Beautiful Day(79)

Helen kept her stance for another couple of seconds. H.W. burped. Ann watched Helen debate whether or not to persist with the tough-guy approach, or beg, or give up. Helen had always worn her emotions right on her face. There had been a time, after Jim had left Helen to come back to Ann, when Helen had shown up out of the blue at Ann’s office at the statehouse. She had Chance with her; he was three years old, a towhead with skin so pale it looked nearly albino. That was the first time Ann had ever seen Chance in person.

Helen had been a mess—crying, trying not to cry, screeching, beseeching. “Please,” she’d said. “My child is younger. I need Jim more than y’all do.”

Ann had seen and recognized the particular brand of pain Helen was feeling; she knew only too well what it felt like to be left by Jim Graham for another woman.

“I don’t need him, Helen,” Ann had said. “I just love him.”

Now, Helen capitulated. She said, “Fine, then, stay.” Her voice sounded like that of a jilted lover, or maybe that was just Ann projecting. “I’ll see y’all later, at the ceremony.”

If there is a ceremony, Ann thought.

Helen took Skip Lafferty’s arm and turned to go, without a good-bye to anyone.

Just then, the front door opened. Margot Carmichael stepped into the living room. Her cheeks were pink, and her forehead was shiny with perspiration.

“Hey,” she said. “Has anyone seen Jenna?”





THE NOTEBOOK, PAGE 32


Something old—my wedding dress???

Something new—If you wear my dress, everything else should be new. New veil (elbow length?), white satin heels (I wore a kitten heel, but I ended up kicking them off for the dancing, anyway, which the people at the Pierre frowned upon, but I was having too much fun to care), new lacy underthings, new clutch cocktail purse.

Something borrowed—Margot’s makeup. She buys the good stuff. You might even let her do it for you; remember how she worked wonders with the green eye shadow.

Something blue—The sapphire earrings that Grammie wore the day she was married to Pop-Pop. Daddy is keeping them for you in a safe-deposit box at the bank.





MARGOT


She was determined to do this by herself. She would find Jenna, she would save the wedding.

She left the children with Beanie, saying she had to run some errands. Kevin, who was reading the Times at the kitchen table, huffed.

“Why can’t your kids go with you?” he said.

“Because,” Margot said. “They can’t.”

“It’s not a problem for us to watch them,” Beanie said. “They’re all happier when they’re together anyway.”

Kevin arched his eyebrows. Margot could hear his thoughts: Margot is outsourcing her children again.

He said, “What errands?”

“I need to pay my cocaine dealer,” Margot said.

He said, “You might try and get Ellie out of her bathing suit before you go.”

“Fuck you, Kevin.”

“Nice,” Kevin said.

“What do you care what Ellie wears?” Margot said. “She’s not your child.”

“She’s a girl,” Beanie said. “Girls are different. Kevin doesn’t understand that.”

Kevin eyed Beanie over the top of his newspaper. “I don’t understand that girls are different?”

“You’re trying to make me feel like a bad mother,” Margot said. “You’re being passive-aggressive.”

Kevin said, “Along with apparently not understanding that girls are ‘different,’ I have also never understood that term. ‘Passive-aggressive.’ What does that actually mean?”

“It means you’re a jackass,” Margot said. She hated acting this way; being around Kevin and Nick made her revert to twelve-year-old behavior.

Beanie pretended to search for something in the refrigerator. Margot needed to ask Kevin or Beanie for one of their cell phones—she couldn’t go on this quest without a phone—but she was so pissed at Kevin that she wasn’t willing to ask him for anything else.

“I won’t be gone long,” Margot said to Beanie, hoping this was true.

She left the house by the side door. Thank God for Kevin! she thought angrily. But she was glad to have avoided her father and Pauline, and Nick and Finn. Suddenly everyone was a land mine.

Margot had read all the Nancy Drew mysteries as a girl; she had waited thirty years to do some sleuthing of her own. How had Jenna traveled? All the cars were present and accounted for. Had Jenna gone by foot? If so, the only logical place to look for her was in town. She might be browsing in the stacks at Mitchell’s Book Corner, or maybe she’d bought a strawberry frappe at the pharmacy and was sitting on a bench on Main Street, counting the number of Lilly Pulitzer skirts that passed her by.