grandchildren out to that tree and show them the place
where the branch had been sliced off and say, “We had to cut that branch down so we
could put up a tent for my sister Jenna’s wedding.”
Generations of their descendants would go without a tree swing in the name of this
decision.
Margot heard the whine of the chain saw. She covered her face with her hands.
Her mother hadn’t written anything about the tree swing in the notebook.
Cut Alfie’s branch?
Margot asked her.
The sound of the chain saw raised goose bumps. It felt as if the guy was about to
cut out Margot’s own heart.
She ran out the back door.
“Stop!” she cried.
The wedding was taking on a life of its own. It was the damnedest thing. A person
could plan for months down to the tiniest detail, a person could hire someone like
Roger and have a set of written blueprints such as their mother had left—and still
things would go wrong. Still the unexpected would happen.
“I can’t let you do it,” Margot said to Roger. “I can’t let you cut it.”
“You understand this means no tent?” he said.
Margot nodded. No tent. Partly cloudy, 40 percent chance of showers. A hundred and
fifty people, tens of thousands of dollars of tables, chairs, china, crystal, silver,
floral arrangements, food, and wine—all with a 40 percent chance of getting drenched.Margot fretted as she thought about the antique, hand-embroidered table linens, most
of which were the same linens Margot and Jenna’s grandmother had used for her wedding
in this very same backyard in 1943. What if those linens got rained upon? (Their grandmother
had hosted ninety-two guests at her wedding, under a striped canvas tent supported
by wooden poles. Back in 1943, Alfie’s branches would have been younger, stronger,
and higher.)
Margot knew she should confer with someone, get a second opinion: Jenna, or her father.
But Margot felt that her primary duty as maid of honor was to shield Jenna from the
treacherous obstacles that would pop up over the next seventy-two hours. On Sunday
afternoon, as soon as the farewell brunch was over, Jenna would be on her own. She
would have to face her life as Mrs. Stuart Graham. But until then, Margot was going
to make the tough decisions. She might have called her father, but her father, obviously,
had issues of his own.
Plus, Margot felt confident that no one in the Carmichael family—not Doug, not Jenna,
not Nick or Kevin—would want to see that branch cut down.
“No tent,” Margot said.
“I’ll see about the smaller tent,” Roger said.
“Thank you,” Margot said. She paused. “I don’t expect you to understand.”
“Pray for sun,” Roger said.
Margot was staying in “her room,” sharing the double bed with Ellie, who was a flopper
and a kicker. Drum Jr. and Carson would sleep in the attic bunk room with Kevin and
Beanie’s three boys, and their uncle Nick—who, if he remained true to form, wouldn’t
make it home to sleep at all. Jenna and Finn and Autumn were all cramming into Jenna’s
room, which had onetwin bed and one trundle bed; this was their choice, but it was also true that neither
Finn nor Autumn had wanted to share with Rhonda, who had the proper guest room—with
two double beds—all to herself. Kevin and Beanie would sleep in Kevin and Nick’s room
(on the Eastlake twins), and Doug (but apparently not Pauline) would sleep in the
master.
Margot hadn’t texted her father back yet because she didn’t know what to say, and
she hoped that her silence would prompt more information.
She unpacked her suitcase and Ellie’s. Ellie had stuffed hers with trinkets, homemade
bracelets, a ball of string, a stuffed inchworm that someone had brought to the hospital
the day she was born, the tape measure from the junk drawer, an assortment of dried-out
markers and broken crayons, and a tattered paperback copy of
Caps for Sale
. Ellie, Margot realized with
where the branch had been sliced off and say, “We had to cut that branch down so we
could put up a tent for my sister Jenna’s wedding.”
Generations of their descendants would go without a tree swing in the name of this
decision.
Margot heard the whine of the chain saw. She covered her face with her hands.
Her mother hadn’t written anything about the tree swing in the notebook.
Cut Alfie’s branch?
Margot asked her.
The sound of the chain saw raised goose bumps. It felt as if the guy was about to
cut out Margot’s own heart.
She ran out the back door.
“Stop!” she cried.
The wedding was taking on a life of its own. It was the damnedest thing. A person
could plan for months down to the tiniest detail, a person could hire someone like
Roger and have a set of written blueprints such as their mother had left—and still
things would go wrong. Still the unexpected would happen.
“I can’t let you do it,” Margot said to Roger. “I can’t let you cut it.”
“You understand this means no tent?” he said.
Margot nodded. No tent. Partly cloudy, 40 percent chance of showers. A hundred and
fifty people, tens of thousands of dollars of tables, chairs, china, crystal, silver,
floral arrangements, food, and wine—all with a 40 percent chance of getting drenched.Margot fretted as she thought about the antique, hand-embroidered table linens, most
of which were the same linens Margot and Jenna’s grandmother had used for her wedding
in this very same backyard in 1943. What if those linens got rained upon? (Their grandmother
had hosted ninety-two guests at her wedding, under a striped canvas tent supported
by wooden poles. Back in 1943, Alfie’s branches would have been younger, stronger,
and higher.)
Margot knew she should confer with someone, get a second opinion: Jenna, or her father.
But Margot felt that her primary duty as maid of honor was to shield Jenna from the
treacherous obstacles that would pop up over the next seventy-two hours. On Sunday
afternoon, as soon as the farewell brunch was over, Jenna would be on her own. She
would have to face her life as Mrs. Stuart Graham. But until then, Margot was going
to make the tough decisions. She might have called her father, but her father, obviously,
had issues of his own.
Plus, Margot felt confident that no one in the Carmichael family—not Doug, not Jenna,
not Nick or Kevin—would want to see that branch cut down.
“No tent,” Margot said.
“I’ll see about the smaller tent,” Roger said.
“Thank you,” Margot said. She paused. “I don’t expect you to understand.”
“Pray for sun,” Roger said.
Margot was staying in “her room,” sharing the double bed with Ellie, who was a flopper
and a kicker. Drum Jr. and Carson would sleep in the attic bunk room with Kevin and
Beanie’s three boys, and their uncle Nick—who, if he remained true to form, wouldn’t
make it home to sleep at all. Jenna and Finn and Autumn were all cramming into Jenna’s
room, which had onetwin bed and one trundle bed; this was their choice, but it was also true that neither
Finn nor Autumn had wanted to share with Rhonda, who had the proper guest room—with
two double beds—all to herself. Kevin and Beanie would sleep in Kevin and Nick’s room
(on the Eastlake twins), and Doug (but apparently not Pauline) would sleep in the
master.
Margot hadn’t texted her father back yet because she didn’t know what to say, and
she hoped that her silence would prompt more information.
She unpacked her suitcase and Ellie’s. Ellie had stuffed hers with trinkets, homemade
bracelets, a ball of string, a stuffed inchworm that someone had brought to the hospital
the day she was born, the tape measure from the junk drawer, an assortment of dried-out
markers and broken crayons, and a tattered paperback copy of
Caps for Sale
. Ellie, Margot realized with
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