Once Emma and the kids took off down Orange Street, Margot was left to sit and stew alone. She realized it might be a good thing if she wasn’t at the yacht club exactly on time. If Edge got there first, he would wonder where she was; he would be the one waiting while she made an entrance. This thought calmed Margot for a few minutes until she grew antsy again. She allowed herself to grow infuriated first with Kevin, then with Nick. Nick was thirty-seven years old, he was an adult, he had an advanced degree, he negotiated player contracts worth millions of dollars, he was quoted all the time in the Washington Post and even occasionally on ESPN. How could he allow himself to completely miss the rehearsal-and not only him but Finn, as well. How irresponsible!
It had crossed everyone’s mind that something had gone awry. Nick and Finn had been at least a hundred yards offshore on their paddleboards. When Margot had corralled the kids to leave, she’d shouted to Nick, and he had waved and pointed to his wrist-indicating, she thought, that he would be along in a few minutes. Maybe either he or Finn had fallen off the paddleboard; maybe they’d gotten swept out to sea, maybe they’d drowned. Jenna had tried calling and texting Finn, and Kevin had tried Nick, with no response. But of course their phones would be on the beach. Margot knew in her heart that they weren’t in any danger. Nick was too much of a competent asshole to meet with tragedy.
You can’t tell me you wouldn’t love an opportunity to vent your frustration with your family to a friendly acquaintance.
The grandfather and grandmother clocks announced the quarter hour in brassy unison. Margot closed her eyes and tried to achieve a Zen moment. She had always loved the mellow, honeyed chiming of those clocks; it was a sound particular to the Nantucket house. It was the sound of summertime; it was the sound of her childhood.
Six fifteen. Margot was the least Zen person on earth. She went to the fridge and poured herself a glass of wine.
She thought about Griff. He had come into the offices at Miller-Sawtooth in the second week of March. Griff’s first interview with Margot-for the head of product development with a pre-IPO tech firm called Tricom-had gone so well that she knew he would end up on the final slate. Griff’s third interview with the powers that be at Tricom, including Drew Carver, the CEO, had taken place on the morning after Margot had spent the night at Edge’s apartment for the one and only time. Margot had been a flustered, sex-exhausted, lovesick mess. She had spent time in the ladies’ room, trying to pull herself together-makeup for under her eyes, perfume to mask the smell of pheromones, her inner voice reflecting on what Edge had asked of her. It would really mean a lot to me, he’d said, tracing his finger along her jawbone. When Margot emerged from the ladies’ room, Harry Fry, her managing partner, had asked if she was okay. Harry had served as Margot’s champion within the company; he believed she had been blessed with “perfect instincts.” Harry must have known to look at Margot then that she was not okay, but she had stared him dead in the eye and said, “Yes, I’m fine,” because to be a woman in this business was already a disadvantage, but to be a louche, trashy woman who would be willing, perhaps, to compromise her principles for her lover was unacceptable. Harry Fry’s number one mandate-indeed, Miller-Sawtooth’s number one mandate-was that personal lives did not come into the boardroom. No individual prejudices. Ever.
Edge had asked Margot for a favor.
Edge, you know I can’t, she had said.
But once Margot had gotten into the office and reflected on the evening at Picholine and the deliciousness of waking up in Edge’s bed, she had decided that she would do anything for the man. She would have wrestled an alligator, she would have tattooed his name on her lower back.
But she had done worse.
The grandfather and grandmother clocks announced six thirty, and Margot thought, I’ve had it, I’m leaving. They do not deserve a personal chauffeur. They can walk to the yacht club. The wine had buoyed Margot a little, and she thought, I’m going to see Edge! She then wished that thinking about Edge brought her more happiness and less self-doubt.
As she stood to go, collecting her wrap and cocktail purse, she heard voices and laughter. A moment later, Nick and Finn walked into the house. Nick was carrying Finn on his back; Finn was resting her head on Nick’s shoulder.
Margot, unable to leave personal prejudice out of this particular boardroom, said, “Oh, for fuck’s sake!”
They both gazed at her, startled. Caught. Margot felt like an ugly, mean headmistress, holding a switch.
Nick set Finn down. Finn was… wow… wickedly sunburned. Her face, her chest, her back-she was fried. Margot thought about the following day when Finn would have to wear the grasshopper green dress. She would look awful in the photographs, like a frog that had been through the blender, and no amount of makeup would hide it. This was Finn at her worst, silly and careless; she was still the same seventeen-year-old girl who had left the Worthington family high and dry without a nanny after sticking it out for only thirty-six hours. But Finn’s weak character wasn’t Margot’s primary concern.
She said, “Where the fuck have you two been? You missed the rehearsal!”
Nick put a hand up. “Marge,” he said. “Don’t be like this.”
“Be like what?” Margot said, although she knew he meant shrill, strident, bitchy. She hated that she had been left to play the heavy. As the older sister, she had always played this role-babysitter, taskmaster, disciplinarian. She never got to be the goof-off or the princess. “It’s six thirty! The rehearsal started at five! We were all at the church waiting for you!”
“We got left at the beach without a car,” Nick said.
“You could have called a cab!” Margot said. “You could have taken the shuttle!”
“I ran into a buddy of mine,” Nick said. He grinned. “Do you remember Tucker? Because he remembers you.”
Margot glowered. She didn’t care about anyone named Tucker. He was probably one of the asinine idiots who used to toss her into the ocean with her clothes on at the beach parties out at Dionis.
“Tucker said he’d give us a ride,” Nick said. “But he wanted to stop for a beer at the brewery first.”
Of course, Margot thought.
“And as we were leaving the brewery, Tucker got a call from his wife, something about their new baby, the wife was freaking out, so Tucker had to boogie home, and he lives out in Sconset. He had to drop us off at the rotary.”
“I really don’t care,” Margot said.
“Finn lost her shoes,” Nick said. “And the sidewalk was hot, so I had to carry her. It was slow going.”
Margot glared at Finn. Lost her shoes?
“I’m gonna hop in the shower,” Finn said. She disappeared out the back screen door.
Nick faced Margot. “I’m sorry, Marge.”
“You suck,” Margot said. “It’s Jenna’s weekend. She and Stuart asked you to stand up for them, and you let them down.”
“It was the rehearsal,” Nick said. “I’ll be there tomorrow. Obviously.”
“And what the hell is going on between you and Finn?”
“Um,” Nick said. “Nothing? She’s just, you know, Finn, our neighbor, Jenna’s best friend, known her forever.”
“She’s married, Nick.”
“I’m aware of that, Marge.”
Margot shook her head. She could see right through him.
“I’m leaving,” she said. “I’ve wasted enough time waiting for you. You two will have to walk.”