Chương 14
It was accurate.
I was not ready for how final it sounded.
Marcus said, "Agreed."
I leaned against the kitchen counter.
"What about the wedding?"
"What about it?"
"There are almost a hundred people expecting to attend."
Marcus looked at me.
"Then tell them it is canceled."
I thought about Aunt Vivian flying in from Arizona.
My studio staff had rented a van.
Grant's cousins had booked rooms.
The caterer had already ordered enough meat to feed a small military unit.
None of that created an obligation to marry him.
It did create a mess.
By four o'clock, I started making calls.
The first was Pastor Thomas.
He listened without interrupting.
When I finished, he said, "I am glad you told me before tomorrow."
"Saturday."
He paused.
"Yes."
I laughed despite myself.
Apparently even my pastor was losing track of the date.
He offered to notify the chapel staff and asked whether I wanted him to tell guests the ceremony was canceled.
"No."
I surprised myself with the answer.
The next call was harder.
Grant's sister, Meredith, answered cheerfully.
"Please tell me Colleen finally agreed to stop rearranging tables."
"The wedding is off."
Silence.
"What?"
"I'm not marrying Grant."
Another silence.
Then Meredith said, "Is he alive?"
"Yes."
"Did somebody cheat?"
"No."
"Are the kids okay?"
"Yes."
She exhaled.
"Then I don't know what to ask."
"You don't have to ask anything."
"Mara, I'm his sister."
"I know."
"What happened?"
I looked through the kitchen window at the locksmith packing his tools.
"He lied to me about money."
Meredith was silent for so long that I checked the screen to make sure the call had not dropped.
Finally, she said, "How much?"
The question chilled me.
"Why did you ask it that way?"
"No reason."
"Meredith."
She breathed out slowly.
"Grant borrowed twelve thousand from me in May."
I closed my eyes.
"What did he say it was for?"
"A tax issue."
"Did he repay you?"
"No."
"Did Colleen know?"
"I don't know."
Her voice became defensive.
"And before you ask, I didn't tell you because he made me promise."
"I wasn't going to ask."
"Yes, you were."
She was right.
I sat down.
"Are you coming tomorrow?"
"To what?"
I looked at the dining room where boxes of sage-green place cards waited beneath the window.
"I don't know yet."
By six, word had spread farther than I intended.
People texted.
Some were gentle.
Some were curious.
Two asked whether the wedding might merely be postponed.
One relative sent a paragraph about forgiveness before she knew what needed forgiving.
Elena called and offered to answer everyone for me.
I let her.
At seven, the caterer called.
His name was Leon, and he sounded deeply practical.
"I've got a lot of pork committed to your life choices."
I pressed my fingers to my forehead.
"I know."
"Want me to cancel delivery?"
I looked toward the stairs.
"No."
"You still want the food?"
"I paid for it."
"You did."
"Can you bring it to the barn as planned?"
There was a pause.
"Sure."
"And the cake?"
"Also already made."
"Bring that too."
Leon cleared his throat.
"So we're feeding people?"
"I think so."
Marcus, listening from the table, stared at me.
After I hung up, he said, "What are you doing?"
"I don't know yet."
"That is becoming a theme."
I looked at the children's school backpacks piled near the mudroom.
Then at the boxes of decorations.
Then at the stone wall outside that my grandfather had rebuilt twice because he refused to admit the first mortar mix was wrong.
"I'm not letting Grant decide what tomorrow means."
"Saturday."
"Stop."
Marcus smiled for the first time all afternoon.
The rehearsal never happened.
Instead, we ate pizza on the living-room floor because nobody had remembered dinner until almost eight.
Maisie picked mushrooms off her slices and stacked them on June's plate.
June ate them without complaint.
Caleb watched me more than he watched the movie.
At nine thirty, my phone rang from an unfamiliar number.
Marcus checked the area code.
"Answer."
A woman introduced herself as counsel for Holloway Restoration Group.
She was careful, almost painfully so.
She said she understood that I had recently been contacted by Grant about a personal transfer of funds.
I looked at Marcus.
"Yes."
"Did he describe the purpose?"
"He said it concerned a vendor payment."
"Did he identify the vendor?"
"Kepler Millwork."
There was a pause on her end.
"Did you transfer any money?"
"No."
"Did he provide documentation?"
"No."
Another pause.
"Did he ask you to keep the transfer confidential?"
"No."
That answer mattered.
She asked whether Grant had ever discussed Holloway Strategic Projects with me before that day.
I told her the truth.
Then she asked something I had not expected.
"Has Mr. Holloway ever used your architecture firm to approve invoices or verify completed work?"
"No."
"Has he had access to your company email?"
"I don't think so."
Marcus immediately wrote, CHANGE PASSWORDS.
I nodded.
The lawyer did not tell me what Grant had allegedly done.
She did not ask about the open call.
She thanked me and said someone might contact me again.
That was all.
Afterward, Marcus said, "Notice how boring actual investigations are."
"Extremely."
"No deputies bursting through windows."
"Very disappointing."
He looked at me.
"You joke when you're exhausted."
"I've had a long day."
"You've had a long relationship."
That shut me up.
The next morning, Saturday arrived anyway.
There was no dramatic storm.
No ominous sky.
Just clear September light and a woodpecker attacking the maple outside my bedroom at six forty-five.
For several seconds after waking, I forgot.
Then I saw the ivory dress hanging across the guest-room doorway.
I had moved it there two nights earlier.
I stood in the hall looking at it.
June appeared beside me carrying a bowl of cereal.
"Are you wearing it?"
"I don't know."
"It's pretty."
"That is unfortunately still true."
May you like
She ate another spoonful.
"If you don't wear it, that's okay."
