Wedding in Great Neck (9781101607701)

by McDonough, Yona Zeldis

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Okay.” He wished he had thought to bring a blanket for her, but, then again, it only would have gotten soaked. Betsy. Betsy could bring a blanket. Or ask someone else to. He pulled out his phone and punched in the numbers.

  “I found her,” he said when his ex-wife answered. “I found her, and she’s fine.”

  “Oh, Lincoln,” Betsy said. He could hear the relief flooding her voice. “You’re my hero.”

  Lincoln puffed at her praise. “She hurt her ankle, and she’s a little banged up, but I’ll get her back to the house as soon as I can. Have Caleb come and meet me. Tell him to go out the kitchen door, past the pool to the edge of the property and turn left. I’ll be coming back the way I came, so he can keep in touch via cell. Oh, and, Betsy—” He looked down again at the old, frail woman on the ground. “Have him bring a blanket too. A thick, warm one.”

  Lincoln lifted her easily; she was like a child in his arms. But though she was not at all heavy, the act of carrying her made him deeply uncomfortable. She had never liked him, never thought he would amount to much, and she was right: he hadn’t. And, sensing her disapproval, he had not liked her either. Yet here they were, the rescued and the rescuer, engaged in their unexpectedly intimate dance.

  “Lincoln,” she said. “Lincoln, I cannot tell you how grateful I am that you found me. How grateful and how overjoyed. If I had missed the wedding…”

  “I know, Lenore,” he said. “That would have been terrible. For all of us.” And he meant it. Lenore had lived long enough to see this wedding, and she cared so much about it. She deserved to be there.

  “I misjudged you, Lincoln,” she said as if he had not spoken. “I misjudged you, and I’m sorry.”

  “What do you mean?” he said, though of course he knew; he’d known for decades. The tooth, which had miraculously calmed down for a few minutes, had once again started unfurling its insidious tendrils of pain.

  “I thought there was something weak about you. Something vague and not quite one hundred percent. But I was wrong. You are one hundred and ten percent. You are”—she paused, and her head (it was so small, really) touched his chest—“magnificent.”

  “Thank you, Lenore,” he said quietly. “That’s very nice of you to say.” At that moment his cell phone buzzed, and he fumbled around in his pocket to get to it. Caleb. “Where are you?” he asked and then listened to his son’s coordinates. “Okay. I’m coming along that way. Five minutes, seven max, and you’ll see me. You have the blanket? And a big umbrella? Good.” He clicked off.

  “Caleb is coming to meet us,” Lincoln said.

  “I’m so glad. I was worried about him. That boy he brought with him—no good. I knew it from the start.”

  “You’re right about that,” Lincoln said. To his amazement the rain seemed to be tapering off; it had become more of a drizzle now.

  “But I was even more worried about Justine,” Lenore continued. “That’s why I went to find her first.”

  “Why were you worried about Justine?” Lincoln asked. He debated whether he ought to tell Lenore about the car, the police, and what Ohad had said. Then he decided it could wait until she was safely back at the house.

  “Justine told a lie today. And I caught her in it. But I didn’t let on. Though I think she knows that I know.”

  “And what lie was that?”

  “Maybe I’d better wait to tell you,” she said. “Not”—and she lifted her head to look into his eyes—“because I don’t trust you. But out of respect for her.”

  Lincoln nodded, wondering whether what Lenore was referring to had anything to do with whatever it was that had happened with Ohad. Well, Gretchen and Ennis ought to be back at the house by the time he got there; he’d find out more then. He rounded a corner and there was Caleb, carrying a golf umbrella that must have been three feet in diameter, and a puffy down quilt.

  “Grandma!” cried Caleb when he saw them. “Grandma, I’m so glad you’re all right!” He rushed up, dropped the umbrella, and then fumbled to retrieve it. “When Mom told me you’d gone missing, I was so worried about you.”

  “You’re a sweetheart,” Lenore said. “But I’m a tough old bird. You don’t have to worry about me. Your father”—she beamed up at Lincoln—“is bringing me home to get cleaned up. And then it will be time for the wedding! I can’t wait.”

  But apparently this scenario did not sit so well with Caleb, whose face contorted into a mask of sorrow as the tears, copious as the afternoon’s rain, began to flow. He handed both quilt and umbrella to Lincoln.

  “What happened now?” Lincoln asked. Caleb just put a hand to his eyes and continued to cry.

  “Can you answer your father?” Lenore said from her nest in Lincoln’s arms.

  “It’s Bobby,” Caleb said from behind the screen of his fingers. “He’s gone. He called a taxi to the train station and went back to the city.”

  “Well, good riddance!” Lincoln said. And Lenore added, “It’s for the best. You’ll see.”

  “No, it’s not!” Caleb said, lifting his tear-glazed face to look at them. “It’s not, because now it’s really, truly over!”

  “It’s been over for some time,” Lincoln said, ostensibly to Caleb but really to himself. “You just weren’t able to read the signals.”

  Caleb opened his mouth as if to say something. Then he closed it and walked over to where Lincoln stood holding Lenore. There was a sound, and they all turned to look. Teddy was approaching.

  “Mom told me where to find you,” he explained. “I thought you might need some help getting back.”

  “Thank you, Teddy, sweetheart,” Lenore said.

  “Good going,” Lincoln added. Teddy’s appearance was a nice surprise. His elder son could be a little self-involved; it was not like to him to extend himself for anyone else.

  Teddy and Caleb made a seat with their four arms for Lenore; Lincoln laid the blanket over her and held the big umbrella over the group. They didn’t really need it anymore, but somehow it seemed right. Then they carefully transported Lenore back to the house. On the way Lincoln saw Teddy observing Caleb, on whose face the vestiges of recent tears were still evident.

  “You okay?” Teddy asked his brother in a quiet voice. Caleb actually stopped, and Teddy, clearly unprepared, lurched a bit; Lenore swayed in their arms. “Whoa!” she said softly, and the frail arm wrapped around Caleb’s shoulder tightened.

  “Yeah,” Caleb said, clearly suspicious.

  “I’m just asking,” Teddy said mildly. “No offense or anything.”

  “No offense,” repeated Caleb.

  Lincoln listened to this small, seemingly inconsequential exchange intently. Teddy was making some kind of move toward Caleb. An overture. And Caleb had not exactly rebuffed him. Now, who would have figured on that? And who could say where it might go?

  When they walked in the door, Lincoln was given what amounted to a hero’s welcome: cheers, hugs, kisses, back-slapping, and vigorous hand-pumping from many sides. But he couldn’t linger in the moment; he had to extricate himself and left Caleb with Teddy while he went off to get cleaned up. He needed to shower again, of course. And even though his rented tuxedo awaited him, Don insisted that he take a quick look through the ample supply of jackets, slacks, shirts, ties, and shoes he kept on hand for the weekend guests who wanted to dine at the country club or one of the tonier restaurants in town and had brought only sweats and polo shirts.

  From this generous stash Lincoln had scored a white Armani shirt, a black Ralph Lauren belt, black patent leather Ferragamo slip-ons, and, most amazing of all, a tuxedo that fit better than the one he had rented back in LA. His fingers smoothed the matte satin lapels; he examined the expert tailoring of the pants. While he hated like hell taking anything from Don, he hated the idea of appearing like a schlep at Angelica’s wedding even more. “You look sharp,” Don said when he saw him.

  “Thanks for the loan,” Lincoln replied. “I
appreciate it.”

  “It’s not a loan. You might as well keep all that stuff. I sure as hell don’t need it, and it looks good on you.”

  “Thanks,” Lincoln said. “Thanks a lot.”

  “It’s nothing,” Don said, smoothing his own finely tucked shirt down over his sizable gut. “Anyway I’m the one who should be thanking you. You really came through, buddy. Saved the day.”

  Lincoln, who did not expect this, looked away, trying to determine whether he felt humiliated or flattered. Neither, he decided. It was what it was. “I’m just glad I found her,” he said.

  “Damn straight,” Don said and smacked him heartily on the back. Lincoln winced slightly from the impact; his tooth sent a silent howl of protest to his brain.

  Lincoln surveyed himself in the full-length mirror in Don’s dressing room. “I do look good, don’t I?” he said. And without waiting for Don’s reply, he left the room, ready for the family, the friends, the old, the new—ready for the about-to-unfold pageant: Angelica’s wedding.

  Nineteen

  Although Lenore resisted mightily, Betsy insisted that she submit to an examination by Betsy’s friend Azar, who was willing to come right over. Azar—plump, dimpled, motherly—had been a cardiologist back in Iran; her husband, Farid, was an anesthesiologist at North Shore University Hospital. Of course they did have two doctors already in the house, but, needless to say, both were highly distracted. And given Lenore’s age and chronic heart condition—she’d had bypass surgery a few years back—Betsy thought it wise for her to be seen by Azar.

  Azar and her husband symbolized the transformation of Great Neck: no longer the exclusive enclave of the affluent Ashkenazi, the town was now home to a significant influx of equally affluent Iranian Jews who prized its tree-lined roads and streets, excellent school system, and superior housing stock. Many of Betsy’s Great Neck friends deplored the arrival of the newcomers, but Betsy was not in their number.

  “She’s fine,” Azar said, straightening up and putting the cover on the tube of Neosporin she’d used to anoint Lenore’s scraped knees. “In fact she’s in wonderful shape for a woman her age.” They were upstairs in Lenore’s bedroom, where Lenore herself had been bundled into a large terry cloth robe and fluffy slippers and given a mug of steaming tea.

  “You see?” Lenore turned triumphantly to her daughter. “All this bother about nothing. I told you I was fine.” She drained the last of the tea from the mug and set it down.

  “And the ankle isn’t broken?” Betsy asked yet again.

  “Not broken, just sprained. She can use those crutches”—Azar had presciently thought to bring a pair with her—“to get around tonight.”

  “I don’t think I need them; it doesn’t hurt that much.” To prove her point she stood up and put some—though not all—of her weight on her foot.

  “Ma!” cried Betsy. “Would you please be careful?” She hovered anxiously, ready to catch Lenore if she toppled.

  “I’m all right,” declared Lenore, sitting down again. “Perfectly all right. And now I am going to take a bath and get dressed. But I do need some panty hose. Nude, beige—anything like that would be fine. Your little dog ruined mine.” She waved in the direction of the shredded pair on the bed. “And I need the hairdresser; would you ask her to please come up?” Lenore’s hair, which she had combed, still hung straight down around her ears.

  “I’ll send the hairdresser up as soon as you’ve finished your bath,” said Betsy. “And Pippa will get you the panty hose.” The woman had been conspicuously absent for the past hour; maybe she could actually make herself useful now. Betsy’s earlier decision to terminate her employment had lost its urgency in the face of the twin emergencies of her mother and her granddaughter. Well, one fire had been put out; now there was only Justine with whom to contend.

  “Dr. Rachlin,” Lenore said, looking at Azar. “Thank you for coming. I know it helped to put Betsy’s mind at ease.”

  As if this were all a whim of mine! Betsy silently fumed. But she had no time to wrangle with her mother now.

  “Leave the door to your bathroom partially open,” she said to Lenore. “And the door to your room too. I’ll help you get in and out of the bath.”

  “All right,” Lenore said petulantly. “But Dr. Rachlin said I was fine. More than fine—‘in wonderful shape’ were your exact words, weren’t they?” she asked. Azar nodded as she walked toward the hallway.

  “Thanks so much for coming,” Betsy said, giving her friend a hug.

  “Just humor her,” Azar whispered in Betsy’s ear. “You’ll save yourself a lot of grief.”

  After Azar left, Betsy went back to Lenore’s room and hesitated outside the partially open door. “Ma?” she called.

  “Do you have my panty hose?” Lenore, still wearing the robe, appeared in the doorway.

  “Not yet,” Betsy said.

  “I need them. We want to do those pictures soon.”

  “You’ll get your panty hose. But I wanted to ask you something important. You said you had gone out to look for Justine. Why? You never told me that.”

  Lenore sighed, an expansive sound that seemed to emanate from deep within. “I haven’t wanted to say this until I talked to her myself first. But I suppose it will all come out in the end.”

  “What will come out in the end?”

  “Right before you called everyone up to Angelica’s room, I saw Justine out by the pool digging around in the grass for something. She looked—well, she looked frantic.”

  “And why is that so strange? Maybe she dropped something, and she was looking for it,” Betsy said, puzzled.

  “I thought maybe she was looking for the ring; that’s what she was so desperate to find out there.”

  “How would the ring—if it was the ring—have gotten over by the pool?” asked Betsy. Lenore was laying out the pieces like a series of tarot cards, but Betsy could not decipher their meaning. “And how would Justine have known to look for it there?”

  “That’s what I wanted to find out,” Lenore said. “And so that’s why I went looking for her.”

  “Oh,” Betsy said. “I think I see….”

  “And there was something else—I didn’t think Bobby had taken the ring; that seemed like something Justine invented to deflect the blame. But of course now that Bobby’s upped and left, it’s possible he might have done it after all. Right from the start I didn’t trust him. Did you ever manage to talk to him about it? Or did Angelica?”

  Before Betsy could answer, the doorbell rang, and the dog began her frenzy of high-pitched yapping. “Let me see who that is,” she said, hurrying downstairs.

  There was a small crowd gathered at the door: Gretchen, Ennis, and Justine, as well as the musicians—all eleven of them—had arrived. Angelica and Ohad hired a classical group to play before and during the wedding and a jazz band to play afterward. They had shown up, improbably, together—the classical contingent having come on the eastbound Long Island Rail Road train and the jazz band in a beat-up minivan with red and black swirls spray-painted across its sides. They had been told to use the service entrance to the property, but they must have forgotten, because here they were right at the front door. Betsy squelched the urge to mention it.

  Instead she dispatched them to various places in the house or outside to set up; at least the rain had stopped. Then she turned her attention to her family, still assembled like life-sized chess pieces on the massive black and white squares of the foyer’s marble floor.

  “Justine!” She tried to gather the unyielding girl into her arms. “We were so worried when we heard about what you’d done. You could have been hurt or even killed!”

  “Well, I’m not hurt, and obviously I’m not dead,” Justine said flatly.

  “You’re being rude,” Gretchen admonished. Justine did not apologize but simply stood there rigid until Betsy let her arms drop to her sides.

  “They let her off with only a warning,” Ennis said. “They’re not going to press
charges or anything.”

  “It’s because of Don,” Gretchen added. “We have to thank him. We really do.” Betsy looked from her daughter to her estranged son-in-law. Something had happened between those two in the past hour. But what? Something that was going to knit the rift between them? Or drive them further apart? She couldn’t tell.

  “Your father found Grandma,” Betsy said. She turned to Justine. “She was out looking for you, you know. That’s how worried she was.”

  Justine remained silent, but Gretchen said, “What a relief! Where is she now?”

  “Upstairs getting ready,” Betsy said. “Which is what everyone here should be doing too; the guests are going to be arriving soon.”

  “I’m not going to be at the wedding, Grandma B.,” Justine said. “So I don’t have to get ready.”

  “What?” Gretchen and Ennis said practically in unison. “You didn’t say anything about not attending the wedding.”

  “I didn’t say anything at all,” Justine said. “Remember? I kept my mouth shut the whole drive back.”

  “Justine, why don’t you want to go to the wedding?” Betsy said. In the background, she heard the sounds of the various musicians tuning up—a violin, a cello, a trumpet, a saxophone—along with the dog, who had not stopped barking.

  “I don’t want to talk about it. And no one can make me.”

  A reply was forming on Betsy’s lips when Pippa strutted into the foyer. “So there you are!” she said, as if Betsy had been the one who had disappeared.

  “I’ve been here all along,” Betsy said. “Where were you?”

  “With Angelica of course,” was the smug reply.

  Betsy felt yet another small pinch of rejection but decided to let it pass. “Well, I’m glad you’re here now, because there’s something I need you to do. Lenore, my mother, needs new panty hose. Can you drive into town and pick her up a pair? Size extra small; any neutral shade will be fine.”

  “I really don’t think Angelica can spare me right now,” Pippa said. “The photographer is set up for the pictures, and I really should be here to oversee the shooting.” She looked around the room. “Shouldn’t you all be ready by now?”