Beautiful Day(61)
“This isn’t about me, remember.”
“Just tell me,” Margot said.
Griff sighed. “Well, he was rebellious. He rode a motorcycle, he had a bunch of tattoos, he started smoking in middle school, and drinking in high school. But here’s the thing: he was brilliant, went to MIT for three semesters, then took a semester off and went to mechanics’ school to learn how to fix classic muscle cars, Plymouth Barracudas, Shelby Cobras, Corvette Stingrays.” Griff took a sip of his drink and a deep breath. “And he could play the piano by ear. At my grandparents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary, he had everybody singing until long after midnight.”
The song changed to “Lawyers, Guns and Money.”
Margot said, “You like Zevon?”
“I went home with a waitress,” he quoted. “The way I always do.”
“How was I to know… she was with the Russians, too,” she said. Again, her favorite line.
She said, “Then there’s my brother Nick, the lothario. Loves women, and can’t seem to exercise any restraint.”
Griff nodded. “Familiar with the type.”
Margot wasn’t sure why Nick’s behavior surprised her. He had always been like this. He had taken two girls to the senior prom. He had run through entire sororities at Penn State. Margot had heard a rumor that he slept with one of his law school professors. But Finn? Why Finn? There were plenty of single women at the wedding—any of Jenna’s hippie-dippy teacher friends, or he could have had a reprise with Autumn.
“So tonight…” Margot said, but she trailed off. She didn’t feel like talking about what Nick had done that night.
“Tonight, what?” Griff said.
Margot said, “My ten-year-old, Carson, barely passed the fourth grade. And my daughter, Ellie, is a hoarder.”
Griff laughed. He had a very nice laugh, she remembered now.
She said, “Remind me of your kids’ names. I know you told me, but I haven’t been blessed with your memory.” Many times a candidate would include a line on his or her résumé that said something like Married fourteen years, devoted mother of four. And Margot would always tell them to scratch it. Everyone loved their kids, and half of everyone loved their spouse. It didn’t belong on a résumé, and it shouldn’t be discussed with a potential employer unless it directly affected the candidate’s work history—as it had in Griff’s case.
He said, “My daughter, Colby, twelve, thinks I hung the moon. Sons Ethan and Tanner, ages ten and eight, think Robinson Cano hung the moon. I don’t see them nearly enough. Every other weekend.”
Margot said, “Mine fly to California the last weekend of every month to see their father. Who informed me two days ago that he is getting married again to a Pilates instructor named Lily.”
Griff rattled the ice in his glass. He was drinking something and Coke, maybe bourbon like all the southerners at the rehearsal dinner, and Margot thought for a second about how good he might taste if she kissed him, sweet and caramelish. She chastised herself for thinking about kissing Griffin Wheatley, Homecoming King, and then she admitted to herself that she had been thinking about kissing him ever since she saw him on the ferry.
Griff said, “My ex-wife, Cynthia, is due to give birth in a few weeks. To Jasper’s baby.”
Margot finished her drink and waited for her eyes to cross. Griff’s wife had fallen in love with his best friend, Jasper, who was also his direct boss, which explained Griff’s sudden departure from the Masterson Group and was the reason why Margot met him in the first place. Griff hadn’t wanted to tell Drew Carver or the rest of the top brass at Tricom about Jasper and his ex-wife. Margot understood: candidates never wanted to share the messy ways that their personal lives intersected with their professional lives. But it hadn’t mattered; Tricom had wanted him for the job… until.
She said, “That. Totally. Sucks.”
“Precisely,” Griff said. He flagged the bartender for the check. “You should really get home. It’s late.”
Margot straightened her spine with what she hoped was a graceful, yoga-like movement. The alcohol, rather than making the edges of things soft and hazy, had turned her field of vision clear and sharp. Was Griff trying to get rid of her? Had she bored him? Did her problems seem petty and obvious, standard fare for an educated, upper-middle-class white woman of a certain age? Her children were healthy, she had a job, money, friends. She was divorced. So what? She had lost her mother. So what? Everyone lost his or her mother eventually. There were people in this world with real problems. There were children in the cancer ward, there were men in Bangladesh being paid twelve or fifteen cents a day to dismantle old cruise liners for scrap metal, there were millions of people across America who had to work the third shift. Margot had no reason to complain.