On This Day

by Melody Carlson

  Still, I can’t get over this location. Not an airport within a hundred miles, mind you, and it took us nearly three hours just to drive up here from town. And this inn—well, it reminds me of a bad day at summer camp, with its dusty, graveled parking areas. Haven’t these people heard of pavement? Have they no idea what all those sharp rocks do to the soles of expensive shoes? And the rooms here are so tiny, with nothing but queen-size beds, for heaven’s sake! Who can actually sleep in a bed that small? I mean, I love Jim, but I don’t love feeling his elbow just inches from my nose—a nearly perfect nose, I might add, which cost me nearly ten grand to get just right.

  I guess I should’ve been relieved when Jim stayed out so late last night. At least I got a few hours of undisturbed sleep. But I was a little surprised since he doesn’t usually go for bachelor parties. He says they’re just an obvious excuse to get drunk and act like adolescents. But then he rolls in at a quarter past three, tiptoeing so as not to disturb me. But I was already awake, since I’d gotten up to close the window just minutes earlier. The people here have never heard of air conditioning, and you must leave your windows open for half the night if you want to cool down. I’m surprised they have indoor plumbing or electricity.

  I cannot imagine what these kids were thinking, to hold their wedding up here in the middle of nowhere. Oh, I suppose the lake is pretty enough, but there’s a perfectly decent man-made lake at the country club, just minutes from home. My hairdresser, who also does Catherine Fairbanks’s hair, told me that it was the bride’s family who suggested the “rustic locale for the destination wedding,” as she said Catherine put it, but then they apparently assumed the Fairbankses would also foot most of the bill, since they’re the ones with all the money. Whatever happened to the brides family paying for the whole kit and caboodle? Kids these days! And I heard from another source, who shall remain unnamed, that it’s costing the Fairbankses a small fortune too. But maybe they write it off as a tax deduction anyway. I’ve heard some people do that, although I don’t have the slightest idea how the IRS responds.

  It’s not that Catherine and Alex Fairbanks can’t afford something like this. Everyone knows they’re loaded. Even when the rest of us took a beating in the stock market, Alex bragged about how he’d managed to “move some funds around just in the nick of time.” Jim says he’s exaggerating a little. But it’s obvious that if anyone could afford to lose a few million, it would be the Fairbanks family. Now I don’t want to sound like I’m jealous, although I sure wouldn’t mind inheriting a fortune like theirs. But I do try to be happy with what I’ve got. And as long as I’ve got Jim and can afford to live in the manner I’m accustomed to, I’m a happy camper most of the time. Well, as long as we’re not actually camping, that is! Camping is for the birds—and the mosquitoes.

  I know I’m fortunate. And my Jim is a hard worker. So I guess I shouldn’t have been all that surprised that he had to bring some work with him this weekend—after all, he is our main breadwinner. But I must admit I was a little vexed when he announced this would be a working holiday for him, not that there’s anything I particularly wanted to do up here. I hear the golf course is a bad joke, and you couldn’t pay me to go out in one of those horrible canoes. But I suppose I am feeling a bit neglected right now.

  If Jim’s secretary hadn’t been on the guestlist, he might not have been so tempted to go over this big case that’s coming up next week. But, as he said, this weekend is his last chance to get completely on top of it. Jim practices business law, and I usually don’t get too involved in his cases. They mostly involve contracts and money and things I’d just as soon not know much about. Jim accuses me of keeping my “pretty head in the sand” most of the time. But that’s fine and dandy with me. I guess I’m old-fashioned in some ways. I don’t mind being “the little woman” at home. I keep our place up and make sure I’m looking my best at all times, because I realize that images are extremely important in Jim’s line of work. And I feel I’m just doing my part to keep us both looking good.

  To that end, I spent the better part of the morning steaming his new Armani suit, since this hole-in-the-wall inn has never even heard of valet service! Fortunately, my Guy Laroche pantsuit is fairly wrinkle free, and it’s “dress casual” for the luncheon. But I’ll still have to go back to the room to steam the Richard Metzger dress before the ceremony this evening. Honestly, if I’d known we were coming to this mom-and-pop hotel, I wouldn’t have put nearly as much effort into our wardrobes. Still, you never know who you might run into. And the Fairbankses do have some pretty influential friends. Best to be ready for anything is always my motto. Well, anything but this fleabag hotel in the middle of the sticks. Nothing could’ve gotten me ready for this.

  So I’m down here where a fairly nice luncheon is set up under one of those big white canopies that people like to use for outdoor wedding receptions. It wouldn’t be so bad except my spike heels keep getting stuck in the damp grass. I suppose I should’ve worn flats, but they are so unbecoming. And on top of everything else, these chairs are rather tippy on this uneven surface, or maybe it’s that second martini I sneaked in at the bar in the lodge. At least I’m seated now, even if no one, including David’s frumpy wife, wishes to speak to me.

  I glance around again, trying not to reveal how uncomfortable I feel about being here without Jim by my side. Then I realize I’m not the only one without an escort. First of all, even though it’s not much, there is Laura. And then there’s that elderly woman, who looks to be nearly a hundred years old with her thinning white hair and wrinkled face—hasn’t she ever heard of Botox? She seems so out of place that I wonder if she’s even supposed to be here. Perhaps she just wandered in off the street, although that seems unlikely in this remote location. Still, now that I think of it, I haven’t seen her speaking with anyone, either. She just sits there stirring her tea with the blankest expression across her face. Perhaps she’s senile or suffers from Alzheimer’s, and perhaps her family, weary of caring for her, has dropped her off in the woods to fend for herself for the weekend. Because, honestly, I can’t imagine how someone her age could’ve gotten all the way up here on her own, and it does appear that she is alone. I can tell by the look in her eyes. My mother used to get that look sometimes. Goodness, I hope I don’t look like that right now. I force a smile, remind myself I’m not really alone, then order a glass of wine from the waiter.

  After all, Jim did promise to meet me down here for this luncheon, and he said he wouldn’t be late, either. Although he is. Still, pretending not to be irked, I smile pleasantly as an attractive woman takes the seat to my right, and immediately I notice that she, too, is alone. She seems fairly normal. Her name, she politely tells me, is Elizabeth, and she is the bride’s aunt on the mother’s side. She seems nice and about my age or possibly a bit older. At least she looks older than me, and everyone says I look quite young for forty—not that I let on about my age unless I have to.

  “It’s such a lovely day,” she says in a friendly tone. And then we chat a bit. To my surprise, I feel myself relaxing around her, but that’s probably because, despite her well-put-together appearance (she could pass for someone of influence), she’s not anyone I need to impress. Just a relative of the bride’s. Although it is a comfort to me that she also is waiting for her husband to arrive.

  “We seem to be a table of stood-up women,” she jokes. I laugh, but I still feel awkward with this empty chair next to mine, as if I’m the kind of woman who would come to a wedding minus an escort. I wish Jim would hurry and get here. I would’ve called him ten minutes ago, except we’re so far removed from civilized society that most of the cell phones, including mine, don’t work up here! To keep from looking too pitiful (like that pathetic Laura Fairbanks over there), I guess I’ll simply have to chum up with the brides aunt until Jim shows. I suppose it’s better than looking lonely and forlorn by myself. And at least she’s well dressed, although I can’t quite figure out the designer of her suit.

 
“That’s a lovely suit,” I tell her. “May I ask who designed it?”

  She laughs. “Actually it’s just a DKNY.”

  I blink but try to disguise my disapproval. I hate it when people think I’m a fashion snob. “Well, Donna Karan is a nice, moderately priced designer.”

  She shrugs. “I found it on the sale rack.”

  I nod, wondering why she admitted as much to a virtual stranger, and then I take a sip of water, only to discover there’s no lemon, of course. Why, you’d think we were in a third-world country!

  “I don’t know what’s keeping my husband,” I tell her, tossing an anxious glance over my shoulder for effect. “You know he’s Michael’s new boss.” I laugh now. “You’d think he’d be on time just to set a good example for his employee.”

  She laughs too, then politely introduces me to her husband, who has just sat down. His name is Phil Anderson, a name I’m not familiar with. He’s a well-dressed and rather attractive man, but he looks slightly uncomfortable. And I can’t help but notice the stiffness in Elizabeth’s face as she says her husband’s name, almost as if she’s not entirely happy to be here with him. And this catches my interest. For some reason I am always intrigued by people with problems, particularly marital problems. I guess it’s because Jim and I are so incredibly happy. We’ve been married twelve wonderful years now, and although he has grown children with his first wife, we have remained blissfully childless, which makes me feel young and carefree. But I know it makes some other couples jealous. They resent our ability to come and go as we please. And that’s another thing I enjoy, because the truth is, I love being envied. In fact, I almost start to worry when it seems I’m not. Like right now. Not only am I not being envied, but I’m nearly being ignored.

  “Oh, you must be Jim Burkes wife,” the husband finally says. “Jenny’s parents speak well of Michael’s boss.”

  I nod. “Yes, Jim hired Michael fresh out of law school. But that’s only because we’re such good friends with the Fairbanks family. Why, we’ve known them for, well, simply forever.”

  Phil’s smile looks nearly as stiff as his wife’s, and I’m thinking this couple is in the midst of some kind of a lovers’ spat. “Is your husband coming to the luncheon?” he asks.

  “Yes, we planned to meet down here. He was doing business this morning, but now I’m worried that he might’ve gone upstairs to change and decided to take a nap instead.” I giggle. “He was out pretty late at that silly bachelor party.”

  Phil frowns now. “But the party was over before ten. Things sort of went flat after Michael left, and we all just decided to call it a night.”

  “Ten?” I hear the high-pitched note of my voice but am determined not to show them anything more. “Oh, yes,” I say as if I knew this. “But still that’s quite late for Jim. He usually turns in much earlier.” The waiter notices my wineglass is empty. I smile and nod.

  “Right.” Phil’s brow creases, and maybe it’s my women’s intuition, but it seems the tables have turned, as if he’s feeling sorry for me now. It’s as if he thinks something is going on with my husband, something I don’t know about, and almost as if he wants to keep it that way. Like part of some boys’ club. And then that look of pity. If there’s anything I can’t stand, it’s pity. I straighten up in my chair and hold my head up high, and then, like my knight in shining armor, Jim arrives, looking very suave in his cream-colored polo shirt and khakis.

  “Hello, darling,” he says as he bends down to peck me on the cheek. “Sorry to be late.”

  “Oh, it’s all right. I’ve just been chatting with the Andersons here. This is Elizabeth, Jenny’s aunt. And, of course, you probably already know Phil.”

  Jim shakes Phil’s hand. “No, we haven’t met.”

  “But he was at the bachelor—” I stop myself, wondering if perhaps Jim hadn’t gone to the party last night. And when I see the knowing expression in Phil’s eyes, I’m sure I’m right. But I cannot bear for this other couple to observe my confusion or embarrassment over this trifle. We must, after all, maintain appearances. The waiter sets a fresh glass of wine before me.

  Just then we hear the dinging of a knife on a water glass, and it looks as if Alex Fairbanks is getting ready to give a speech. I sneak a sideways glance at my husband and wonder what he was doing until three o’clock this morning. As I’m watching Jim, I notice his eyes flicker toward the entrance, then quickly dart away. I turn to see what caught his attention, but it’s only his secretary coming in late. With the grace of youth, she slides into an empty chair at a table across the way from us.

  “Welcome, everyone!” Alex has to speak loudly since there doesn’t seem to be any sort of sound system available in this backwoods place. But it really doesn’t matter, because I, for one, am not listening anyway. All I can focus on is Jim’s young and pretty secretary, Nicole—I can’t remember her last name—as she flicks a lock of dark hair from her tanned brow, then glances over to where we are seated and just as quickly looks away. I am certain it’s because she noticed me watching her. And something in her guilty expression gives the whole thing away.

  That’s when I know exactly what’s happening. Okay, to be honest I’ve had my doubts in the past. But then things blow over, or so I tell myself, as I pretend that all is well, that I didn’t notice the sideways glance, a late-night meeting, an unexplained hang-up phone call. But here it is, the old story happening all over again. History repeats itself. Only this time I get to play the role of the betrayed wife, and someone else gets to play the cheating secretary.

  Chapter 3

  MARGARET

  Such a lovely, lovely day, and, oh my, what a beautiful place! The mountains with their snowy capes, the pretty lake the color of rare topaz, and all this lovely pine-scented air. Well, it almost takes my breath away. I must say that this promises to be quite a memorable wedding day indeed. A real event that will “go on until evening,” my granddaughter has informed me. So different from the way things were done back when I was wed. Back when a serious war was raging, and people were getting married at the drop of a hat, or a tear, or even a bomb.

  I am so thankful to be here. So thankful I’ve lived long enough to see this wonderful day. And I’m infinitely happy for my sweet granddaughter, Jennifer. She is such a darling. Always has been. There’s no denying that this angel is the apple of her grandma’s eye. I still remember the tea parties we used to have, she and I. We’d arrange her dolls and stuffed animals as our guests around the little table I’d saved from when my children were small, and we’d pour “tea” into tiny porcelain cups. Oh, it seems like only last week.

  Now here we are, in what looks like a white circus tent, with all these fine-looking people gathered around the linen-covered tables as Jennifer’s wedding guests. Hers and Michael’s, of course. Can’t very well leave the groom out of the picture. Oh, I do hope and pray he’s the right one for her. She is so sweet and down-to-earth. And seemingly unaffected by the Fairbankses’ wealth and influence. Just a good and simple girl at heart.

  “Of course, I still plan to teach kindergarten next year,” I overheard her telling one of Michael’s relatives earlier today. “I absolutely love children and teaching. It’s what I always dreamed of doing.”

  And it’s true. When we had those tea parties with her stuffed toys and dolls, she would also line them up and pretend they were her pupils as she stood and taught school with her little blackboard. So adorable.

  Alex Fairbanks, Michael’s father, has just finished a rather eloquent speech to welcome us to the events of the day, primarily this “intimate” luncheon, then some leisure time, and finally the evening wedding down by the lake, followed by a dinner. Goodness knows how much something like this must cost—although Jeannette has assured me that the Fairbankses are covering the bulk of the expense, and I suppose they can well afford it.

  “It was actually Michael’s idea to get married up here,” she told me in private. “We explained that while it sounded wonderful, it was a
bit rich for our blood, but he assured us that his parents would cover any additional costs.”

  Of course, she could simply be saying that to keep me from worrying over their financial state. Goodness, everyone has been so careful of my feelings since my most recent heart attack last March, you’d think I was made of spun glass now. But I keep telling them I feel perfectly fine, better than I’ve felt in months. And I do believe it’s true. In some ways I haven’t felt this spry since my Calvin was alive. Just the same, I haven’t really been myself since losing him. And now that it’s my Jennifer’s big day, I’m just very grateful the good Lord saw fit to keep me on the earth this long. After this, it’s up to him to decide when it’s time for me to go.

  Now it’s my son’s turn to say a few words, and knowing my Eric and his general discomfort about public speaking and intimidation over the bigwigs in the crowd, I’m sure it will be only a few words. Even so, I can’t help but smile as I see him standing up. His lanky awkwardness, all elbows and knees, as if he never quite grew into his six-foot-five frame. Oh, he’s so like his father! The way his dark blue eyes have faded to a soft sky blue, the way his hairline gets a bit higher each year, even the way he thoughtfully rubs his chin just before he speaks—so much like my dear Calvin. Oh my, how I miss him.

  Calvin’s been gone nearly a year now. Some days it seems like a lifetime since I’ve felt the warmth of his hand wrapped around mine, and some days it’s as if he just stepped out for a carton of milk. We’d been married almost sixty years when he passed away last summer. I was so surprised that he didn’t make it to our September anniversary. Even more surprised that he was called away before I was, since he’d always been fit as a fiddle and I’m the one who’s had the heart condition these past few years.