"We don't want to look as if we're avoiding them," Pam countered.
"Why? Aren't we?"
"You can't exactly blame them for what Samantha did," she protested.
"Why not? They raised her. Besides, if you were the Brewsters, wouldn't we be the last people you wanted to see right now?"
"Hmm," she said.
"Don't you think you should go over to start sending back the presents?" Mother asked.
"Surely the Brewsters can do that."
"One does want to make sure it's done right," Mother said. Translation: make sure all the family members who sent valuable or antique gifts got their stuff back safely.
"I think we should wait a day or so, Mother," I said. "I can get a head start making up some labels; I've got the index cards with the record of who sent what." Translation: the Brewsters won't be able to put anything over on us and abscond with any valuable presents.
"I imagine they've got a lot of food that they don't feel like eating just going to waste," Dad said. "Do you suppose I should go over and offer to help them with it?"
"No, Dad."
The Brewsters weren't picking up the phone or answering the door, anyway; I'd tried the one and Mrs. Fenniman the other. I left a polite message on their machine apologizing for intruding when they had so much on their minds and asking them to let me know if there was anything that needed to be done.
"I think they're packing," Mrs. Fenniman reported with glee.
The only person in the house behaving normally was Rob. Which was a little abnormal, considering that he'd more or less just been deserted at the altar. Granted, he couldn't officially start the annulment process until Monday morning, but still, you'd think he'd be spending a little time reflecting on the whole disaster. But he came down at ten, ate a hearty breakfast, and spent the day curled up in his hammock with his books and papers. Working on Lawyers from Hell, I realized.
"I thought he'd already taken the bar exam," Mrs. Fenniman commented.
"He's working on a ... related project," I said.
"He's taking this so bravely," Mother said. Dad and I looked at each other.
"You could say that," Dad said.
"If you ask me, he's relieved," I muttered to Dad.
"I agree," Dad said. "But don't upset your Mother. She likes fussing over him."
The sheriff dropped by to tell us that there had, indeed, been digitalis in the caviar at the rehearsal dinner. And that it would probably be ten to fourteen days before they released the reverend's body, which was a relief. Callous as it may sound, we had enough on our hands with the cleanup from Rob and Samantha's ill-fated wedding and preparations for Mother's event; we didn't need a funeral on top of everything else.
Monday, July 25
Monday morning, while the family legal minds dragged Rob off to begin the annulment proceedings, Mother hauled me into Be-Stitched and insisted that I be blindfolded while I tried on my bridesmaid's dress for her wedding.
"This is totally ridiculous," I said.
"Humor me, Meg dear," she said.
"Don't I always?"
All I could tell about the dress was that the material was some kind of butter-soft silk that made you want to stroke it, and that it didn't have either hoops or an excessively low-cut front. Mother was ecstatic with its appearance, which didn't reassure me in the slightest, and Mrs. Tranh and the ladies seemed pleased, which did reassure me, but only a little.
"How does it look, really?" I asked Michael, who came back to the house to have lunch with us.
"Fantastic," he said. "Really, you're going to like it."
"I damn well better."
"You really don't like giving up control of things, do you?" Michael asked.
"No, I don't," I said. "That sounds like Dad's capsule analysis of my character flaws. What else has he been telling you?"
"He thinks you intimidate most men--he's not sure whether it's deliberate or not--and on those rare occasions when you meet someone who's not intimidated by you, you run for cover."
"Really."
"He's decided that the best thing for you would be to meet the right guy under circumstances that would allow you to get to know each other as friends before the possibility of anything else comes up."
"Please tell me he's not about to start playing matchmaker," I said, wincing.
"I ... think he's perfectly happy to leave things alone for the moment. Until all the weddings are all over."
"That's fine; after the weddings are all over, I can escape."
"We'll see," Michael said.
I wondered if he was planning on helping Dad. Just great. Dad and Michael, sitting around discussing the sorry state of my love life and trying to do something about it. The idea depressed me. And seeing Jake at one end of the family dinner table--timid, bland, ferret-faced Jake--was enough to complete the depression. Mother may have good taste in bridesmaid's dresses--the jury was still out on that--but her taste in bridegrooms had certainly gone downhill.