Beautiful Day(46)
The full list follows below.
ANN
The sight of Doug Carmichael openly weeping as he walked Jenna down the aisle was the only thing all day that had managed to get Ann out of her own head. Ann thought, The poor man, he lost his wife; now he is giving away his daughter, whom he clearly adores. A man was different with daughters than with sons. Ann wondered for a second how Jim would have fared with a daughter. Ann hoped he would have been just like Doug Carmichael. Of course, they would never know.
The rehearsal was unremarkable except for that show of emotion. Ann’s part was small and completed early—she would be walked in after the other guests were seated, escorted by Ryan.
Fine.
“Dearly beloved,” followed by the readings. Jenna’s brother Kevin read the lyrics to “Here, There and Everywhere,” by the Beatles. And Jenna’s sister-in-law, Beanie, read the Edna St. Vincent Millay poem “Love Is Not All”:
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
It may well be. I do not think I would.
Ann closed her eyes. Jenna and Stuart said their vows, then Jenna’s childhood minister would give a short homily, although tonight, thankfully, they were spared. He was Episcopalian. It would have been nice if Jenna had been Catholic, but Ann couldn’t complain. Episcopalians were close, and most of the girls whom Stuart had dated before had been Southern Baptists, including She Who Shall Not Be Named. Then there was a moment of silence to remember Jenna’s mother, Beth Carmichael, during which Ann bowed her head and reminded herself to be grateful that she was whole, present, and healthy to see her son get married. Then the kiss. Then “I now pronounce you man and wife.” Then the wedding planner hit the button on his funny old tape recorder, the strains of Mendelssohn played, and everyone filed out of the church in the reverse order, only this time Ann was escorted out by Jim.
It may well be. I do not think I would.
At the bar at the yacht club, Ann ordered a double vodka martini.
Jim looked at her sideways. “You?” he said. “Vodka?”
“Let me know the second you see her,” Ann said. “And please, don’t leave my side.”
Jim cupped Ann’s face with his big, strong hands and kissed her on the lips, a real kiss, the kind of kiss that, all these years later, could still make her weak with desire, especially since he tasted like his first sip of bourbon. During the four years of their separation and divorce, Ann had dated seven men and slept with two, but none of those men had made her dizzy with lust the way Jim did. Even now, in public, under such stressful circumstances, she felt a hot pulse. It wasn’t fair.
“Nice party,” Jim said.
Ann could do nothing but agree. The Nantucket Yacht Club was the kind of place that thrived on understatement and quiet privilege. The sloops on buoys, the grass tennis courts, the spectacular location on the harbor, the shabby genteel furnishings, the trophy cases displaying the same dozen Mayflower names.
Cocktails were being served on the patio. The college-age servers (all attending colleges like Mount Holyoke and Williams, all with names like Lindsley and Talbot) passed trays of bacon-wrapped scallops and phyllo filled with melted Brie and apricot preserves. They had ripped the recipes for this occasion right out of the official WASP cookbook.
It was exactly as Ann had imagined it.
In the ballroom, round tables were set with navy and white linens and napkins folded to look like sailing ships. Dinner was to be a traditional clambake—lobsters and potatoes and corn—served buffet style. Guests could sit wherever they pleased. Ann would have preferred assigned seating, with Helen Oppenheimer placed on the opposite side of the ballroom, preferably in the corridor outside the ladies’ room. As it was, Ann had made her first priority—after acquiring her vodka martini and downing three healthy sips—rounding up Olivia and her husband Robert and the Cohens and the Shelbys and making sure that they were all planning to sit at the table with Ann and Jim.
“Absolutely,” Olivia said. “I would never abandon you. Is the bitch here yet?”
“Not that I can see,” Ann said. Olivia was the only person who knew about Helen; the Cohens and Shelbys had become close friends of Ann and Jim’s the second time around. Jim’s sister Maisy was here with her husband, Sam. Ann and Maisy had never hit it off—quite frankly, Ann couldn’t stand the woman. She lived in Boone, North Carolina, and wore prairie dresses and had homeschooled her five children. When Jim left to move in with Helen, Maisy had condoned it. She and Helen became friends. Maisy had helped Helen with Chance when he was a baby. Ann pointedly did not ask Maisy and Sam to sit at her and Jim’s table. Maisy could sit with Helen in social Siberia.