Read Online Beautiful Day by Elin Hilderbrand - Free Book Online
Authors: Elin Hilderbrand
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percent chance of showers.
Emma Wilton showed up right at seven. She was a girl whom Margot used to babysit,
now twenty-five years old and between years of veterinary school. She and Margot hugged,
then remarked on how their relationship had circled around, and Margot said, “And
ten or fifteen years from now, Ellie can babysit
your
kids.” They laughed, and Margot excused herself for the blow-dryer.
She checked her phone. Nothing from Edge. What was
wrong
with him? Margot was tempted to text,
Is everything okay?
But that might come across as sounding nagging or needy—or worst of all, wifely.
Another problem with texting: it was nearly impossible to express tone. Margot wanted
to let him know that she was concerned without having him think she was asking,
Why the hell aren’t you texting me back?
Which was, of course, exactly what she was asking.
There was a text on her phone from Rhonda. Margot opened it eagerly, expecting more
drama. It said:
My plane arrives at 8:20. What time dinner?
Margot deflated a bit. It sounded like Rhonda was still coming. This was bad. This
was, in so many ways, the worst-case scenario. To have Rhonda, but no Pauline? Unthinkable.
Who would Rhonda talk to, who would Rhonda hang out with, if not Pauline? There were
no other Tonellis coming to the wedding, and none of Pauline’s friends.
Margot typed back:
Dinner is at 8.
Rhonda responded right away:
Who picking me up?
Rhonda always, in Margot’s experience, responded right away because—Margot suspected—Rhonda
had nothing to do but text back right away. She had no proper job, no other friends.
Margot typed:
Pls take a cab.
Rhonda replied:
?
Margot looked at the question mark, then burst out laughing. Of course Rhonda had
texted a question mark. She was probably wondering why Mr. Roarke wasn’t picking her
up in a white stretch limo.
Margot had sent a handful of detailed e-mails about tonight’s bachelorette party to
all involved. She had listed the name and address of the restaurant and the time of
their dinner reservation—8:00—in each message. That Rhonda had then booked a flight
that landed at 8:20 wasn’t Margot’s problem.
Was it?
Guilt.
But no, there wasn’t time.
Although Jenna’s bedroom was the smallest—the “spinster aunt bedroom,” their mother
had always called it, since for decades it had belonged to Doug’s spinster aunt, Lucretia—it
was also the best appointed because it had a deck that overlooked the backyard and
the harbor. It was on this deck that Margot and the other maidens opened the champagne.
Autumn took charge of popping the cork, since she waited tables at a beachfront seafood
restaurant in Murrells Inlet, South Carolina. The cork sailed into the yard, and Margot
watched Jenna’s eyes follow it as it landed in the grass.
Then Jenna said, “I guess I thought the tent would be bigger.”
Autumn expertly filled four glasses, and Margot reached for one. She wanted to drink
the whole thing down in one gulp, but she had to make a toast. She smiled at Jenna,
and Jenna smiled back. Jenna wouldn’t care about the tent or about Margot making a
unilateral decision about Alfie’s tree branch. All Jenna cared about was Stuart, who
would be arriving tomorrow with his people.
“To an amazing, wonderful… and
sunny
weekend!” Margot said.
The four of them clinked glasses.
Jenna said, “There
is
another tent going up, right? The one the people are sitting under?”
“Yes,” Margot said. Drink drink drink. “Tomorrow.”
“Oh,” Jenna said. “I thought it was going up today.”
“Nope,” Margot said. Drink drink drink. “It’s tomorrow.”
Jenna frowned. Margot thought maybe the issue would explode right then and there.
Instead Jenna said, “I miss Stuart.”
Finn was frowning also. She said, “At least he’s not in Vegas, getting a
lap dance.
”
Margot recalled Finn’s expression on the ferry when Scott’s name came
Emma Wilton showed up right at seven. She was a girl whom Margot used to babysit,
now twenty-five years old and between years of veterinary school. She and Margot hugged,
then remarked on how their relationship had circled around, and Margot said, “And
ten or fifteen years from now, Ellie can babysit
your
kids.” They laughed, and Margot excused herself for the blow-dryer.
She checked her phone. Nothing from Edge. What was
wrong
with him? Margot was tempted to text,
Is everything okay?
But that might come across as sounding nagging or needy—or worst of all, wifely.
Another problem with texting: it was nearly impossible to express tone. Margot wanted
to let him know that she was concerned without having him think she was asking,
Why the hell aren’t you texting me back?
Which was, of course, exactly what she was asking.
There was a text on her phone from Rhonda. Margot opened it eagerly, expecting more
drama. It said:
My plane arrives at 8:20. What time dinner?
Margot deflated a bit. It sounded like Rhonda was still coming. This was bad. This
was, in so many ways, the worst-case scenario. To have Rhonda, but no Pauline? Unthinkable.
Who would Rhonda talk to, who would Rhonda hang out with, if not Pauline? There were
no other Tonellis coming to the wedding, and none of Pauline’s friends.
Margot typed back:
Dinner is at 8.
Rhonda responded right away:
Who picking me up?
Rhonda always, in Margot’s experience, responded right away because—Margot suspected—Rhonda
had nothing to do but text back right away. She had no proper job, no other friends.
Margot typed:
Pls take a cab.
Rhonda replied:
?
Margot looked at the question mark, then burst out laughing. Of course Rhonda had
texted a question mark. She was probably wondering why Mr. Roarke wasn’t picking her
up in a white stretch limo.
Margot had sent a handful of detailed e-mails about tonight’s bachelorette party to
all involved. She had listed the name and address of the restaurant and the time of
their dinner reservation—8:00—in each message. That Rhonda had then booked a flight
that landed at 8:20 wasn’t Margot’s problem.
Was it?
Guilt.
But no, there wasn’t time.
Although Jenna’s bedroom was the smallest—the “spinster aunt bedroom,” their mother
had always called it, since for decades it had belonged to Doug’s spinster aunt, Lucretia—it
was also the best appointed because it had a deck that overlooked the backyard and
the harbor. It was on this deck that Margot and the other maidens opened the champagne.
Autumn took charge of popping the cork, since she waited tables at a beachfront seafood
restaurant in Murrells Inlet, South Carolina. The cork sailed into the yard, and Margot
watched Jenna’s eyes follow it as it landed in the grass.
Then Jenna said, “I guess I thought the tent would be bigger.”
Autumn expertly filled four glasses, and Margot reached for one. She wanted to drink
the whole thing down in one gulp, but she had to make a toast. She smiled at Jenna,
and Jenna smiled back. Jenna wouldn’t care about the tent or about Margot making a
unilateral decision about Alfie’s tree branch. All Jenna cared about was Stuart, who
would be arriving tomorrow with his people.
“To an amazing, wonderful… and
sunny
weekend!” Margot said.
The four of them clinked glasses.
Jenna said, “There
is
another tent going up, right? The one the people are sitting under?”
“Yes,” Margot said. Drink drink drink. “Tomorrow.”
“Oh,” Jenna said. “I thought it was going up today.”
“Nope,” Margot said. Drink drink drink. “It’s tomorrow.”
Jenna frowned. Margot thought maybe the issue would explode right then and there.
Instead Jenna said, “I miss Stuart.”
Finn was frowning also. She said, “At least he’s not in Vegas, getting a
lap dance.
”
Margot recalled Finn’s expression on the ferry when Scott’s name came
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