On This Day (21 page)

I
n an attempt to recover from my little daydream about Patrick’s “someday” wedding and how our family might completely disintegrate with what feels like an inevitable divorce, I try to distract myself by jovially visiting with the guests at our table as we wait for the dinner to begin. And when I see Phil and Eric finally coming our way, after doing who knows what to Michael’s car, I become even more animated as I embellish the story I’m telling Eric’s aunt about a decorating job that went awry. I know I’m laughing with far too much enthusiasm for such an insignificant little tale as this, but it’s as if I can’t help myself. Thankfully the old woman thinks it’s funny and laughs too.

“Oh, Elizabeth, you must have such fun!” she says as Phil tosses me a curious look and slips into the chair beside me.

Then my sister nudges me with her elbow from the other side.
“Everything okay with you, Elizabeth?” Jeannette asks in a hushed tone.

“What do you mean?” I say quietly, still smiling as if life is perfectly wonderful.

“I mean you’re acting kind of strange.”

I just shrug. “Oh, sorry, I hadn’t noticed.”

Naturally, she doesn’t look convinced, but someone at the other head table opposite us is tapping a glass with a piece of silverware to get everyone’s attention, and the room grows quiet. I look over to where Michael’s father is now standing and am relieved to see that it’s speech time, which means I won’t be forced into conversation with Phil just yet. I turn away from my husband and pretend to be completely absorbed by the various speeches family members are making. And while the words are sweet and uplifting and I couldn’t agree with them more when it comes to Jenny and Michael, they leave me with a bitter taste in regard to my own faltering marriage.

Maybe I’m becoming a bit jaded and cynical, but it occurs to me that we’re all pretty good at making and keeping promises when everyone is looking, when life is so lovely and full of great expectations. But down the line, when people get old or grumpy or simply dissatisfied, it often fails to line up so neatly. And when that happens, do people look back and remember the day they made all those heartfelt vows? Do they recall the promises they made with tears in their eyes?
“For better or for worse … in sickness and in health … ”
Oh, how quickly, how easily, one can forget.

Don’t go there, I warn myself. Don’t be a fool. I’m just a Kleenex away from turning into a blubbering idiot again, and I don’t think I can take that kind of humiliation at the moment. It’s one thing to lose it when everyone is facing forward at a wedding ceremony, where people are expected to get weepy and sentimental. But to fall apart at this beautifully decorated table with my sister and her husband and various other relatives all around me … Well, it’s more than I can endure for one day. Hang on, I tell myself, like when the dentist is drilling a tooth. This will be over before you know it.

Between speeches, Jeannette gently nudges me. Thinking she’s going to inquire about the state of my mental health again, I decide to cut her off by giving her a great big smile. But she still looks troubled. Nodding to the empty seat across the table, she whispers in my ear. “I don’t know why Margaret isn’t here yet. Do you think something’s wrong? Maybe I should go and check on her.”

I glance at the empty space and feel a stab of concern for the sweet old woman. She did seem awfully tired today, and I was a bit worried that she was getting worn out. “Do you think she’s resting?” I suggest.

“Maybe, but she’ll still be hungry for dinner, and I do hate for her to miss this. Oh, I don’t know … Am I making a big deal out of nothing?”

“Want me to go check?”

“Would you?”

“Of course.” I set down my glass of champagne, excuse myself,
and work my way past the tables toward the exit. I can tell Phil isn’t happy about my sudden departure, but perhaps Jeannette will let him know what I’m doing and why. And if not, well, maybe I really don’t care. Perhaps he thinks I’m heading out for some secret tryst with my undisclosed lover. Right!

It’s incredibly quiet as I walk down the path, still lit by the flickering luminaries. I can hear the faint sound of someone making another speech, but as I move away from the huge white tent, I am amazed at the silence here in the mountains. I pause and look toward the lake, but it’s fairly dark now, and I mostly see the tall silhouettes of pine trees like dark shadows against the purple water and sky. Then I look up and am astonished to see the stars—they are big and bright and so close I think I could almost touch them. I stand there for a minute or two just thinking and wondering about celestial kinds of things—those sorts of God things that are so mysterious, so much bigger than me—things like life and death and broken promises.

Then I remember my mission to discover why dear Margaret is missing from her granddaughter’s wedding dinner. I hurry up to the lodge, worrying a bit as I consider her age, the slowness of her step earlier today. I do hope everything’s okay.

I try not to dwell on our talk earlier today and the sense I kept getting that she was finished and done with her life—ready to call it a day and go on to meet her Maker as well as her dearly departed husband. I’m sure everyone feels that way from time to time, especially as they get older, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to happen
anytime soon. People don’t usually know when their time is up, do they? I’ve always imagined that death is the sort of thing that takes us by surprise, that only God knows the hour and the day

And surely God wouldn’t allow Jenny’s beloved grandmother to slip away on Jenny’s wedding night. I try not to imagine the possibility of finding the poor woman dead in her room. What on earth would I do? I don’t think I’ve actually seen a dead person before. Oh, at funerals, of course, but never in their natural state. And who would I tell? My sister, of course, but then would we conspire to keep it to ourselves until the last of tonight’s festivities are over and the happy newlyweds are safely on their way? Or would that be wrong? I have no idea.

Dear God, let Margaret be okay
, I silently pray over and over again as I go up the stairs.
Please let her be okay
.

M
issing Mr. Right?” asks Lana as I pass her the butter. “Huh?” I glance at her, unsure of what she means until I see her looking at the empty chair beside me.

“Your fiancé? Your
Mr. Right?”

“No, I’m okay” I take a sip of water.

“Really?” Her brows lift with curiosity. “You sure there’s not something wrong? Problems in paradise?”

I shrug. “No, things are just fine.” More than ever, I really do not want to tell this girl I’ve been dumped. For one thing, I doubt she’d have much sympathy, but worse than that, I’m certain she would mention it to Jenny. And I do not want Jenny worrying about me tonight.

“It seems rather rude of your fiancé to take off like that,” she says with a sly expression, making me wonder how Jenny put up
with this girl as her college roommate for more than a night or two. But then Jenny’s so sweet, she could probably get along with an ax murderer.

I force a big smile. “He couldn’t help it. As I already said, he needed to get back to take care of something.”

“Well, I hope you won’t feel too lonely on the dance floor later tonight.”

I glance around the crowded room, pausing intentionally at the table where Jenny’s two attractive cousins are seated. “Hey, I think there are plenty of guys to go around, Lana.”

Now she frowns, but at least I think I’ve managed to shut her up for a minute or two. She turns her attention to someone else, and I wonder how long I can keep up my little charade. I’m sure Jenny will notice that Jason’s not here. Or maybe not. I watch Jenny and Michael sitting at the table with his parents. She looks so dreamy and happy I can’t imagine she’s thinking about anything much. Well, perhaps her honeymoon. They’re flying to the Caribbean tomorrow morning. No one besides Michael knows exactly where they’re staying tonight, though. Not even Jenny. The reason for the big mystery is that Michael has quite a reputation when it comes to “fixing up” getaway cars and chasing the newlyweds after weddings. According to Jenny, some of his buddies are ready to get even, and as a result, Michael has contrived some highly complicated plan. But mum’s the word, and although a couple of the guys, including Michael’s older brother, have asked me, I have been able to honestly say, “I haven’t a clue.”

“Where’s your fiancé, Ingrid?” asks Cami, one of the other bridesmaids I barely know, from the other side of the table. She obviously missed my explanation to Lana.

“He had to go home,” I tell her.

She frowns. “That’s too bad.” Then she smiles. “So when’s your big day? I’ll bet you’re getting excited about it after Jenny’s wedding. You’re probably an expert on wedding planning by now.”

I force another smile. “We’d been thinking about New Year’s Eve,” I tell her. Not untrue, since if we hadn’t broken up, we would’ve stuck with that date.

“Ooh, how romantic.”

“Yeah, and a good tax move too,” adds her boyfriend. “My brother got married on New Year’s Eve last year just so they could get an extra deduction.”

“How romantic,”
I say, sarcastically rolling my eyes.

“Well, he figured it would save him enough to take her to Hawaii,” he says.

I nod with approval. “Okay, so maybe it was romantic after all.”

“Do you know where Jenny and Michael are going on their honeymoon?” asks Cami. “I mean, besides the Caribbean?”

I shake my head. “It’s all pretty top secret.”

“Yeah,” says Rod, one of the groomsmen at our table. “Poor Mikey is all paranoid about payback time. But not to worry, we’re a step ahead of him.” Then he laughs and tells us about a wedding where Michael put a friend’s getaway car up on blocks so that when they tried to take off, the car stayed in place.

“And I’m sure you had nothing to do with that,” I toss back at him.

“Hey, it takes quite a few guys to lift an SUV,” he says defensively.

Stories about botched wedding getaways continue, and our table, filled mostly with young people, is one of the louder ones. At one point I notice Patrick looking our way, and I wonder if he wishes he were seated over here. I smile and then turn my attention back to a story Cami is telling about a getaway car that had some embarrassing words written with shaving cream.

“Well, no one better do anything that tacky to Jenny’s getaway car,” I say with my full maid-of-honor authority, mostly looking at the groomsmen. “Or I will personally see to it that you’re all very sorry. And deflated tires up here in the mountains might not be that easy to get fixed.”

“You wouldn’t,” says Rod with new respect.

I firmly nod. “Oh yes I would. But only if someone resorted to something sleazy.” Then I laugh. “I have absolutely no problem with decorating their getaway car, just nothing too embarrassing or disgusting, okay?”

“Like no stinking dead fish in the backseat?” says Rod.

I sigh. I can see it’s going to be a long night.

H
aven’t you had enough, Suzette?” Jim asks in a lowered tone as I watch the waiter refill my glass with sparkling champagne.

I suppress the urge to glare at him. “Thank you, dear. I’m just fine,” I calmly say as I hold up my champagne flute and examine the bubbly contents in the candlelight from the centerpiece.

“I’ll have a bit more too,” says Mrs. Bernstein, and I feel happily validated. “I usually don’t drink champagne, but goodness sakes, I’m not getting any younger. I might as well live it up once in a while.” She turns to her husband and smiles.

“I couldn’t agree with you more, my dear.” Then he leans over and sweetly kisses her on the cheek. For some reason this makes me angry. Not at the Bernsteins exactly, but more at myself and
Jim and our whole sham of a marriage. I can’t remember him ever kissing me tenderly like that—and certainly not in public.

“Alex Fairbanks should be complimented on his fine selection of champagne tonight,” says Jim, playing along for the Bernsteins’ sake, I’m sure. He wouldn’t want to look bad in front of a client, especially a very wealthy one.

“It’s very good,” I add, determined not to be left out of things. I want to say that I happen to know this particular champagne runs about forty bucks a pop, and there appears to be a whole truckload of it, but I know
that
would be in bad taste. So I just sit and listen to the others talking. The grownups. I suddenly feel like I’m the little kid at the table tonight—the outsider, the girl from the wrong side of town. And I have a feeling I’d better keep my mouth shut. When Jim’s not looking, I let the waiter refill my glass again. I wink at the handsome young man, and he smiles knowingly and then comes back on the sly to refill my glass again. Our little secret.

I have to admit that things are getting a bit fuzzy as I set my empty champagne glass down, and I have no idea how much alcohol I’ve had tonight, or today for that matter, but I suspect I may have set a personal record, and I’m pretty certain I’ve exceeded my limit—my limit according to Jim, that is. But when he tells the waiter no on the next go-round, I get really mad.

“I’m a grownup,” I tell him. “And I can have another drink if I want to.” I’m guessing the volume of my voice is beyond his comfort level, because he is glaring at me now. I know he wants me to shut up and be a good girl, but suddenly I have other plans.

“Suzette”
he warns in a serious tone, acting like he’s the big daddy and I’m going to mind him.

“Besides,” I say, “I’m not driving anywhere tonight.” Then I turn to Abby Bernstein, who suddenly has four, not two, chins. “It’s okay to have a little more,” I say to her in my baby voice. “Girls just wanna have fun, you know. Don’t you just wanna have fun too?”

She smiles, but I can tell she’s uncomfortable with me now. And I can tell she thinks she’s better than me. “What’s the matter?” I demand. “Don’shu wanna have fun too?” That’s when I feel someone tugging on my arm, and I am suddenly on my feet.

“Time to call it a night,” Jim is telling everyone at our table. His smile is so stiff that I think he must’ve carved it into his face with a steak knife when I wasn’t looking.

“I don’t wanna go home,” I say as he firmly guides me through the room. “Don’t make me go home,” I plead. “The party’s just starting to be fun. I wanna stay and dance.”

But now we’re outside, and his grip is so tight that I think my arm might fall off. “You’re hurting me,” I say, but he doesn’t respond. “Stop hurting me, Jim,” I repeat as he practically drags me up to the lodge.

“You’ve made a fool of yourself, Suzette,” he says in an angry voice. “Are you happy now?”

“No,” I say in my baby voice. “I am
not
happy. I wanna stay at the party. I wanna have fun and dance and—”

“The party’s
over
for you,” he says as he pushes me through the door into the lobby of the lodge. Then lowering his voice, although
there doesn’t seem to be anyone around, he says, “You’re going to bed.”

Now I start to smile. “And what about you, Jimmy boy? Are you going to bed too? Is Big Daddy going to put naughty Suzette to bed?”

He doesn’t say anything as we go up the stairs, and it takes my full concentration to keep my feet on track, and the steps seem to be doing the wave, and sometimes I miss them altogether, but big Jim still has a firm grasp on my arm, so I don’t fall down, although I think my fingers are getting numb.

The next thing I know, I am on the bed, and Jim is standing over me with his hands on his hips and the most hateful expression I’ve ever seen in my entire life. Or maybe not. Suddenly I remember how my dad used to look just like that sometimes. Then it hits me—I can actually see it with my own two eyes. Jim is not Jim anymore—he’s my dad. He’s turned into my dad, or maybe he was always my dad but I just never noticed. Whatever it is, I can’t take it anymore.

“Go away!” I yell, turning my head so I won’t have to look at him anymore. “Go away and leave me alone.”

“That’s just what I intend to do, Suzette,” he says in a surprisingly calm tone. The next thing I hear is the door closing. I have no doubt where he’s going or who he’ll be with. But right now I just want to close my eyes and escape.