t have bigger problems on her hands.

“Why?” Stuart said as he descended the stairs of the groomsmen’s house, looking like
death on a stick. “Is she missing?”

“What is it this morning?” Ryan said. “Everyone is going missing.”

“Margot!” Ann Graham said. “I hope you’re hungry. We have eggs.”

“Negative on the eggs, Mom,” H.W. said. “I just finished the ones left in the pan.”

“If you’ll excuse me.” These words were spoken by Helen, Chance’s mother, who was
responsible for this whole mess in the first place. Margot was tempted to call Helen
out right there and then, but she didn’t really have time for a grand confrontation
with all the Grahams watching. Helen edged past Margot out the front door, followed
by a very tall man who was wearing a pair of embroidered whale shorts that he must
have bought right out of the front window at Murray’s Toggery.

Margot took one step into the house. She watched Helen leave, thinking,
Interloper!

Stuart ran his hands over his bad haircut. “
Is
she missing?” he asked again. He looked green—maybe alarm, maybe nerves, maybe hangover.
The house was trashed; it looked like it had hosted an all-nighter with Jim Morrison,
John Belushi, and the Hells Angels.