Chapter 46
WILLIAM
The Pruitts’ house was in choreographed commotion.
Men in white T-shirts unloaded buckets of big, blowsy blooms from a truck bed: roses, dahlias, and anemones.
A mower cut across the lawn. By the porch, round tables were lifted off a pallet, their legs buckled beneath them, and carried to the reception tent, which stood proudly at full mast. Inside, four of Shay’s friends lounged in the living room, smoking cigarettes and flipping through magazines, their hair lacquered back into tight, perfect chignons, so they appeared like a company of off-duty ballerinas.
“Happy wedding day!” trilled Mrs. Pruitt, a china cup and saucer in her hand. Her face was painted and powdered, her blond hair swept up with a pearl comb, but unlike William’s mother, she was still in her loafers and pressed trousers. The men were nowhere in sight.
“Happy wedding day,” his mother returned in a cool, measured tone. Like him, she was taking stock of the room. “Is Shay upstairs?”
“I thought she was coming with you.” Mrs. Pruitt was looking at him, clearly trying to assess why he was there.
His mother sighed, and he attempted not to panic. He pictured the woman with the shaved head grabbing Shay by the wrist, Shay locked in the belly of a boat—or, perhaps worse, Shay welcoming the woman into her room.
“She’s with Grace,” one of the bridesmaids said, not looking up from her issue of Vogue. On the cover, there were phrases William couldn’t parse: the new dash, secret exercises, Paris bests. “She was running late too.”
“Really late,” one of the others—William couldn’t recall her name—said and sniggered. He recognized Katherine, who, unlike the other three, smiled at him warmly. He waved hello.
“Are you looking for the boys?” Mrs. Pruitt asked. Her arms were folded across her narrow chest, and he briefly wondered what Aunt Eleanor would have thought of her. She was so unforgiving of strangers. Empty smile, empty head.
“I just wanted to say hi to Shay before the ceremony,” he said.
“Well, I’m sure they’ll be here any minute. Andrew’s lying down upstairs, I think he had a bad oyster last night, poor thing, so perhaps you should—”
“Why don’t you wait for them on the porch,” his mother interrupted.
Mrs. Pruitt forced another smile, her hands bound, and William nodded.
He would wait outside. Of course Grace would make Shay late—Grace had nearly missed her own high school graduation, arriving a moment before her name was called, rushing up the stairs of the auditorium in a pair of heels that announced her tardiness in loud clomps. There was nothing to worry over.
On the porch, he watched a handful of men unstack wooden chairs from their towers. His right leg bounced restlessly on the limestone floor, his eyes darting back and forth from the road, so that, after a moment, all he could think to do was stand and join them.