Holly
Concentrating on the rehearsal dinner was just what she was trying to do when the bridesmaids returned from their outing. Thankfully, from the looks on their faces, things at the Chatham Bars Spa went well.
Sissy, tapping away on her phone, seemed to barely be listening.
Peyton/Grayson shrugged. “Fine. But no facials.”
Without looking up from her phone, Sissy interjected. “I don’t want anyone to be blotchy for my big day.”
Holly exhaled with relief. Riley, who’d caught up, still looked annoyed, though. “I was told there would be facials.”
Ignoring her, Sissy finally looked up from her screen. “So, Holly, we’re going to relax around here this afternoon. I want to be rested for the rehearsal dinner.”
“Wonderful. Would you like to go down to the beach?” Holly asked.
Each bridesmaid replied in unison.
“I’m too tired.”
“Too hungover.”
“Sunscreen interferes with my face serum.”
“Well, if you change your minds, I hear the water temperature is lovely today,” Holly told them. “Just let me know, and I’ll ask Oliver to set up beach chairs.”
At the sound of his name, Sissy brightened. “Actually, yes. Please do.” She looked to the others, who’d already deflated at the change of plans. “Get changed. We’re going to the beach.”
“But my serum?”
“You didn’t have a facial, Riley. You’re fine.”
As the girls dragged themselves upstairs to get ready, Holly called Oliver in.
“Would you please set up five chaise lounges on the beach?” She checked the notes Sissy had asked her to take.
“Facing the sun, half-moon arrangement, so they can talk but not block the UV.” She looked up at him apologetically. “As requested.”
“I’ll get right on it,” Oliver said dazedly. He looked terrible.
“Oliver, are you feeling alright?” Oliver was sturdy as an ox, and always in a chipper mood. The young man with undereye circles and moppy hair standing in front of her was barely recognizable.
“I’m fine.”
They were interrupted by the approaching thwack of flip-flops echoing on marble.
Sissy and her party had readied themselves for the beach in record time, and they sashayed into the lobby in one urgent unit.
The bride, leading the charge, wore a poppy-red string bikini under an embroidered cover-up that covered very little.
Holly didn’t catch what the others were wearing, she was so distracted by the distraught look on Oliver’s face.
“Hey there, Ollie,” Sissy purred.
When he said nothing, she pulled up in front of him like a sports car screeching to a halt. “Carry my bag?”
Linus, with a nose for detecting any flurry of bridesmaid activity, rushed in from the patio. “Ooh. Is it cocktail time, girls?” Holly did not love that he referred to them as girls, but it had the opposite effect on Sissy, who’d taken to Linus upon arrival.
“Aperol spritzes, doll,” Sissy called over her shoulder, already drifting to the door. She twirled her finger in the air. “All around.”
“Coming right up. Or down. To the beach, I mean.” Linus giggled.
Upon seeing him, the other girls rushed up and handed off their beach totes. Riley dumped hers unceremoniously at his feet. “Oh.” He snuck a look at Holly. “Shall I carry these down before I mix your drinks?”
“No orange in mine,” Peyton/Grayson said, and as briskly as they’d come through the lobby they sailed out the door.
Only Sissy hung back. Holly noted that she was walking alongside Oliver, and the moment they passed through the French doors, she slipped her hand in his.
“Do you see this?” Holly turned to Linus. “I knew they knew each other, but this is… what exactly?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, but none of it’s good.”
“Is anyone else aware of this?” Holly pressed. “Her parents? The groom?”
“M.O.B. has been steering Sissy toward Harry since they arrived, so she must have some inkling.”
“You mean Harold,” Holly reminded him. Linus was getting a bit too liberal with guest nicknames.
“Harry’s not the brightest bulb, but even he must’ve noticed.”
Holly couldn’t disagree. Harold had seemed somewhat miserable at the lobster boil the night before, though she’d pinned that down as part of his dour personality.
So far he’d proven to be about as present for his wedding weekend as he had been for the tasting, which he’d skipped in favor of a tee time.
“Maybe she has cold feet,” Holly said. “Wedding jitters. You know, that sort of thing.”
“It’s a bigger problem. She’s stopped posting.”
“Linus, I really don’t care how her social media platforms are going…”
“No, I think it’s a sign. Look.”
He turned his phone toward Holly. On Sissy’s Instagram page was a series of posts and reels, which he scrolled through.
“Here’s their arrival day. See? There’s the outside of the inn, then there’s her Prada sandal stepping out of her Porsche.
Here’s one of the cocktail hour on the patio and several of the oyster farm tour.
” He paused. “Wow, Riley never smiles, does she?”
“Linus.”
“Sorry, my point is that the last post is from this morning at the spa.”
“So? They only just got back.”
“Look how the posts have changed in the last twenty-four hours.”
Holly squinted at the series of photos. “I see cocktails and ridiculous poses and duck faces. Isn’t that basically Instagram?”
Linus pointed. “The last two posts. Look.” There was one of the bridal brunch with the party smiling and raising their mimosas in a toast as Sissy stared blankly into the camera, her expression definitely leaning toward somber.
The last post was of her at the spa in a silky white bathrobe, surrounded by her bridesmaids.
“Everyone is laughing and chatting but her. She’s looking off into the distance, like a lost puppy. ”
“Linus.”
“Well, it’s true. Sissy Sutton is all about fun. And that girl stopped having fun as soon as she got here.”
“Great.” Holly put her head in her hands. “This is going to go over like wildfire for us then, isn’t it? Influencer bride miserable at the Cranberry House on Cape Cod. Special rates if you want in on the misery!”
“This isn’t a reflection on us,” Linus insisted, “though I agree it’s not great publicity.”
“Enough. We have work to do. Deliver your beach bags and spritzes,” Holly told him, ignoring the look he gave her. “Maybe that will inspire a more celebratory post from our bride. Who knows, maybe you’ll be in it!”
Scowling, Linus hauled the beach totes over both shoulders and traipsed toward the French doors. “You say that like you care, but I know you don’t.”
The rest of the day was abuzz with activity.
The rehearsal dinner would be held in Harvest at six o’clock.
In addition to the bridal party they would be joined by other family and friends in town for the wedding.
The groomsmen, who’d rented a beach house overlooking Hardings, had spent the day at Wequassett golf course and would be coming within the hour.
The bridesmaids had come in off the beach and were upstairs getting ready.
Mr. and Mrs. Sutton had arranged a cocktail hour to welcome everyone before dinner, and Sissy had scheduled nightcaps and s’mores by the firepits for after.
Inside, the Cranberry hummed with preparations.
The florist Holly had commissioned was first to arrive with her team.
“If this is just the rehearsal dinner, imagine the wedding,” Linus mused.
Within hours Harvest was enchantingly transformed.
Gauzy bunting with strings of twinkle lights draped elegantly from each corner of the room.
The chandeliers were trimmed with delicate stalks of lavender entwined with seagrass.
Greta had arranged for a single rectangular table to be set in the center of the room, dressed in creamy linens with one long burlap runner.
Glass hurricane lanterns holding beeswax candles and wicker-wrapped vases filled with blue hydrangeas lined the runner.
The effect was elegant and intimate and wholly romantic.
“I think I’m being swept away,” Linus whispered, as he and Holly stood in the doorway.
It was everything Holly envisioned when she first toyed with the idea of hosting private events at the Cranberry. She felt the whole house sigh happily with her. “Let’s pray the night delivers,” she whispered back.
Nobody minded the flurry of photos throughout the evening; it felt necessary to capture the setting and embrace the moment.
Casual Coastal Elegance, Sissy had specified on the thick linen invitations.
Guests trickled in accordingly: there were blazers and crisp collars, lace dresses and linen suits, whale belts and deck shoes.
The cocktail hour was leisurely and lovely; everyone spread out around the inn, just as Holly had hoped.
There were grandparents in the parlor and kids on the porch; college friends sipping icy gin and tonics on the terrace.
The Cranberry had opened the very best of herself to all of them, and the family members luxuriated in her embrace.
This was what Holly had envisioned for the inn.
She stole away to the library and called Francine.
“You’re dying to come here tonight, admit it. ”
“I may be dying, given my ripe old age, but I admit to no such thing.”
“Come on over, Franny. You can bring Bee if you promise to sneak in the delivery entrance.”
“So things are going well?”
Holly smiled to herself. “I’ll let you be the judge of that.”
Maybe it was the heavy scent of salt water in the air.
Or the tiny uptick in profit they discovered when Holly and Linus reviewed the books in her office earlier that day.
Maybe it was the sentimentality that swells within when it comes to weddings.
Or maybe it was the slow-burn sunset streaking across the bay, smattering the Cranberry House with its pink afterglow.
Whatever the reason, Holly felt lighter.
And she could see it in her staff, too. Greta, despite her recent edginess, had resettled into a groove in her kitchen like a brooding hen on her nest. Linus was as chill as the icy cocktails the bartender was serving.
Holly needed Francine to bear witness to it, too.
With the dinner hour approaching, Holly went upstairs to check on the bride. On the landing she was met by the bridesmaids, a bevy of pastel cocktail dresses coming down the steps mid-conversation. Holly had to hop out of their way.
Riley: “I get dibs on the best man. He went to Princeton with my brother.”
Peyton/Grayson: “But he was flirting with me at the firepit.”
Riley: “Trust me, he wants Ivy grade.”
Peyton/Grayson: “You’re not Ivy.”
Riley: “I am by blood.”
Peyton/Grayson: “That’s not even a thing.”
Lexi: “Will both of you shut up? He’s married.”
Riley: “Oh.”
Peyton/Grayson: “Damn.”
Riley: “Still, I get dibs.”
Holly would check in on the family and then confirm service timing with Greta. Lord knew Sissy would want photo ops first. The door to the Captain’s Suite where Sissy was staying was open. Holly was about to knock when she heard them.
“What’s going on? You’ve been out of sorts all day. Everyone is downstairs waiting.”
It was Mr. Sutton. Holly stepped back away from the threshold.
“Nothing’s going on,” Sissy insisted. She paused. “It’s just a lot.”
“I’ll tell you what’s a lot: the cost for this whole weekend. Isn’t this what you wanted?”
“Yes. I guess?”
“You guess?” Mr. Sutton was silent a moment. “Is there something I’m missing here?”
Mrs. Sutton chimed in, her voice soothing. “She’s overwhelmed, Earl. Perfectly normal. She just needs a minute.”
“I’ll tell you what I need. A stiff drink.”
Holly turned down the hall just before Mr. Sutton emerged and headed in the opposite direction for the stairs. Only then did Mrs. Sutton’s voice rise. “Honey, if this has anything to do with that boy…”
“It’s not about him. It’s about me. I just don’t know anymore.”
“What don’t you know? Harold adores you. We put a down payment on the house in Greenwich. Do you not want these things?”
“It’s not about Harold or the stupid house.”
“Then what?” The desperation and frustration in Virginia Sutton’s voice wafted into the hall. Holly needed to get out of there. “What is it?”
Silence followed as Holly tiptoed by the door, praying no one would see her.
“It’s nothing, Mom,” Sissy said, finally.
“Then finish your face and get down there, please. Before your father has a stroke.”
All evening Holly kept her eyes trained on the couple like a Secret Service detail. Eventually Sissy joined the remains of cocktail hour. She stunned in a simple white silk sheath as she made the rounds greeting guests and kissing cheeks.
“Isn’t she everything?” Linus gushed. “I want to adopt her.”
He had no idea what Holly had overheard and there was no time to tell him.
Harold made a short toast to his bride-to-be; his golf score made it into the speech but nobody seemed to mind. As the sun dipped low across the water, the dining room filled with gold. Glasses clinked. Laughter emanated. Dinner was resplendent.
Francine and Bee tiptoed in through the back kitchen door, as promised, both dressed up. “You look lovely,” Holly told them.
“We’re crashers,” Bee said enthusiastically. “But we wanted to stay undercover.”
“What do you think?” Holly asked, as they peeked in the dining room.
Francine didn’t say anything at first. Holly watched her grandmother’s face light up as she absorbed the decorations, the flowers, the candlelight, the beautiful people.
“Breathtaking,” she said, finally. She turned to Holly, placing a soft hand on each side of her face.
“Thank God for young hearts and big ideas.”
On her way out, Francine stopped to admire the last bit of sun outside the French doors. “Your grandfather would be so pleased. We always wanted to fill this old house with family. And now you have.”
Francine squeezed her hand. “Now let me congratulate our prize chef before I go.”
They walked into the kitchen just as Oliver was walking out the back door, the screen banging hard behind him. There, holding what looked like a small rat, was their prize chef, tears streaming down her cheeks.