Beth had filled the notebook hoping that she would be part of the special day, even though she would be gone. She planned the details of Jenna’s wedding even though Jenna had not yet met the man who was to be her husband. Beth had confidence in Jenna. She would meet someone wonderful, and she would want a lavish, traditional wedding.
In the summertime, of course.
At the house on Nantucket, of course.
Their older daughter, Margot, had gotten married to a fellow named Drummond Bain on a cliff in Antigua with just the immediate family in attendance-Doug and Beth, Nick and Kevin, Kevin’s wife, Beanie, and Jenna. From Drum’s side, only the Bain parents had attended because Drum was an only child. That was half the problem with Drum, or maybe that was the whole problem. He had been handed things without having to earn them. Mitchell Bain was a big shot with Sony, always back and forth between New York and Tokyo. He had set up a trust fund for Drum on his twenty-first birthday. The kid had done nothing with his life but surf, ski, and zip carelessly through his money. Why had Margot fallen for him? Doug and Beth had gently expressed their reservations about Drum, but then Margot got pregnant. Doug had been sure Drum would say sayonara and run for the hills. Doug and Beth had actually wished for this to happen; they would help Margot raise the baby themselves. But Drum had done the unthinkable and proposed.
Margot had worn a flowing maternity dress to the ceremony, in a color Beth called “blush.”
Doug remembered lying in bed with Beth after Margot’s wedding. He and Beth, and Drum’s parents, Mitchell and Greta Bain, had heedlessly plowed through six bottles of wine at the reception. Kevin and Nick had pulled Drum off to the bar, and Margot had been left behind with Beanie, who was also pregnant, and Jenna, who had been only sixteen at the time. The three of them sipped sparkling water.
“She looked absolutely miserable tonight,” Beth said.
“I wouldn’t say miserable,” Doug said.
“What word would you use to describe her, then?”
“Resigned,” Doug said.
“Well, that’s perfectly awful!” Beth said. “I wanted more for her. I wanted more than a shotgun wedding, even if it is in the Caribbean.”
“Honey, she loves him.”
“It’ll never last,” Beth said.
Drummond Bain Jr. had been born, and then Carson. When Beth had died, Margot hadn’t been pregnant with Ellie yet. When Beth died, things were still okay between Margot and Drum Sr. But Beth had ended up being right, of course. The marriage didn’t last.
Doug touched the front cover of the Notebook. He opened to the first page. I wish for you a beautiful day, Jenna, my darling. You alone will make it so.
Doug closed the Notebook. The rest of it was filled with information, ruminations, suggestions: Where in the closet to find Beth’s wedding dress should Jenna want to wear it (of course Jenna would wear it) and the names of places to get it dry-cleaned and altered. Which flowers to use, which florist, what hymns were Beth’s favorites, what to say when Jenna called Reverend Marlowe and asked him to perform the ceremony on Nantucket. The Notebook contained menu suggestions and an invitation list and poems Beth had clipped that would make excellent readings. Doug knew there were more than a few “DO NOTS,” such as “Do not, under any circumstances, use Corinthians 13 as a reading. If you use Corinthians 13, you will hear a collective groan.”
Doug hadn’t read the Notebook, although he had started out with that intention. He had meant to read the pages closely, as he would have a legal brief, before presenting it to Jenna, just after Stuart proposed. But Doug had found even reading the opening letter painful. Beth’s voice was too vivid on the page, and the emotion was too raw. My hand aches knowing that it will not be squeezing your hand just before you walk down the aisle. Doug realized there were stories and memories, bits of Carmichael family lore-some of which he might have forgotten-interspersed throughout. It would be excruciating for him to read the pages that he’d watched Beth furiously scribbling, right up until the very end, when hospice arrived and the morphine made it difficult for her to hold a pen, much less write anything. Furthermore, the Notebook hadn’t been meant for his eyes. It had been meant for Jenna; it was a mother-daughter document.
Doug had, however, stumbled across the following lines: Your father is going to be a cause for concern. Margot is married, Kevin is married, and who knows if Nick will ever get married. So you’re it, the last one, his baby flying from the nest. He will take it hard. But Jenna, he will have no prouder moment than escorting you down the aisle. I saw him with Margot before they walked out onto that cliff in Antigua. He could barely hold back the tears. You must promise me that you will (A) check to see that his tie is straight (B) pin his boutonniere and (C) please make sure he has a clean white handkerchief. He will need it. Even if your father has Another Wife, I want you to do those things. Do them for me, please.
Doug had welled up when he read that paragraph. Jenna had been present when this happened. She had said, “If you think that’s sad, you should skip ahead and read the last page.”
“What’s on the last page?” he asked.
“Just read it,” she said.
“I can’t. It’s too hard.”
“I think Mom would want you to see it.”
“No,” he said. And then he had closed the Notebook.
Now, Doug thought to panic. The Notebook was here, on the counter, at Pauline’s house (even now, five years after moving in, he still always thought of it as Pauline’s house). Jenna was on Nantucket. It was the Thursday before the wedding. Two days before.
He pulled his cell phone out of his briefcase. He had an iPhone, purchased for him by his children, all of whom used iPhones themselves. Doug had been a BlackBerry user for years, Edge was a BlackBerry user, all self-respecting attorneys were BlackBerry users. iPhones were toys. But the children had bought him this iPhone, and Margot had shown him how to use it and demonstrated how easy it was to text. Then Drum Jr. had gotten one, and Kevin’s oldest son, Brandon, had gotten one, and Doug liked the idea of being able to communicate with his grandsons. He found the iPhone made him feel younger than sixty-four.
The face of his phone was an emergency crash site. He had four missed calls from Margot, three missed calls from Jenna, a missed call from Pauline, two texts from Margot, two texts from Jenna, a text from Edge, and a text from Drum Jr. Doug didn’t know where to look first. He decided to just call Margot.
“I have it,” he said peremptorily.
“Dad?” Margot said. “We have a crisis.”
“No, you don’t. I have it.”
“Yes,” she said. “We do.”
“I have it,” he said. “It’s here. The Notebook. I have it here, I’m looking right at it. I’ll bring it with me tonight. She’ll have it in her hands by nine a.m.”
“Dad has it!” Margot shouted. To Doug, she said, “Thank God, oh, thank God you have it. Jenna thought she left it in a cab because the last time she remembered having it was at dinner with you and Pauline at Locanda Verde, when she took a cab all the way uptown. Yes, he has it, he has it! Can you imagine how catastrophic that would have been? Okay, Dad, I’ve gotta go, because now she’s having a reverse nervous breakdown that strongly resembles the nervous breakdown she’s been having for the past thirty minutes. She’s crying hysterically, but they’re tears of relief, I’m happy to say.” Margot paused, and Doug did indeed hear sounds of female hysteria in the background. “Jesus, can you imagine what would have happened if she’d left it in a cab? And it was gone forever?”