The bridesmaids and Jenna were due at RJ Miller for hair at eleven.
The caterers were coming at noon.
The florist was dropping off the bouquets at two.
The photographer was coming at three.
The musicians—two violinists and a cellist—were arriving at the church at four.
The Model A Ford, which was owned and driven by Roger’s son, Vince, was arriving at the house at four thirty to pick up the girls. Then it was showtime. Church at 4:45. The parents would be seated—Pauline first, then Ann and Jim.
The processional would begin at five o’clock. Roger had been eminently clear: he could abide anything but a delayed start to the ceremony. If Jenna or anyone else in the wedding party caused the musicians and the guests and Reverend Marlowe to wait, Roger would levy a ten thousand dollar fine.
He had delivered this news with his usual poker face, though Margot was certain he was kidding.
Margot entered the kitchen expecting to find Jenna. But there, crushed into a corner of the breakfast nook, were Nick and Finn. Nick had his arms around Finn, and his face was in her hair.
“Jesus Christ!” Margot said, mostly out of shock, but partially out of disgust, too.
“Marge,” Nick said in a world-weary voice that made him sound exactly like Kevin. “Please mind your own business.”
Margot stared at the two of them. The sight of them together was profoundly disturbing. It was incestuous! Finn had been a part of the Carmichael family for twenty-five years; she had been at the house all the time—at the table for Sunday dinner, around the tree on Christmas morning. She had gone on vacation with them to Disney World; Margot and Kevin and Nick had ridden Space Mountain a total of eleven times while Jenna and Finn had donned blue Cinderella dresses so that Beth could take them to the castle for breakfast with the princesses.
Now Nick and Finn were having a love thing. And Finn was married. They all realized this, right? Both Margot and Nick had attended the Sullivan-Walker wedding last October. Nick had been Margot’s ersatz date, until he hooked up with the chesty, frizzy-haired bartender. They all remembered that too, right?
“Where’s Jenna?” Margot asked, unable to say anything more.
“No idea,” Nick murmured. He was running his hand up and down Finn’s bare, sunburned arm in a way that struck Margot as very tender, especially for Nick.
“I don’t know what the two of you think you’re doing,” Margot said, “but I assure you, it’s a bad idea.”
“Shut up, Marge,” Nick said. “You know nothing about it.”
I don’t want to know anything about it! she thought. What she wouldn’t give to be blind, deaf, and dumb, or so self-absorbed with her own excellent love life that she couldn’t summon the energy to care about anyone else’s.
She said, “Finn, is Jenna up in your room?”
“No,” Finn said. She wasn’t able to meet Margot’s eyes, the little minx.
“Is Autumn in your room?” Margot asked, knowing the answer even as she asked the question.
“No,” Finn said. “She went back to the groomsmen’s house with H.W.”
Margot nodded. So Nick and Finn had shared Jenna’s room, which was why Jenna had crawled into bed with Margot and Ellie. Autumn had gone home with H.W. This was FINE because both Autumn and H.W. were SINGLE. Everyone did understand the difference, right?
“Good for Autumn,” Margot said. She left Nick and Finn in the kitchen and trudged back up the stairs to Jenna’s room.
In the hallway, she bumped into her father, who had showered and dressed. He was wearing cutoff jean shorts, circa 1975, and an orange-and-navy striped T-shirt that made him look like Ernie from Sesame Street. Margot nearly commented on the awful outfit, but he already looked morose.
“Hi, sweetie,” Doug said. “How’s everything going?”
Margot took a measured breath. She was tempted to tell him that he was going to lose over a hundred thousand dollars in wedding expenses because Stuart hadn’t been able to come clean to Jenna about his past.
Margot gave her father a tight smile. He was, most likely, headed down to the kitchen. What would he say when he saw Nick with Finn? Would he even get it?
“Everything’s fine,” Margot said.
Doug descended the stairs, and Margot turned the knob to Jenna’s room—no knocking, sorry, this had grown too urgent to worry about manners—and stepped in. The room was dim and empty. Jenna’s bed was mussed, but the trundle bed was neatly made. Margot saw sunlight around the edges of the balcony doors, which she opened, thinking she would find Jenna sitting on the deck, drinking her sweet, light coffee, overlooking the stage set for her beautiful wedding.