51. Rehearsals & Speeches & Baths & Shit
CARTER
The sun is warm on my face, the slight breeze ruffling my hair. A chipmunk darts out from behind a tree and stands on its hind legs, tilting its head as it looks at me. This is the third time he’s done this, like he wants something from me.
“I don’t have any food for you. I’m sorry, little buddy.”
I watch him climb a headstone only to slide down the other side of it, squeaking all the while like he’s having the time of his life. Dublin lifts his head off my lap, looking from me to the chipmunk then back again, like he wants to join in on the fun.
It’s quiet here today but I’d guess most people spend their Saturday mornings in bed, not with the dead.
Until a month ago, I’d been here once, seven-and-a-half years ago, the only day I had to be. For the most part, this isn’t where I feel my dad, and Olivia says that’s okay.
Yet here I am, sitting on a bench directly across from his grave, the same place I’ve been every day this week.
Ironically, it’s been the only place I’ve found a sense of peace this week, other than in Olivia’s arms. Being at the house has been hard because it feels less like a home than it ever has.
Everything is a reminder of the person missing that makes it a home.
When I woke with her cheek pressed to my chest on Thursday morning, I knew everything would be okay, but it was still hard to say good-bye, to watch her walk into that school for her last day before Cara whisked her away to the resort for some pampering.
Which means the house is still empty, and Dublin and I are equally as grumpy about her absence.
So I spend my days here and at Hank’s. Hank is quiet, in the way I need rather than the way I hate. He lets me just be, lets me feel what I need to feel.
That I would have never met Hank if my dad didn’t die isn’t lost on me.
I don’t know where I’d be without him; he’s consistently been there every step of the way in whatever capacity I’ve needed.
He says he reads me like an instruction manual, which is exactly right.
He knows what I need by the air I carry around with me when I’m with him.
Sometimes it’s not what I want, but always what I need.
The time on my watch tells me I need to get home, so I stand and place my hand on the marble stone.
“I promise I’m going to make you proud, and myself. I love you.”
Dublin gives a little woof of agreement before we head back to the car, and I load him in the back. I don’t know why I bother; he hops up front the second I climb behind the wheel.
Adam’s truck is in the driveway when I get home, and he, Garrett, and Adam’s dog, Bear, are lounging on the front porch.
I had to change the lock code on my door. I get that people want to check up on me, and I appreciate it, but the constant visitors popping in and out became too much. Every time I came home it was to people sprawled out on couches, going through cupboards, eating at my counter.
It’s not necessarily that I mind, but that I’ve needed some space, a break from the voices constantly in my ear. I’ve needed to feel what I’ve needed to feel, and I can’t do that when I’m surrounded by people all the time who want to make sure I’m not feeling too much .
There was also the one photographer who followed me up the driveway postwalk with Dublin. Two hours later, there were pictures of me punching in three out of four numbers, followed by a photo of me screaming at him to get off my property. Talk about an invasion of privacy.
“When do we get lock code privileges back?” Garrett asks, following me inside.
“When you stop eating my chips when I’m not home.”
Dublin and Bear immediately engage in a wrestling match, right there in the middle of the hallway, and I make a mental note to ask Olivia if she feels like getting a second dog.
“It could be worse.” Garrett opens my pantry, pulls out a loaf of rye bread, and pops two slices in the toaster. “I could be eating your Oreos.”
“And then we’d be short a right-winger for next season.” I flail a hand toward him as he pulls out the peanut butter and jam. “Do you not have food at home?”
“Hung-wy again,” he mumbles around a spoonful of peanut butter.
Adam’s watching me, grinning.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He lifts a shoulder. “I’m just happy for you. And proud of you.”
“I didn’t do anything,” I mumble. “It was Olivia.”
“That’s not true. You made the report. You put her first and you swallowed your pride and begged her to hold on while you figured it out.”
“Yeah, buddy.” Garrett smooshes his bread together and takes a massive bite, devouring half his sandwich as he slings an arm around my shoulders.
“We’re proud of ya.” He snickers. “Plus, Adam was so mad when she-who-must-not-be-named called him from jail, he told her to go fuck herself and move back to Denver. Angry Adam is so rare, I cherish every moment I get with him.”
Adam’s face blazes as he rubs the back of his neck, but before he ducks his head, I catch sight of that smile, and fuck me, I smile too.
By the time the pups are with the sitter for the weekend, I’ve watched Garrett eat so much of my food that now I’m hungry too.
I beg Adam to make a pit stop at McDonald’s, making sure to add something special for Hank, who’s already sitting on a bench out front of the nursing home, luggage by his feet, oversized Vipers Stanley Cup Champs hat on his head, beaming grin on his face.
“All right, fellas. I’ve got my snazziest suit ready to go, so if Cara decides to ditch Mr. Brodie at the last second, no worries; I can jump in to take his place.”
I’m fairly certain dealing with Cara on her wedding day would be enough to give my old friend a coronary. I’m worried about Emmett’s health and he’s an all-star athlete.
The wedding is at the Four Seasons in Whistler, about ninety minutes away. Cara booked the venue last summer even though they only got engaged six months ago. They’ve been planning their wedding since the day they met, though.
It sounds like I’m exaggerating. I’m not. I was there the night they met. Emmett called her Mrs. Brodie. To her face . Cara ate that shit right up and they’ve been pretty much inseparable from that day forward.
The hotel is bustling when we arrive. They’ve got something like 80 percent of the rooms rented to wedding guests. Though the rehearsal dinner tonight is only for the wedding party and immediate family, most of the guests are here for the weekend or longer.
I’m not sure if it’s off to a good or bad start when we find our way down to the reception space where Emmett’s said we can find him.
He’s there, hiding in the corner with Olivia, and Cara’s walking around in a robe, slippers on, hair wrapped in a towel, screaming about fork placement and how the sunlight shining through the wall of windows is going to cause a glare on her face at the head table.
“But, Care.” Olivia takes a cautious step in her direction, but when Cara whirls around, Emmett yanks my tiny girl back to the corner with him.
“It’s just that, um, it’s not even noon yet.
It’ll be dinnertime tomorrow when you’re sitting here.
The glare won’t be the same.” She pulls Emmett’s hand from her shoulder and steps up to the window, gesturing at the sky.
“The sun will be over there, low enough in the sky that it should be a pretty shade of orange and pink by then.”
Cara blinks at Olivia. Six times. She approaches the window, gazing out, like she’s seeing what Olivia sees. Then she throws her arms around her bestie. “Oh, you’re right! Thank God.” She giggles like a hyena. “Kinda lost my head there for a minute.”
“Yeah, a minute,” Emmett mumbles, and immediately cowers back into the wall at the glare Cara shoots him. His gaze lands on the three of us, partially hidden by the door, and he tosses his head back with what sounds like a moan. “Oh fuck. Thank fucking God . I need some testosterone.”
Olivia’s entire face flushes red. She sweeps an arm out, knocking a napkin and several pieces of cutlery on the floor in a move that looks entirely intentional despite the way she claps a hand to her forehead.
“Oh no. Would you look at that? So clumsy.” She drops to her knees, busying herself for way too long with picking everything up as Cara flutters across the room to us.
I had a feeling this would happen. We haven’t had much time to talk, to decide what our next step is since she’s been cooped up here with Cara for two nights already. I know what our next step is. Pretty sure she knows too. But I’d still like to get her alone so we can put this tension to rest.
“Oh goody! You’re here!” Cara kisses our cheeks before linking her arm through mine. “I’ve got big jobs for you boys. Big jobs.” She winks at me. “Nothing too big for you. You’ve got the most important job of all this weekend. Can’t have you being overworked.”
I highly doubt she’s going to cut me any slack where work is concerned, and I’m proven right when she leads us to a room filled with chairs.
She points to the stacks of chairs with white covers next to them.
“I need these in the cocktail room for dinner tonight, covers on.” She points at the wooden chairs.
“These you can do tomorrow morning. They’re going outside to the ceremony area.
” She beckons us closer like she has a secret to tell.
“Six inches between each chair. No more, no less. Got it?”
“Are you not paying somebody to do this for you?” Adam asks the question we all want answered.
“Yes, but I don’t trust them.”
Garrett’s eyes bug. “And you trust us ?” He runs a hand through his hair before tugging on his T-shirt. “I don’t wanna be on the receiving end of your wrath if we fuck something up on your wedding day.”