Beautiful Day(80)

Bicycle? Margot wondered. And sure enough, when she checked the shed, the padlock was hanging loose, and the door was ajar. The bikes in the shed were the bikes of their childhood, Schwinns circa 1983, all rusted and, Margot had assumed, unrideable.

But Jenna had taken a bicycle somewhere.

Where?

Well, if Jenna was dead set on canceling the wedding, there was one person she would have to talk to.

As Margot was unlocking her Land Rover, Rhonda popped out of the house with white earbuds in.

“Hey, Rhonda,” Margot said.

Rhonda removed her left earbud, and Margot could hear the tinny screeching of Rihanna. “I’m going running!” she said, too loudly.

“Is there any way I could borrow your phone for an hour?” Margot asked. “I sunk mine on Thursday night, it’s useless, and I really need a phone this morning.” She swallowed. “Secret wedding mission.”

Rhonda’s face was uneasy as she regarded her phone. “I can’t really run without music. And Raymond is supposed to call…”

“Oh,” Margot said. “Okay, no problem.” She looked at the house and sighed. She would have to go back in and ask Beanie.

Rhonda said, “Don’t be like that.”

“Be like what?” Margot said.

“You know like what,” Rhonda said. She shoved her phone at Margot. “Just take it.”

“No, no,” Margot said. When she looked down at the phone, she saw that the screensaver was a picture of Rhonda and Pauline taken the night before at the Nantucket Yacht Club. They were standing in front of the giant anchor with their arms wrapped around each other. Pauline, in her blue suit, looked like Gertie Gloom, but Rhonda was smiling wide enough for the two of them, perhaps realizing that it was up to her to put forward a good face on behalf of the Tonellis. “It’s okay, Rhonda. I’ll ask someone else.”

“You asked me,” Rhonda said. “Just take it.”

Margot couldn’t tell if Rhonda was being passive-aggressive (whatever that meant) or genuine. Margot didn’t really have time for games or mind reading, so she accepted the phone.

“Thank you for this,” she said. “I’ll bring it back as soon as I’m done.”

“Whenever,” Rhonda said, shrugging. “Glad I could help.”

Margot considered asking Rhonda to come with her. This would then become the story of a woman and the stepsister she had never appreciated and was about to lose, as they hunted down the runaway bride.

But no, Margot wanted to do this herself.

“Thanks again,” Margot said.

“Good luck,” Rhonda said.

Margot turned the key in the ignition. The radio was playing Elvis Costello, “Alison,” and Margot thought about Griff the night before at the bar and how he had so easily identified her favorite lyrics in the other song, and she wondered what it would be like to be with someone who actually wanted to understand her, then she wondered if anyone would ever kiss her again the way Griff had kissed her, and she knew the answer was no. She was doomed to have experienced the very best kissing of her life with someone she would never kiss again.

This might have seemed like a problem if she didn’t have bigger problems on her hands.

“Why?” Stuart said as he descended the stairs of the groomsmen’s house, looking like death on a stick. “Is she missing?”

“What is it this morning?” Ryan said. “Everyone is going missing.”

“Margot!” Ann Graham said. “I hope you’re hungry. We have eggs.”

“Negative on the eggs, Mom,” H.W. said. “I just finished the ones left in the pan.”

“If you’ll excuse me.” These words were spoken by Helen, Chance’s mother, who was responsible for this whole mess in the first place. Margot was tempted to call Helen out right there and then, but she didn’t really have time for a grand confrontation with all the Grahams watching. Helen edged past Margot out the front door, followed by a very tall man who was wearing a pair of embroidered whale shorts that he must have bought right out of the front window at Murray’s Toggery.

Margot took one step into the house. She watched Helen leave, thinking, Interloper!

Stuart ran his hands over his bad haircut. “Is she missing?” he asked again. He looked green—maybe alarm, maybe nerves, maybe hangover. The house was trashed; it looked like it had hosted an all-nighter with Jim Morrison, John Belushi, and the Hells Angels.

“She went for a bike ride,” Margot said. “And I need to find her. Roger has a pressing question.”

All true. She congratulated herself.

“She hasn’t been here,” Ryan said.