Elin Hilderbrand - Beautiful Day

No response.

“Stuart?” Ann said.

The door opened, and there stood Stuart in wrinkled madras shorts and a white undershirt. His hair was sticking up; his eyes were puffy. It had been years since Ann had seen Stuart look anything but pressed and professional. Right now, he seemed far younger than he was. Ann was again reminded of visiting Stuart at the Sig Ep house at Vanderbilt.

“Darling,” she said. “Are you okay?”

He shrugged. “Jenna’s upset.”

Ann nodded. “I heard something about that.”

“She found out about Crissy,” he said.

“What about Crissy?” Ann said. Had Stuart seen She Who Shall Not Be Named? Had he suffered a Crissy relapse? Oh, God. Ann had prayed nightly that infidelity wasn’t a behavior Jim had passed on to the boys. “What about Crissy, Stuart?”

“Just that we were… you know… engaged…” He swallowed. “And, um, that she has Grand-mère’s ring.”

“Oh, dear,” Ann said. “You never told her that?”

Stuart shook his head. “I didn’t see the point. I can’t stand talking about it.”

Well, yes, Ann thought; the entire family shared this sentiment.

“So she knew nothing about it?” Ann said. “Nothing at all?”

“She knew Crissy was my girlfriend. She didn’t know about the engaged part. Or the ring part.”

As a state senator, Ann had had plenty of lessons in damage control. She tried to assess how bad this was. Why oh why hadn’t Stuart just told Jenna about Crissy on their first few dates, during the information-gathering period? The engagement had been brief, a matter of weeks. Ill conceived from the start! Ann had never uttered an “I told you so,” but she had been very reluctant to hand over her grandmother’s ring, even though she had always planned on giving it to the first son ready to propose. She hadn’t thought Crissy Pine worthy of the ring; Ann had been certain the marriage wouldn’t last. Crissy was a complainer (she sent back food in restaurants, she criticized Stuart’s taste in clothing, and she mimicked his accent), and she was a spendthrift (she had a weakness for anything French-champagne, soap, perfume, antiques). Ann vividly remembered the day that Stuart broke off the engagement. He came home smiling for the first time in months, and the eczema that had been plaguing him for just as long stopped itching, he said, the instant Crissy drove away. The only problem was the ring. Stuart felt too guilty for breaking off the engagement to ask for it back.

Ann had said, Well, it’s a family heirloom, a two-and-a-half-carat diamond in a platinum Tiffany setting. It’s valuable, Stuart. We sure as hell better get it back.

But the ring had never been returned. Jim had made a gentleman’s phone call to Thaddeus Pine, Crissy’s father. Thaddeus had listened considerately and then called Stuart an “Indian giver.” Next, Ann and Jim had contacted an attorney. They had spent nearly a third of the ring’s value trying to force Crissy to return the ring, but their legal recourse was limited, and Ann’s high-profile career made her hesitant to pursue the lawsuit.

Now, Ann shuddered every time she thought of Crissy Pine. Who would want to keep a diamond ring after the engagement had been broken? No one! For a while, Ann checked on eBay, hoping the ring would turn up, but it never did, leaving Ann with the disturbing vision of her grandmother’s ring on Crissy’s finger.

“Oh, dear,” Ann said. “How upset is she?”

“Really upset,” Stuart said. “Like, really.”

“As in…” Ann said. Suddenly she imagined the wedding weekend going up in flames as dramatic as the ones that had swallowed Atlanta in 1864. Jenna would call the wedding off; Ann would watch her marriage to Jim fail again, she would lose him to Helen again. It was too hideous to contemplate; Ann felt light-headed. Quaalude! she thought. Please!

The spot between her toes throbbed with pain. She hated these shoes.

“Is Dad here?” Stuart asked hopefully. “I think I need to talk to him.”

“Not here,” Ann said. “I don’t know where he is. I threw him out of the room last night.”

“You did?” Stuart said.

Ann nodded slowly and whispered, “I did.”

She and Stuart were quiet for a moment. Ryan would have demanded every detail, but Stuart wouldn’t ask a thing.

“You don’t really need Dad,” Ann said. “Maybe I could talk to Jenna.” Ann was certain this was the solution. She would convince Jenna that Stuart’s not disclosing the full story about a very brief engagement was a minor infraction. Minor! Ann would say, And believe me, sweetie, I know what I’m talking about.

“No,” Stuart said. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

At that moment, Ann heard new voices in the living room. Helen’s voice. Most definitely Helen’s voice. Ann said to Stuart, “Helen’s here. I’m going downstairs.”

Stuart said, “I can’t deal with Helen right now. I don’t care if H.W. eats my breakfast.” He shut the door, then opened it a crack. “Thanks, though, Mom.”

“Oh, honey,” she said. “I love you so.”

Ann descended to the living room. Helen had just walked in the door with a man who towered over her, which was no small feat. The man was a giant; he must have been six-nine or six-ten. He was good looking, early fifties, graying hair, wearing a pair of white Bermuda shorts embroidered with navy whales, which would have gotten him egged on any street corner south of the Mason-Dixon Line.

Helen said, “Hey, y’all! Is Chancey here? I’ve come to take him out for breakfast.”

Chance emerged from the kitchen, still wearing only his boxers. He said, “Mama?”

“Honey, your clothes.”

“Oh,” he said. “Yeah. I just got up a little while ago.”

“Chance,” Helen said. “This is Skip Lafferty, a friend of mine from Roanoke, way back in the day. Skip has a house here on Nantucket. He’s going to come with us to breakfast, then show us around the island.”

Skip Lafferty offered his hand. “Nice to meet you, Chance.” Then he waved at the rest of the room. “Nice to meet y’all.”

Ann was so relieved, she nearly levitated. She stepped forward and offered her hand. “I’m Ann Graham,” she said. “Lovely to meet you.”

Chance said, “I kind of just ate breakfast. Eggs and everything.”

“But sweetie,” Helen said, “I told you I’d be here at nine to pick you up.”

“I know,” Chance said. “But I think I just want to hang here with everyone else.”

Helen opened her mouth to speak just as Autumn stepped out of the kitchen. H.W. ’s shirt, Ann saw now, barely covered the girl’s tiny behind, and whereas ten minutes ago this might have bothered Ann, now that Autumn was displaying herself to Helen’s old friend Skip Lafferty, whose eyes were popping out of his head, Ann wanted to break out in peals of delighted laughter.

Jim wasn’t with Helen. Of course he wasn’t! Ann felt happily like an idiot.

Autumn said, “Oops, excuse me.” She winked at Skip Lafferty before scurrying up the stairs.

Chance said, “I’m not hungry. I want to stay here.”

“Honeybun,” Helen said. “Skip is eager to show us around. He has a restaurant picked out that serves the best corned beef hash.”

“But I already ate,” Chance said.

Ryan piped up. “Mom came over a little while ago, Helen, and made us all breakfast.”

Jethro appeared from the kitchen with a dish towel slung over his shoulder. He said, “Those were the best eggs I’ve ever eaten.”

Ann said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize Chance already had breakfast plans.”

Helen wrinkled her nose, maybe because her senses were assaulted by the beer-and-cigarette miasma of the house, or maybe because the circumstances were so distasteful to her. Ann, of all people, had made Chance breakfast. “Well, he did and he does, and he’s going to honor them. Chance, go put clothes on, please.”

“Sorry, Mama,” Chance said. “I’m not going.”

There was an awkward silence in the room that was so refreshing, Ann could have swum around in it for hours.

Skip Lafferty said, “It’s okay, Helen. We can just go into town together, you and me.”

Helen put her hands on her hips. “Chancey,” she said.

“I’m nineteen, Mama,” he said. “Not nine.”

Helen kept her stance for another couple of seconds. H.W. burped. Ann watched Helen debate whether or not to persist with the tough-guy approach, or beg, or give up. Helen had always worn her emotions right on her face. There had been a time, after Jim had left Helen to come back to Ann, when Helen had shown up out of the blue at Ann’s office at the statehouse. She had Chance with her; he was three years old, a towhead with skin so pale it looked nearly albino. That was the first time Ann had ever seen Chance in person.

Helen had been a mess-crying, trying not to cry, screeching, beseeching. “Please,” she’d said. “My child is younger. I need Jim more than y’all do.”

Ann had seen and recognized the particular brand of pain Helen was feeling; she knew only too well what it felt like to be left by Jim Graham for another woman.

“I don’t need him, Helen,” Ann had said. “I just love him.”

Now, Helen capitulated. She said, “Fine, then, stay.” Her voice sounded like that of a jilted lover, or maybe that was just Ann projecting. “I’ll see y’all later, at the ceremony.”

If there is a ceremony, Ann thought.

Helen took Skip Lafferty’s arm and turned to go, without a good-bye to anyone.

Just then, the front door opened. Margot Carmichael stepped into the living room. Her cheeks were pink, and her forehead was shiny with perspiration.

“Hey,” she said. “Has anyone seen Jenna?”

Something old-my wedding dress???

Something new-If you wear my dress, everything else should be new. New veil (elbow length?), white satin heels (I wore a kitten heel, but I ended up kicking them off for the dancing, anyway, which the people at the Pierre frowned upon, but I was having too much fun to care), new lacy underthings, new clutch cocktail purse.

Something borrowed-Margot’s makeup. She buys the good stuff. You might even let her do it for you; remember how she worked wonders with the green eye shadow.

Something blue-The sapphire earrings that Grammie wore the day she was married to Pop-Pop. Daddy is keeping them for you in a safe-deposit box at the bank.

She was determined to do this by herself. She would find Jenna, she would save the wedding.

She left the children with Beanie, saying she had to run some errands. Kevin, who was reading the Times at the kitchen table, huffed.

“Why can’t your kids go with you?” he said.

“Because,” Margot said. “They can’t.”

“It’s not a problem for us to watch them,” Beanie said. “They’re all happier when they’re together anyway.”

Kevin arched his eyebrows. Margot could hear his thoughts: Margot is outsourcing her children again.

He said, “What errands?”

“I need to pay my cocaine dealer,” Margot said.

He said, “You might try and get Ellie out of her bathing suit before you go.”

“Fuck you, Kevin.”

“Nice,” Kevin said.

“What do you care what Ellie wears?” Margot said. “She’s not your child.”

“She’s a girl,” Beanie said. “Girls are different. Kevin doesn’t understand that.”

Kevin eyed Beanie over the top of his newspaper. “I don’t understand that girls are different?”

“You’re trying to make me feel like a bad mother,” Margot said. “You’re being passive-aggressive.”

Kevin said, “Along with apparently not understanding that girls are ‘different,’ I have also never understood that term. ‘Passive-aggressive.’ What does that actually mean?”

“It means you’re a jackass,” Margot said. She hated acting this way; being around Kevin and Nick made her revert to twelve-year-old behavior.

Beanie pretended to search for something in the refrigerator. Margot needed to ask Kevin or Beanie for one of their cell phones-she couldn’t go on this quest without a phone-but she was so pissed at Kevin that she wasn’t willing to ask him for anything else.

“I won’t be gone long,” Margot said to Beanie, hoping this was true.

She left the house by the side door. Thank God for Kevin! she thought angrily. But she was glad to have avoided her father and Pauline, and Nick and Finn. Suddenly everyone was a land mine.

Margot had read all the Nancy Drew mysteries as a girl; she had waited thirty years to do some sleuthing of her own. How had Jenna traveled? All the cars were present and accounted for. Had Jenna gone by foot? If so, the only logical place to look for her was in town. She might be browsing in the stacks at Mitchell’s Book Corner, or maybe she’d bought a strawberry frappe at the pharmacy and was sitting on a bench on Main Street, counting the number of Lilly Pulitzer skirts that passed her by.