On This Day (2 page)

Now if only I can make it through this day.

A
nother wedding. Good grief, it’s the fourth one this summer, and it’s only the end of June, and, frankly, this wedding is one that I wouldn’t have minded skipping altogether, being held out in the sticks like this. What
were
they thinking? I heard that the groom’s mother, Catherine Fairbanks, had the nerve to call this a “destination wedding.” Get real. A destination wedding is Bermuda or Maui or even Malibu, if you can’t afford to leave the mainland. This place is the kind of destination that anyone with sense would go out of their way to avoid.

Even so, I am highly aware that the groom
is
the Fairbankses’ “favorite” son. And in Catherine’s defense, it was the bride and groom who picked this location. And in the groom’s defense, he is the one who’s holding up the family name. Michael has made his parents proud, whereas their older son, David, decided to take a
completely different direction. Right now I’m sitting across from David’s dowdy wife and have been unsuccessful in getting a word of conversation out of her. Not that I particularly care, since I’m sure she’s as boring as she looks, but I do like to appear socially adept to any onlookers. However, this unimpressive woman is speaking to no one. Honestly, she just sits there like a lump, looking overly hot and overly plump in that dreadful orange dress that does absolutely nothing for her skin tone. According to my husband, she and David have been a complete disappointment to the elder Fairbankses. Jim also said that it broke Catherine Fairbanks’s heart when David dropped out of graduate school about ten years ago to pursue a
career
in teaching. On top of this, he married a teacher! And everyone knows that teachers are just a step above the poverty level.

Consequently, I suppose we had no choice but to come up here and show our support for the Fairbanks family. They probably need us here to bolster their spirits. And, of course, there’s the fact that Jim recently took Michael under his wing, so to speak, at the law firm. So I suppose it’s only right that I put my best foot forward (which I do quite splendidly in these Manolo Blahnik shoes). It’s all for Jim’s sake. Appearance matters in his world. And I am oh so good at keeping up appearances.

Still, I can’t get over this location. Not an airport within a hundred miles, mind you, and it took us nearly three hours just to drive up here from town. And this inn—well, it reminds me of a bad day at summer camp, with its dusty, graveled parking areas.
Haven’t these people heard of pavement? Have they no idea what all those sharp rocks do to the soles of expensive shoes? And the rooms here are so tiny, with nothing but queen-size beds, for heaven’s sake! Who can actually sleep in a bed that small? I mean, I love Jim, but I don’t love feeling his elbow just inches from my nose—a nearly perfect nose, I might add, which cost me nearly ten grand to get just right.

I guess I should’ve been relieved when Jim stayed out so late last night. At least I got a few hours of undisturbed sleep. But I was a little surprised since he doesn’t usually go for bachelor parties. He says they’re just an obvious excuse to get drunk and act like adolescents. But then he rolls in at a quarter past three, tiptoeing so as not to disturb me. But I was already awake, since I’d gotten up to close the window just minutes earlier. The people here have never heard of air conditioning, and you must leave your windows open for half the night if you want to cool down. I’m surprised they have indoor plumbing or electricity.

I cannot imagine what these kids were thinking, to hold their wedding up here in the middle of nowhere. Oh, I suppose the lake is pretty enough, but there’s a perfectly decent man-made lake at the country club, just minutes from home. My hairdresser, who also does Catherine Fairbanks’s hair, told me that it was the bride’s family who suggested the “rustic locale for the destination wedding,” as she said Catherine put it, but then they apparently assumed the Fairbankses would also foot most of the bill, since they’re the ones with all the money. Whatever happened to the
brides family paying for the whole kit and caboodle? Kids these days! And I heard from another source, who shall remain unnamed, that it’s costing the Fairbankses a small fortune too. But maybe they write it off as a tax deduction anyway. I’ve heard some people do that, although I don’t have the slightest idea how the IRS responds.

It’s not that Catherine and Alex Fairbanks can’t afford something like this. Everyone knows they’re loaded. Even when the rest of us took a beating in the stock market, Alex bragged about how he’d managed to “move some funds around just in the nick of time.” Jim says he’s exaggerating a little. But it’s obvious that if anyone could afford to lose a few million, it would be the Fairbanks family. Now I don’t want to sound like I’m jealous, although I sure wouldn’t mind inheriting a fortune like theirs. But I do try to be happy with what I’ve got. And as long as I’ve got Jim and can afford to live in the manner I’m accustomed to, I’m a happy camper
most of
the time. Well, as long as we’re not actually camping, that is! Camping is for the birds—and the mosquitoes.

I know I’m fortunate. And my Jim is a hard worker. So I guess I shouldn’t have been all that surprised that he had to bring some work with him this weekend—after all, he is our main breadwinner. But I must admit I was a little vexed when he announced this would be a working holiday for him, not that there’s anything I particularly wanted to do up here. I hear the golf course is a bad joke, and you couldn’t pay me to go out in one of those horrible canoes. But I suppose I am feeling a bit neglected right now.

If Jim’s secretary hadn’t been on the guestlist, he might not have been so tempted to go over this big case that’s coming up next week. But, as he said, this weekend is his last chance to get completely on top of it. Jim practices business law, and I usually don’t get too involved in his cases. They mostly involve contracts and money and things I’d just as soon not know much about. Jim accuses me of keeping my “pretty head in the sand” most of the time. But that’s fine and dandy with me. I guess I’m old-fashioned in some ways. I don’t mind being “the little woman” at home. I keep our place up and make sure I’m looking my best at all times, because I realize that images are extremely important in Jim’s line of work. And I feel I’m just doing my part to keep us both looking good.

To that end, I spent the better part of the morning steaming his new Armani suit, since this hole-in-the-wall inn has never even heard of valet service! Fortunately, my Guy Laroche pantsuit is fairly wrinkle free, and it’s “dress casual” for the luncheon. But I’ll still have to go back to the room to steam the Richard Metzger dress before the ceremony this evening. Honestly, if I’d known we were coming to this mom-and-pop hotel, I wouldn’t have put nearly as much effort into our wardrobes. Still, you never know who you might run into. And the Fairbankses do have some pretty influential friends. Best to be ready for anything is always my motto. Well, anything but this fleabag hotel in the middle of the sticks. Nothing could’
ve
gotten me ready for this.

So I’m down here where a fairly nice luncheon is set up under one of those big white canopies that people like to use for outdoor wedding receptions. It wouldn’t be so bad except my spike heels keep getting stuck in the damp grass. I suppose I should’ve worn flats, but they are so unbecoming. And on top of everything else, these chairs are rather tippy on this uneven surface, or maybe it’s that second martini I sneaked in at the bar in the lodge. At least I’m seated now, even if no one, including David’s frumpy wife, wishes to speak to me.

I glance around again, trying not to reveal how uncomfortable I feel about being here without Jim by my side. Then I realize I’m not the only one without an escort. First of all, even though it’s not much, there is Laura. And then there’s that elderly woman, who looks to be nearly a hundred years old with her thinning white hair and wrinkled face—hasn’t she ever heard of Botox? She seems so out of place that I wonder if she’s even supposed to be here. Perhaps she just wandered in off the street, although that seems unlikely in this remote location. Still, now that I think of it, I haven’t seen her speaking with anyone, either. She just sits there stirring her tea with the blankest expression across her face. Perhaps she’s senile or suffers from Alzheimer’s, and perhaps her family, weary of caring for her, has dropped her off in the woods to fend for herself for the weekend. Because, honestly, I can’t imagine how someone her age could’ve gotten all the way up here on her own, and it does appear that she is alone. I can tell by the look in her eyes. My
mother used to get that look sometimes. Goodness, I hope I don’t look like that right now. I force a smile, remind myself I’m not really alone, then order a glass of wine from the waiter.

After all, Jim did promise to meet me down here for this luncheon, and he said he wouldn’t be late, either. Although he is. Still, pretending not to be irked, I smile pleasantly as an attractive woman takes the seat to my right, and immediately I notice that she, too, is alone. She seems fairly normal. Her name, she politely tells me, is Elizabeth, and she is the bride’s aunt on the mother’s side. She seems nice and about my age or possibly a bit older. At least she looks older than me, and everyone says I look quite young for forty—not that I let on about my age unless I have to.

“It’s such a lovely day,” she says in a friendly tone. And then we chat a bit. To my surprise, I feel myself relaxing around her, but that’s probably because, despite her well-put-together appearance (she could pass for someone of influence), she’s not anyone I need to impress. Just a relative of the bride’s. Although it is a comfort to me that she also is waiting for her husband to arrive.

“We seem to be a table of stood-up women,” she jokes. I laugh, but I still feel awkward with this empty chair next to mine, as if I’m the kind of woman who would come to a wedding minus an escort. I wish Jim would hurry and get here. I would’ve called him ten minutes ago, except we’re so far removed from civilized society that most of the cell phones, including mine, don’t work up here! To keep from looking too pitiful (like that pathetic Laura Fairbanks over there), I guess I’ll simply have to chum up with the
brides aunt until Jim shows. I suppose it’s better than looking lonely and forlorn by myself. And at least she’s well dressed, although I can’t quite figure out the designer of her suit.

“That’s a lovely suit,” I tell her. “May I ask who designed it?”

She laughs. “Actually it’s just a DKNY.”

I blink but try to disguise my disapproval. I hate it when people think I’m a fashion snob. “Well, Donna Karan is a nice, moderately priced designer.”

She shrugs. “I found it on the sale rack.”

I nod, wondering why she admitted as much to a virtual stranger, and then I take a sip of water, only to discover there’s no lemon, of course. Why, you’d think we were in a third-world country!

“I don’t know what’s keeping my husband,” I tell her, tossing an anxious glance over my shoulder for effect. “You know he’s Michael’s new boss.” I laugh now. “You’d think he’d be on time just to set a good example for his employee.”

She laughs too, then politely introduces me to her husband, who has just sat down. His name is Phil Anderson, a name I’m not familiar with. He’s a well-dressed and rather attractive man, but he looks slightly uncomfortable. And I can’t help but notice the stiffness in Elizabeth’s face as she says her husband’s name, almost as if she’s not entirely happy to be here with him. And
this
catches my interest. For some reason I am always intrigued by people with problems, particularly marital problems. I guess it’s because Jim and I are so incredibly happy. We’ve been married twelve wonderful
years now, and although he has grown children with his first wife, we have remained blissfully childless, which makes me feel young and carefree. But I know it makes some other couples jealous. They resent our ability to come and go as we please. And that’s another thing I enjoy, because the truth is, I love being envied. In fact, I almost start to worry when it seems I’m not. Like right now. Not only am I not being envied, but I’m nearly being ignored.

“Oh, you must be Jim Burkes wife,” the husband finally says. “Jenny’s parents speak well of Michael’s boss.”

I nod. “Yes, Jim hired Michael fresh out of law school. But that’s only because we’re such good friends with the Fairbanks family. Why, we’ve known them for, well, simply forever.”

Phil’s smile looks nearly as stiff as his wife’s, and I’m thinking this couple is in the midst of some kind of a lovers’ spat. “Is your husband coming to the luncheon?” he asks.

“Yes, we planned to meet down here. He was doing business this morning, but now I’m worried that he might’ve gone upstairs to change and decided to take a nap instead.” I giggle. “He was out pretty late at that silly bachelor party.”

Phil frowns now. “But the party was over before ten. Things sort of went flat after Michael left, and we all just decided to call it a night.”

“Ten?”
I hear the high-pitched note of my voice but am determined not to show them anything more. “Oh, yes,” I say as if I knew this. “But still that’s quite late for Jim. He usually turns in
much earlier.” The waiter notices my wineglass is empty. I smile and nod.