Beautiful Day (38 page)

“Sure, Doug,” Roger said. “What is it?”

“My wife ran out of the church,” Doug said.

“Yes,” Roger said. “I noticed that.”

“Should I take time now to go find her and see what the matter is?” Doug asked.

“You don’t have time right now,” Roger said. “You have the receiving line, then photographs.”

“Is Pauline supposed to be in the photographs?” Doug asked.

Roger consulted his clipboard. “Some of them,” he said. “So I
suggest you send someone else to go find her and bring her back here.”

“Okay,” Doug said. He liked the idea of passing the buck and of having this suggested
and sanctioned by Roger. “I’ll do that.”

The logical person to fetch Pauline was Rhonda. Doug saw her, now talking on her cell
phone, at the edge of the church parking lot. Was she talking to Pauline? Was she
trying to convince Pauline to come back to the wedding? Doug crept up on Rhonda, not
wishing to disturb her, but also hoping to eavesdrop.

He heard Rhonda say, “I want your hands on my body. I want that so badly. And then
I want your tongue inside of me…”

Rhonda glanced up and saw Doug, and her expression immediately became one of horrified
embarrassment. She said quickly, “I’ll call you later, Beast.” And she hung up.

“What?” she said to Doug.

Doug was speechless. He’d interrupted Rhonda’s private conversation with… whom? Someone
she called “Beast,” whose hands she wanted on her body. Was it possible Rhonda had
a boyfriend and Pauline didn’t know about it?

Doug said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” He took a step backward.

“What?” Rhonda said. Her voice was like a single slap to the face. “What do you want?”

“I thought maybe you were talking to your mother,” Doug said.

“No,” Rhonda said. “That was
not
my mother.”

Doug took a breath; he was floundering here. “Listen, Rhonda, I wonder if you could
go get your mother? She’s supposed to be in the photos. Do you know where she is?”

“She’s at the house,” Rhonda said.

Doug noted that both Pauline and Rhonda always referred to
the Carmichael family homestead on Orange Street as “the house.” Never “home.”

“Can you get her?” Doug asked. “Please?” He turned around and, with a sweep of his
hand, indicated the guests milling around. “I have all this…”

“She doesn’t want me,” Rhonda said. “She wants you.”

“Yes, but—”

“Doug,” Rhonda said. “I’m not going. I’m a bridesmaid. Jenna asked me to stand up
for her. I want to stay here and enjoy being a part of this wedding. I’m not an errand
girl. It isn’t my job to clean up your mess.” She blinked at him.

Doug nodded. In the five years that he had known Rhonda, she had been combative, sour,
and unpleasant, and on more than one occasion, snarly and mean. But now she wasn’t
any of those things. Now she was right.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and he walked away.

Across the lawn, Doug spied Margot. They made eye contact, and Margot hurried right
over.

“Daddy,” she said.

“Hey,” he said, thinking,
Margot will help me.

“Did Edge bring Rosalie as his
date?”
she asked. “Like his
date
date?”

“Oh,” Doug said. He had temporarily forgotten about Edge and Rosalie, although they
were a problem, or they had seemed like a problem half an hour before the ceremony,
which was when Doug had first seen Edge and Rosalie together. “You know what, sweetheart,
I’m not sure what’s going on.”

“Edge RSVP’d for
one!
” Margot said. Her cheeks pinkened and her eyes flashed. Those ice-blue eyes, they
unsettled people. “He RSVP’d for one and he showed up with a
date!
”

“He told me Thursday before I left the office that he was
bringing a guest,” Doug said. “And I e-mailed Roger to let him know.”

“He told you on…
Thursday?”
Margot said.

“Thursday, yes,” Doug said. “At lunchtime on Thursday.” It had been rather late to
add a guest, but Edge was doing Doug an important favor by covering the shitshow Cranbrook
case, and he had seemed keen to bring this “guest,” and Doug had agreed.
Certainly,
Doug said. Doug suspected the guest was the reason for Edge’s calm and focus; he
always worked tougher and smarter when he was seeing someone. What Doug didn’t know
was that the guest was Rosalie Fitzsimmon, the firm’s top paralegal, who was working
alongside Edge and Doug on the shitshow Cranbrook case. Doug didn’t approve of dating
within the firm, although there were no specific rules against it. Now he feared that
things between Edge and Rosalie would go very well or very badly, and either way,
Rosalie would leave the firm, and they would lose a superlative paralegal.

“But why didn’t you
tell me?”
Margot asked.

“Like I said, I told Roger,” Doug said. “Roger is the wedding planner.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Daddy,” Margot said. She stormed off—and not in the direction
of the receiving line where she belonged. People were still streaming out of the church,
and the receiving line was marked by more Carmichael absences than presences. Jenna
and Stuart were there, along with Ryan, and Jim and Ann Graham. Doug needed to take
his place right now.

He horse-collared Nick because Nick was the offspring in closest proximity. Nick was
already yanking at his bow tie as he talked to Finn. Finn looked as sulky as she had
when she was six years old and she felt Jenna was hogging more than her share of the
wading pool. Doug sensed there was something going on
between his younger son and Finn, but he didn’t dare ask. He didn’t have room in his
imagination for any more drama.

“Nick,” he said. “I need a favor.”

“What is it?” Nick said warily.

“Don’t take your tie off yet,” Doug said. “We have pictures.”

“Okay,” Nick said. He looked relieved, perhaps believing that not taking off his tie
was the favor that was being asked of him.

“I’d like you to go get Pauline,” Doug said.

“What?”
Nick said. “No way. No… way.”

Doug paused and reconsidered. Nick was exactly the wrong person to send after Pauline.
Nick was a bull in an emotional china shop. He had no tact and very little patience.
For all his conquests, Doug suspected that Nick actually knew very little about women.
This was probably Doug’s fault, but he had felt that the best way to teach his boys
about how to treat a woman was to lead by example. He had always treated Beth like
a goddess. He couldn’t help it if Nick hadn’t been paying attention.

“Can you please find Pauline and tell her it’s time for photos, and her smiling presence
is required?”

“I’ll go with you,” Finn said.

“No,” Doug said. “I think it would be best if Nick went alone.”

“She’s
your
wife,” Nick said. “You go.”

“I can’t,” Doug said. “I have the receiving line.”

“Crap,” Nick said. “Where is she?”

“At home,” Doug said. “You’ll have to hurry because we need you in pictures.”

“Jesus!” Nick said. If he were still fifteen, he might have told Doug to go stuff
himself, and so it was a testament to his adulthood that Nick headed down the street
without Finn. Doug had, maybe, done something right in raising him, after all.

Doug strode over to the receiving line and began to shake hands.

Hello, good to see you, yes, it was a beautiful ceremony, the church was built in
1902, the east and west windows are real Tiffany, my wife, Beth, loved those windows,
yes, I’m very proud. Honestly, I couldn’t be happier.

Abigail Pease, the photographer, was a no-nonsense go-getter who knew how to arrange
a shot. Doug found her attractive, as well, and if he wasn’t mistaken, she was flirting
with him. She called him “Dougie,” a nickname he deplored, but when it came out of
her mouth in her southern accent, it sounded playful and sexy. (The photographer at
Kevin and Beanie’s wedding, so many years ago, had insisted on called Doug “Dad” and
Beth “Mom,” which had driven them both nuts.)

Abigail had voluminous blond curls that cascaded down her back. She was lightly tanned
but wore no makeup (and no wedding ring), and her rear end looked fabulous in her
palazzo pants. Doug wondered if, say, a year from now, he would have the guts to ask
Abigail Pease, or someone like her, out on a date.

“Dougie, baby, I need you over here with Jenna,” Abigail said.

Doug slid his arms tenderly around Jenna and gave his best smile.

“The two of you are
gorgeous,
” Abigail said. “Oh, my God, the camera is
eating
you up!”

Whatever he was paying this woman, he decided, it wasn’t enough.

He wondered how grossly inappropriate it was that he was lusting after the photographer
while his wife was crying somewhere in a darkened room because Doug didn’t love her
anymore.

Bridesmaids with Jenna. Jenna and Margot. Jenna and Kevin and Beanie and their three
boys. Bridesmaids with Stuart. Jenna
and all the kids, including Ellie in her funny hat. Jenna with just Brock and Ellie.
Stuart with Ryan and H.W. Stuart with Ryan and H.W. and the half brother with the
shellfish allergy. Stuart with his parents.

It was taking forever, despite Abigail’s impressive efficiency. Doug wanted a drink.

Finally Abigail turned to Doug and to Roger—Roger was so crucial to the proceedings
that Doug wanted to suggest that Roger get in a photo or two—and said, “I can’t take
any more pictures without Nick…” She checked her list. “And Pauline.”

“Pauline?” Doug said.

Abigail smiled at him. “Pauline is your wife.”

She seemed to be telling him this, not asking him, and Doug felt chastened.

“Yes.” He felt like he was confessing to something.

“Is she sick?” Abigail asked. “Not feeling well?”

“Not feeling well,” Doug confirmed, because any way you sliced it, that was the truth.
“I sent Nick to get her. They should be here any second.”

He stepped to the sidewalk to take a look down the street, and there he saw Nick and
Pauline, marching side by side, neither of them talking, neither of them smiling.
They looked like they were going to a funeral or to the dentist for a root canal.

Doug turned to Abigail. “My wife, Beth, Jenna’s mother, died seven years ago of ovarian
cancer.”

Abigail said, “Yes, I know. Roger told me. And Jenna showed me the Notebook. It touched
me very deeply, I must say.”

Doug wondered if Abigail Pease had read the last page of the Notebook. He had been
meaning to do so all day; he was hoping it was something that would give him strength.

“Beth was a remarkable woman,” Doug said. Now he really
felt like he was confessing something. As Pauline drew closer, Doug spoke more quickly.
He wanted to get the words out before she could hear them. “I mean, she was a hospital
administrator and the mother of four children, and my wife, which may or may not
sound
remarkable, but she was also one of those people that everyone gravitated to. She
was the magnetic north of our family, she held us together, she made us work. Every
single one of us
adored
her.” He swallowed. “But especially me.”

Abigail’s hand rested on Doug’s forearm, and her pale blue eyes were glued to his
face, and suddenly whatever physical attraction Doug had felt for her evaporated.
What he wanted, what he
really
wanted, he realized, was someone to listen while he talked about how much he missed
Beth. He had never been able to talk to Pauline because Pauline had always been jealous
of Beth’s memory, and therefore unwilling to listen. But maybe if Pauline
had
listened, Doug would have been happier. Maybe, but maybe not.

“I’m sorry, Dougie,” Abigail said. “Today must be difficult.”

Doug nodded and stuffed his hands into the satiny pockets of his tuxedo pants. There
was so much he wanted to say about how difficult the weekend had been, but there wasn’t
time or opportunity because Pauline was approaching. Doug watched her march up the
steps. Her hair was escaping the confines of her bun, and her eye makeup had been
rubbed off. Her eyes looked like small brown holes. Her chest was mottled red, and
her breathing was erratic, maybe from crying, or maybe from the brisk walk.

“I’m here,” she said. “Where do you want me?”

“We’re going to take a Carmichael family portrait,” Abigail said. “With Stuart.”

Abigail called everyone together and began arranging them: Doug, Pauline, Margot,
Kevin, Beanie, Nick, Jenna, Stuart, the
six grandchildren, and Rhonda—they nearly forgot to include Rhonda! Doug realized
then that he hadn’t expected Pauline to show up. And worse than that, he had been
hoping she wouldn’t show up. He wanted a Carmichael family portrait that was free
of Tonellis. He wanted to insist on a photograph—maybe the photograph after this photograph—that
included only him and his kids and his kids’ spouses and his grandchildren. Was that
awful? Yes, he decided, it was awful, and as badly as he wanted it, he decided he
would take the remaining pictures with Pauline standing next to him as his wife. Years
from now when he reflected on this day, he would remember posing for these photographs
as one of the last things he would do to make Pauline happy. He would include her
now, in the center of his family, in a spot that rightly belonged to another.

“Smile, Dougie!” Abigail called out.

Doug smiled.