Ann turned back to Pauline and smiled. Pauline’s nose was deep in her wineglass. Ann scrambled for something else to say, something that would lead her organically to an exit.
Pauline set her wineglass down with a sharp ching!
“Do you ever feel like maybe your marriage isn’t exactly what you thought it was?” Pauline asked.
Ann’s mouth fell open. She was wearing a sleeveless shell-pink sheath, but at that moment, she felt completely naked. Exposed. She turned her head away-she couldn’t meet Pauline’s intense, questioning gaze-and at that very second she saw Helen Oppenheimer enter the party. The crowd seemed to hush; something about Helen’s presence demanded it. She was a six-foot blonde, still as statuesque as ever, wearing a flowing, one-shouldered dress that was the brightest yellow Ann had ever seen. It was canary yellow, the yellow of a bushel of lemons, a juicy sunburst yellow. She was blinding and beautiful. Ann realized then what a terrible, terrible mistake she had made.
She shifted her gaze back to Pauline. “Yes,” she said. “I do sometimes feel that way.”
Ann stood up. Where was Jim? Just as she was about to curse him, she felt a pressure on her elbow. He was right next to her.
He said, “Okay, let’s get this over with.”
“Get what over with?” Ann said.
“We have to say hello,” Jim said.
Of course they had to say hello, but Ann didn’t want to. She wanted Helen to stand alone, ostracized, gawked at-because soon people would figure out who she was. Furthermore, Ann hadn’t rehearsed a greeting in her head. She might say, “Hello, Helen. So glad you could come.” Or “Oh, Helen, hello. Lovely to see you.” Both lies-Ann wasn’t glad Helen had come, she had been certain Helen would decline, and it was not lovely to see her, in fact it felt like having an ingrown toenail. Ann hadn’t allowed for the possibility that Helen would look so… amazing. It was devastating to admit, but Helen Oppenheimer looked better than ever. The dress was magnificent, and she was wearing a very high pair of nude patent leather heels that made her legs look a mile long. It was so unjust. Helen was the home wrecker. How dare she choose to flaunt her height and her beauty here, at Ann’s son’s wedding! Ann squeezed Jim’s hand until she was sure it hurt. It was also unjust that the person she needed to support her was the person who had caused this catastrophe in the first place.
Across the patio, Ann caught Olivia’s eye. Olivia mouthed the words Oh, shit.
“All right,” Ann said. This was her own fault. She had been intent on gloating. Now she understood why pride was a deadly sin. “Let’s do it.”
“Short and sweet,” Jim said.
Together, they approached yellow Helen. Ann’s molars were set. Chance appeared out of nowhere to kiss his mother and take her arm. Helen beamed at him and touched his face. With his height and his transparent complexion, Chance was all Helen; there was almost nothing of Jim in him.
Helen was so enraptured by the sight of her son that she didn’t seem to notice Ann and Jim until they were at her feet. She towered over Ann like a queen over a royal subject, and Ann rued her decision to wear flats.
“Hello, Helen,” Ann said. There was something else she’d meant to add, but further words escaped her. She found herself scrutinizing Helen now that she was closer to her. Helen’s skin was smooth and tanned. Had she had work done? She had almost no makeup on-just a little mascara and something to make her lips shine.
“Oh, hey therrrrrrre,” Helen drawled. She acted as if Ann and Jim’s presence at this function had caught her by surprise.
Then there was the quandary of how to physically greet her. Ann held out her hand, and Helen leaned forward and executed a double-cheek kiss. Ann thought, God, how pretentious. This was Nantucket, not the Cap d’Antibes.
Jim said, “Helen.” That was all, just her name, the barest acknowledgment of her presence. They did not kiss or shake hands.
Helen said, “I’d just luvvvvvvv a drank.” Ann had lived in Durham since her freshman year at Duke; she had heard many a variation on the southern accent, and had even developed a slight one herself. But Helen’s syrupy Scarlett O’Hara irked the hell out of her. Helen was originally from Roanoke, Virginia. She had been painting her nails and wearing hot rollers since she was six years old.
Ann said, “We’re so glad you could come.”
Helen smiled. Ann waited for a response. She waited for Helen to say, You were so kind to invite me. Thank you. But instead Helen said, “How about y’all point me to the bar?”
Ann was rendered speechless.
Helen said, “Never mind, Chance will help me find it. Won’t you, Chancey?”
“Sure, Mama,” Chance said.
Helen took Chance’s arm, and the two of them strolled off.
“There,” Jim said. “We don’t have to speak to her again for the rest of the weekend.”
“I guess not,” Ann said. She knew she should be relieved that the interaction was over, but instead she felt cheated. Where was the thank-you? Where was Helen’s acknowledgment of Ann’s largesse?
THE NOTEBOOK, PAGE 24
The Photographer
Abigail Pease. Accept no substitute.
MARGOT
For some reason it was Margot who had been chosen to go back to the house and wait for Nick and Finn to return from the beach while everyone else headed to the yacht club. Margot understood that her father and Pauline and Jenna and Stuart all had to get to the club pronto, but why couldn’t Kevin and Beanie go back to the house to wait for Nick? It was Kevin’s premise that since Ellie had to be walked back to the house, Margot should be the one to go.
“Brock has to be walked back, too,” Margot said.
“We’re taking the Grahams and the groomsmen to the club,” Kevin announced. “The pleasures of minivan ownership: seating for eight.” He patted Margot’s shoulder in the most condescending way possible and said, “We’ll see you in a few minutes.”
It would be more than a few minutes, everyone knew that, because once Nick and Finn did return, they would have to shower and change. Margot wanted to go to the yacht club to see Edge. She had been patient, she hadn’t been a sourpuss about the mortal damage to her phone, she hadn’t gotten drunk with Griff at ten thirty in the morning-but now she wanted her reward. She wanted to see Edge.
Back at the house, Emma Wilton was waiting. Margot gave her money to take all six kids down to the Strip for pizza, then to the Juice Bar for ice cream, then to the playground at Children’s Beach.
“Please,” Margot said, “try to get Ellie out of her bathing suit. She might listen to you, since you’re not her mother.”
At eight o’clock, Emma was to bring the kids home to watch a DVD. With the wedding tents set up, there could be absolutely no roughhousing in the backyard.