Save the Date

Stu hoisted his suitcase out of the cab, then walked toward us, smiling broadly. Stu looked like a slightly scrunched-down version of my dad—shorter and rounder, with less hair. Their relationship was somewhat strained by the fact that Stu had gone bankrupt twice in the last decade and my father had been the one to bail him out. “Nice to see everyone!” he said, pulling my dad into a hug and kissing my mom on the cheek, then ruffling J.J.’s hair. He noticed Brooke and held out his hand. “Hey there. I’m Stuart Grant. Uncle of this lovely bride-to-be. You here for the wedding too?”

“Um.” The cabdriver got out of his car, and I saw it was the same guy from before, the one who’d recognized the house. “Sir? You didn’t pay the fare.”

“Ah,” Stu said, nodding as he patted his pockets. He turned to my dad. “I don’t suppose you could handle that, could you, Jeff? I’m fresh out of cash.”

“We take cards, sir,” the driver called, but my uncle seemed not to hear him.

“Thanks, brother,” he said, giving my dad a punch on the shoulder. “I appreciate it.”

“Wait a second,” my dad said, shaking his head.

“I guess we thought you’d go to the Inn first,” my mother said, glancing down at his suitcase, a strained smile on her face. My mother had never been a huge fan of my uncle Stu, not since he’d invited the random strangers he’d been playing golf with the day of their wedding to attend the reception, all without telling my parents.

“I just need thirty-five fifty,” the driver said, a sigh somewhere in his voice.

“My brother’s handling it,” Stu said, clapping my dad on the back. “So I’ll just get settled in inside, how ’bout that?”

“Settled in?” my dad asked, his voice a bit strangled. “Why . . . ? I mean, what do you mean?”

“I take cash,” the driver said, raising his voice to talk over us. “All major credit cards . . . One guy even gave me a check once. . . .”

“I mean settled in!” Stu said heartily. “What do you think? I’ve come for my niece’s wedding.”

“I didn’t want to take the check,” the taxi driver went on, shaking his head. “But what was I going to do? And it worked out in the end, like, it didn’t bounce or anything, so I guess I take checks now too. . . .”

“But . . .” Linnie glanced at my mother. “We thought you were staying at the Inn.”

“The Inn?” My uncle made a forget about it gesture. “Why waste good money so that they can charge you for bathrobes?”

“They only charge you for the bathrobes if you take them,” J.J. pointed out, but my uncle kept going.

“I just figured I’d bunk with you. You know I’m not picky—just put me anywhere.”

“I can take a combination of cash and charge,” the driver continued, sounding more and more exasperated.

“I’ve got it,” Danny said, reaching into his pocket for his wallet and peeling off some bills, then handing them to the driver. As soon as the driver got the money, he started backing down the driveway, like he didn’t want to spend any more time with us than he had to.

“We have to get going to a function,” my mother said, looking at her watch again. “But—”

“I’ll get Stu settled in,” Rodney said. “And then I’ll meet you at the Pearce. How about that?”

“Thanks, son,” my dad said, giving Rodney a smile. “We appreciate it.”

“What’s this function?” my uncle asked, raising an eyebrow. “The kind with an open bar?”

“No,” my mother, father, and Linnie said simultaneously.

“It’s at an art museum,” I explained, and my uncle immediately looked less interested.

“I’ll leave you to that, then,” he said, clapping Rodney on the back. “Lead on!”

We watched Rodney and Stu heading up to the house, and when they’d disappeared inside, my mother turned to us. “Okay,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Let’s do this.”

CHAPTER 12

Or, The Family You Never Had

* * *

OKAY, IF YOU COULD ALL just smile . . . and hold it . . .” I held my smile even though my cheeks were starting to ache, as the photographer from the Stanwich Sentinel snapped away. It was all of us and Rodney, my mother in the center, holding the plaque that had been presented to her when the governor had named her, during the ceremony, a Connecticut citizen deserving of exemplary recognition. We were standing in the central lobby of the Pearce Museum, in front of the marble fountain, and I tried not to blink too much as the camera clicked.

I’d been coming to the Pearce my whole life—for school trips and special exhibits and kids’ art classes. It consisted mostly of the collection of Mary Anne Pearce, and it reflected her very eclectic tastes. I’d always loved how varied it was—how there would be a unicorn tapestry next to a Warhol, next to a Kara Walker. The museum had continued collecting after she’d passed away, but was more focused now on exhibits. I’d seen the banners for them when I’d driven past, but it had been exciting to walk up the white marble steps today and see the one hanging above me, huge and blowing back and forth in the wind—ELEANOR GRANT, A RETROSPECTIVE. 25 YEARS OF COMIC ART.

The ceremony had been lovely. Governor Walker had introduced my mother, thanking her for putting Stanwich on the map—or at least the funny pages—which was a joke that sounded like some speechwriter had written it for him, but nonetheless got a round of polite laughter. Then my mother had stood up and given her speech, thanking her syndicate and her team, and all the readers who’d been following the adventures of the fictional Grants over the years. And then she’d thanked us, her family, for being her inspiration, and also for letting her take liberties with our lives. She’d said how much it had meant for her to have her family with her today, but as she did, my eyes fell on the empty seat next to me.

A row of chairs had been reserved for us, but there was one extra, and I knew my mother had kept it aside in the hopes that Mike would show up. I hadn’t had any expectations that he would, but somehow, seeing the empty seat was bothering me more than I’d known it would, and finally I turned my back on it, angling myself slightly so it wouldn’t be in my peripheral vision.

There was a large crowd—every seat had been filled during the speeches, and while we smiled our way through the pictures, people were milling about on the other side of the lobby, where there was a bar and coffee station and waiters circled with trays of pastries and lemon squares. The exhibition would officially open after the reception was over. From where I was standing, I could see the gallery where the exhibit was, a ribbon stretched across the entrance.

“And last one, over here . . . ,” the photographer said, and I brought my attention back to him. “I think we’re good.” He pulled the camera away and squinted at the viewfinder. “If I could now get just Eleanor and Governor Walker?”

We all took a few steps away as the governor stepped forward, already smiling at my mother. I noticed his security detail, who’d been doing a very good job of blending into the background, now came a little bit closer.

Danny walked over to join Brooke, who’d been standing alone by the coffee station, and J.J., Linnie, Rodney, and I wandered away from the fountain. “Have you see the girl with the lemon squares?” J.J. asked. “I saw her like twenty times when we were getting our pictures taken and now she’s vanished.”

I looked over and saw my mother and the governor shaking hands while the camera clicked. “I think it went well, don’t you?”

“I guess I thought Mike might show up,” Linnie said, lowering her voice as though she was worried about being overheard. “I mean, I wasn’t expecting it, but . . .”

“Why should Mike do anything for someone else?” I asked, my voice coming out with a bitter edge. “Why should he think about anyone other than himself?”

“Charlie.” Rodney shook his head.

“He did come for the wedding,” J.J. pointed out. I looked around for Danny, to see if he would back me up, but he was still talking to Brooke. I glanced over and saw the photographer rearranging my mom and the governor, this time bringing my dad in—and I noticed that Andie Walker, the governor’s daughter, was starting to head in our direction.