Ann thought, And you shouldn’t have fucked her. And you shouldn’t have knocked her up. And you shouldn’t have married her.
Inviting her had merely been a generous, considerate way of dealing with the heinous predicament Jim had put them in.
She pointed to the door. “Get out,” she said.
“What?” he said.
“Get out!” Ann said. “I want you out!”
Jim took one, two, three steps in her direction, but she did not lower her finger. “I’m serious, Jim. Get out of this room. I don’t want you here tonight.”
“But Stuart…”
“What do you care about Stuart?” Ann said. “What do you care about any of us?”
“So let me get this straight,” Jim said. “You decide for some reason unbeknownst to me or anyone else to invite Helen to this wedding. It was your decision, Ann Graham, and yours alone. I was dead set against it, and I think I made that clear. And now, because Helen is here and because Chance had an unforeseen allergic reaction-where, I might add, he almost died-I am now paying the price.”
“Paying the price?” Ann said. Jim hadn’t “paid the price” the way Ann had paid the price, not by a long shot. He had come back to Ann as contrite as a man could be; he had cried, he had sent flowers, he had attended counseling with Father Art, their parish priest, he had shown up for every one of the boys’ school and sporting events with his hat in his hands begging forgiveness, he had done everything short of renting a billboard on I-80 renouncing his sins-but had he actually paid a price? Ann thought not.
She dropped her arm. “Get out,” she said quietly.
“Annie?” he said.
“Please,” she said.
THE NOTEBOOK, PAGE 19
The Cake
It has been my experience that people don’t eat the cake, or that by the time people eat the cake, they are so drunk that they don’t remember the cake. Therefore, my suggestions regarding the cake are going to be loose. You want a pretty cake; it will be featured in photos. They do a basket-weave that is very Nantuckety. Use buttercream icing-NOT FONDANT. Fondant is impossible to eat. Decorate with flowers? Sugared fruit? Ask for matching cupcakes for the kids?
My one hard-and-fast suggestion is that when you and Intelligent, Sensitive Groom-to-Be cut the cake and feed each other, you do so nicely. Maybe this shows my age, but I don’t like playing around with the cake, smearing it in each other’s face or hair. Yuck!
SATURDAY
MARGOT
Margot woke up in her bed, sandwiched between Ellie and Jenna. Her left arm was asleep. Downstairs, the phone was ringing.
Margot extracted herself by climbing over Ellie, who wouldn’t wake up unless there was an earthquake and an ensuing tsunami. She shook out her hand in an attempt to get the blood circulating again. Outside, she noted, there was blue sky and birdsong.
I wish for you a beautiful day.
At least they had that.
Margot rushed down the stairs, nearly slipping on the next-to-last step; the treads had been worn down to a satiny finish after so many years of bare feet up and down. I’m coming, I’m coming, she thought. A houseful of people, and somehow she was the only one who heard the phone? Or she was the only one stupid enough to get out of bed at-she checked the clock-6:15 to answer it.
“Hello?” she said.
“Margot? It’s Roger.”
“Good morning, Roger,” Margot said.
“You’re aware, I assume, that your sister left me a voice mail at eleven thirty last night-I’m sorry I was asleep-saying that the wedding is off?”
“Yes,” Margot said. “I am aware of that.”
“Is the wedding off?” Roger asked.
“I’m not sure,” Margot said.
“Okay,” Roger said. There was a pause and a suspicious sound of exhale. Was Roger smoking? Had Jenna’s phone call been the thing that sent him right to Lucky Express for a pack of Newports? “Will you let me know when you are sure?”
“Absolutely,” Margot said. “I will absolutely let you know.”
“Thank you,” Roger said. “I probably don’t need to add this, but… the sooner, the better. Good-bye.”
Margot hung up the phone. She would never be able to fall back to sleep, so she made a pot of coffee. She said to herself, I won’t think about anything until I have my coffee and I can sit for a minute in the sun. She would have liked to sit on the swing, but the swing was down for now. She decided instead to take her cup of coffee and the Notebook out to the bench that overlooked the harbor, the same bench where her father had proposed to her mother in 1968. Margot took in the view-Nantucket harbor scattered with sailboats, the white fence and trellis dripping with New Dawn roses. She opened the Notebook.
Invitations, wedding dress, bridesmaid dresses, dyed-to-match pumps, pearls, rehearsal dinner clambake menu (right down to the blueberry cobbler, but Margot hadn’t gotten a single bite), tenting, dance floor, flowers, antique embroidered table linens, china, crystal, silver, hors d’oeuvres, wine, dinner menus, cake, favors, hotel rooms, bands versus DJs, song lists, schedule of dances, bridesmaid gifts, honeymoon locations. There were many references to their father, including the beautiful last page. And there were many references to Margot. “Margot is the most competent woman you or I will ever know. And to butcher the old song: ‘Anything I can do, she can do better.’ ” Margot had read those lines hundreds of times; they were among her favorite lines in the Notebook. But they missed a fine distinction: Margot could do the things that Beth could do, but Margot could not be Beth. And what Jenna needed now, more than anything, was Beth.
Margot flipped through the pages to the end of the Notebook, where the ancillary material was-the list of Beth’s cousins, the brochure for Caneel Bay in St. John, the name and number of the landscaper to call should the perennial bed be trampled by the tent guys, after all.
There was no mention of Cold Feet.
In composing the Notebook, their mother had left out a few things that were really important.
Tell us what to do when we feel doubt, Margot thought. Tell us what to do when we feel anger. Tell us how to handle our sadness, Mom. We are, every one of us, paralyzed with sadness because you aren’t here today, you weren’t here yesterday, you won’t be here tomorrow.
When Jenna and Margot had first met with Roger, Margot had baldly stated the fact. “We are a family without our mother.”
Roger had nodded in that unflappable way of his, like there was nothing they could say that could shock him, like he had seen it all before.
Jenna had then triumphantly held up the Notebook. “But we have this!”
But this, Margot thought, as she closed the Notebook and headed back to the house, wasn’t enough.
Margot poured a cup of coffee for Jenna and added half and half and three teaspoons of sugar. Jenna, of course, drank it sweet and light, while Margot drank hers hot, bitter, and black. Up in Margot’s room, Ellie was jumping on the bed, chanting, “Auntie Jenna’s getting married today! Married today! Married today!”
Jenna’s spot in the bed was unoccupied.
Margot said, “Eleanor, stop that this instant. That bed is ancient, and you will break it!”
Ellie launched herself off the bed and crashed onto the braided rug.
Margot said, “Well, now the whole house is awake.”
Ellie said, “Can I go up and see the boys?”
“No,” Margot said. “I need you to do something quiet. Get your iPod and go downstairs.”
“My iPod is boring,” Ellie said.
“I don’t care,” Margot said. “I have to talk to your Auntie Jenna.”