Chapter 5.

5.

We left the town in the rearview mirror and followed the highway for another mile or so. We were back in the woods, driving under a dense canopy of trees that blocked out the sun. Then the GPS ordered a sharp right turn onto a narrow single-lane road. It didn’t have a name or a sign or anything to suggest we were traveling in the correct direction. But the computer insisted we were and told me to “follow UNKNOWN ROUTE for 0.7 miles.”

I said, “This feels wrong,” but Tammy encouraged me to keep going. We descended a long sloping hill, hurtling deeper and deeper into the wilderness. The asphalt was mottled with cracks and divots and sinkholes. All the bumps were doing a real number on my suspension and I pumped the brakes, slowing my speed to twenty miles an hour. There was a giant rock in the middle of the lane, about the size of a basketball, just waiting to destroy my front axle. I swerved to avoid it, and one of my tires nearly sank into a crater.

“We’re going the wrong way,” I said. “The Gardners would never live on a road like this.”

“Let me tell you something about rich people,” Tammy explained. “They’re not all like Elvis Presley, buying mansions right in town so everyone can gape at them. Real rich people hide their money. They don’t want you to know how much there is. And they definitely don’t want you looking at it. So you have to work really hard to find their houses. Trust me, I watch a lot of HGTV.”

The trip computer was counting down the distance to our destination—eight hundred feet, six hundred feet, four hundred feet—and still no houses or buildings in sight. Just dark, dank forest stretching as far as I could see. I slowed to a stop and the computer said, “You have arrived at your destination,” which made me laugh, because we were very clearly lost.

“I told you so, Tammy. I knew we should have turned around. Now we’re going to be late for lunch.”

I cut the wheel to make a K-turn and Abigail tapped on her window. “Over there,” she said. “Do you see?”

God, it was so easy to miss: a small break in the pines and a narrow strip of gravel, winding even deeper into the woods. It might have been the access road for a utility company—except for the bouquet of gold balloons, the only clue we were still on the right track.

“Bingo!” Tammy said. “Great eye, Abigail!”

The gravel driveway was even more rutted and ragged than the road we’d left behind. The trees and bushes were overgrown, and bright green leaves smeared against our windows as we drove along. But every so often there was another cluster of gold balloons, encouraging us to keep going. I wondered how anyone navigated this driveway in the winter, when it was likely buried under layers of snow and ice.

And then the road widened, the trees fell away, and we found ourselves crossing a large grassy meadow about the size of a soccer field. There were rows and rows of solar panels on both sides of the road, shiny black rectangles angled toward the sky. And at the far end of the meadow, we arrived at a small wooden hut with a lowered gate, like something you’d see at the entrance of a state park. A tall, large man with a bushy gray beard stepped out of the hut, holding a tablet computer and waving us forward. He was my age, more or less, and wore a blue mariner’s cap and a cream cable-knit sweater, like he’d just returned from a voyage at sea.

“Welcome to Osprey Cove, Mr. Szatowski.”

I had to laugh. It was like Aidan’s apartment all over again. “How’d you know my name?”

“It’s my job, sir. I am Hugo and I am the property manager.” He had a curious singsong accent that rose and fell with every syllable. Swedish? Swiss? I had no idea. “Did everyone have a nice trip?”

“It was fine,” I said.

“Oh, Hugo, it was wonderful!” Tammy exclaimed, leaning across my lap and shouting to make herself heard. “What a glorious morning!”

“I am happy to hear that, Ms. Szatowski.” He wore a small radio in his right ear—a hearing aid, I supposed, or maybe some kind of communication device. Hugo reached inside the vehicle and stuck a small square of blue paper to the windshield. “This is your parking permit. If you could leave this up, you’ll help us tremendously.”

“We need a parking permit?”

“So we know you’re a member of the family. We have a lot of guests coming, and a lot of cars to park.”

There were two other men still inside the hut, trim muscular guys in black shirts and pants. One had a semper fi tattoo on his forearm, but even without it I would have flagged him as ex-military. There’s a certain look you get when you come of age in the service, and for the guys who roll right into law enforcement or private security, that look never really goes away.

Meanwhile, Hugo was continuing his welcome-to-Osprey-Cove speech: “Now, has anyone told you about the time difference? You’ll need to move your watches forward by fifteen minutes. We call it Gardner Standard Time. Because Errol Gardner likes to run fifteen minutes ahead of the competition.”

I thought he was kidding, but he showed me his wristwatch, and sure enough the time was set to 12:53. “It’s painless, I promise. You’ll adjust right away, and the best part is: no jet lag!”

Tammy couldn’t wait to get started. She asked how to override the clock on her iPhone, and Hugo was happy to walk around to her side of the car and give her a tutorial. Then he extended his hand, offering to fix my phone as well.

“I’ll leave mine alone,” I told him.

Hugo warned that I was making a mistake. “A lot of people try that approach? To add the minutes mentally? But sooner or later, everyone forgets. And you don’t want to be late for Margaret’s wedding!”

“I won’t be late,” I assured him. “I guarantee that’s not going to happen.”

Abigail leaned forward from the back seat, wriggling between me and Tammy. She wore a cheap Minnie Mouse wristwatch that looked like it came from a gumball machine. “Can someone fix mine?”

“You don’t have to,” I told her. “If you don’t want to.”

“I do want to,” she said.

“Of course you want to,” Tammy said. “You want to fit in this weekend and feel like part of the family.” She adjusted the tiny dial on Abigail’s watch, advancing the minute hand forward. “Mister Frank wants to stay stuck in the past.”

“It’s called Eastern Standard Time,” I pointed out. “I’m pretty sure the president uses it.”

“But we’re not at the White House. We’re at Maggie’s wedding. And you need to quit being a party pooper.”

Fair enough. I wore a digital Timex watch that Colleen gave me for our fifth wedding anniversary, and I futzed with its buttons until the clock read 12:53. “Is everyone happy now?”

“It’s going to be a wonderful weekend,” Hugo promised, and then he passed me a paper map illustrating the entire lakefront property with all its cottages and amenities. “Now, Margaret and Aidan are waiting for you at Osprey Lodge. Straight down this road, all the way at the end. But before you go, I still need to grab your privacy docs.”

“Privacy what?”

“Just a simple waiver saying any privileged information you find on the property is treated confidentially. So you won’t, you know, steal Mr. Gardner’s secrets and start your own battery company.” Hugo grinned at his own joke, then passed his iPad through my open window. “Just sign in the box with your finger.”

“We’re here for the wedding,” I said.

“I understand, Mr. Szatowski. It is totally pro forma. Everybody signs a privacy doc.”

I looked down at the iPad and a dense thicket of legal jargon, page one of fifty-six, like the user agreements for wireless phone carriers and health insurance policies. I scrolled through the text and found all of it incomprehensible: The nondisclosure provisions of this Agreement shall survive the termination of this Agreement and Mr. Frank Szatowski’s duty to hold Confidential Information in confidence shall remain in effect in perpetuity or until Fountainhead 7 LLC sends Mr. Frank Szatowski written notice releasing Mr. Frank Szatowski from this Agreement, whichever occurs first…

“What’s Fountainhead 7?” I asked.

“Oh, for crying out loud, give me the iPad,” Tammy said, yanking the device from my hands and slashing at the screen with her finger. “Does Abigail need to sign, too? My foster daughter?”

“No, just adults,” Hugo said.

“And can I sign my brother’s name for him? Just to speed things along? We’re late for lunch.”

“I’m very sorry. He needs to do it himself.”

“I’d just like to know what I’m signing,” I told them. When I was a kid, my father told me I should never sign my name to a document that I didn’t understand—but these days, it was impossible to live by that rule. You couldn’t get cable TV or even a discount card at the supermarket without agreeing to thousands of terms and conditions. “I’ve never been to a wedding with a— What do you call this again?”

“Privacy document, sir,” Hugo said.

“Why is it fifty-six pages?”

“I don’t know, sir. To be honest, I don’t think anyone’s ever read it.”

In the rearview mirror, I glimpsed a silver Tesla slowing to a stop behind me. I ignored the new arrival and concentrated on the screen: The parties agree that any breach or threatened breach of this Agreement by Mr. Frank Szatowski entitles Fountainhead 7 LLC and/or members of the Gardner family to seek injunctive relief, in addition to any other legal or equitable remedies available to it, in any court of competent jurisdiction , and what the hell did any of this actually mean? It was hard to concentrate with Tammy shrieking in my ear. She was already on the phone with Maggie, calling to complain.

“Yes, sweetie, we just got here. We’re at the little tollbooth thingy? But the problem is your father. He’s being an absolute mule about this privacy doc. No, privacy doc. On the iPad. Exactly! I know! I know! That’s what I said. But you talk to him. He’ll listen to you.”

She smacked the phone against my ear.

“Dad, it’s totally fine,” Maggie said.

“I’m just skimming it. If your aunt would shut up for two minutes, maybe I could finish.”

“Please don’t make a big deal about this. It doesn’t even apply to you.”

“Then why do I have to sign it?”

“Everyone signs it. They won’t let you past unless you sign it.”

“Maggie, I’m your father. Are you telling me that Errol Gardner won’t let me attend my own daughter’s wedding if I don’t sign this contract?”

“It’s not a contract!”

“It’s fifty-six pages written by lawyers. And no one can tell me what it means. I just want to ask someone.”

“Seriously? Is this really how you want to start this weekend? By having a conversation with the Capaciti legal team? Can you please just do this the normal way, please?”

In my rearview mirror, I glimpsed a black Audi pulling up behind the Tesla. Hugo addressed both cars with a small apologetic wave, a quiet plea for a little more patience. I tried to read as quickly as I could— This Agreement is binding on me, my heirs, executors, administrators and assigns and inures to the benefit of the Company, its successors, and assignees —but it was only page four of fifty-six and I realized I would never get through it all, so I just scribbled my signature and ticked a box marked I ACCEPT.

Tammy sighed with relief and told Maggie we were good. “It’s finished, sweetie. We’ll see you in a minute.”

Hugo took back the iPad, ensured that we’d done everything correctly, and smiled. “Very good, sir. Now just proceed straight down this road. We call it Main Street. You’ll pass a few smaller cottages but keep going to the big one.”

“How will I know it’s the big one?”

“I think you’ll know. Enjoy the wedding.”

The gate went up and I drove away without thanking him—which my sister interpreted as a slight. “You don’t have to be rude, Frankie. He was just doing his job.”

“We shouldn’t have signed it. You have no idea what we just agreed to.”

“Maggie says it doesn’t apply to us.”

“So why did we sign?”

She threw up her hands, the universal gesture for I don’t want to talk about this anymore .

As we drove along, I glimpsed two more guards dressed in black. They were deep in the woods and walking along what appeared to be a ten-foot-high metal fence. It looked like something from Jurassic Park , designed to keep the dinosaurs from getting out. I could only glimpse a small section, but it seemed to wind through the woods in both directions.

Meanwhile, Tammy opened the map to take a closer look. It was the sort of cartoony drawing you’d get at an amusement park. All the buildings had numbers, and there was a legend at the bottom to help you identify them. Five cottages had lakefront views and another nine were farther inland—plus a game room, a spa/wellness center, a boathouse, and a few smaller buildings marked STAFF. Each structure was named after a different bird—from tiny one-bedroom bungalows like Hummingbird and Warbler to larger two-story buildings like Falcon, Bald Eagle, and Ibis.

Tammy read aloud from a history on the back side of the map: “‘In 1953, the Lutheran Church purchased three hundred acres of land on Lake Wyndham to create Osprey Cove, a Christian overnight camp that operated for more than thirty years before falling on hard times and closing in 1988. The camp lay dormant for more than a decade until its purchase by Errol Gardner in 1999. Together with his wife, Catherine, and son, Aidan, he reimagined Osprey Cove as a sanctuary for the world’s most innovative thinkers, leaders, artists, and entrepreneurs. We invite you to follow a good idea along our six miles of walking trails. Or relax and recharge in our spacious, well-appointed cottages. And paddle toward future inspiration on the shores of Lake Wyndham.’ Oh, Abigail, doesn’t this sound incredible?”

The kid had her hands and face pressed against the window, watching in fascination as the first few buildings came into view. The Gardners must have demolished the original cabins because all these log-and-timber cottages looked contemporary, with big picture windows and lots of expensive hand-finished construction details. Next to the front door of each residence was a wooden sign illustrating its namesake: Kingfisher, Loon, Woodpecker, Puffin.

“Which house is theirs?” Abigail asked.

“All of them,” Tammy said. “They own everything you’re looking at. And all these people work for them.”

Everywhere we looked, employees were washing windows, shaking out rugs, pruning branches, painting fences, and sweeping dry leaves from porches. We passed a woman in a blue housekeeping dress pushing a wheeled basket piled high with white linen sheets. And then three sweat-soaked men kneeling at the side of the road, laying down mulch in a flower bed. They were all dressed in matching green polos and light khaki pants.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” I said.

“What’s wrong?”

“Look at them. And then look at me.”

Tammy realized that I was dressed in a green polo and light khaki pants, too. “Well, I’m sure they could use a hand, Frankie. Maybe you want to pull over.”

Abigail laughed so hard she sneezed, spraying a fine wet mist all over my window. But before I could complain about it, Main Street curved around a bend and Osprey Lodge came into view. Its design reminded me of the Old Faithful Inn at Yellowstone National Park; it was a three-story fortress of timber and glass and quarry stone, with wide balconies and long bannisters handcrafted from lengths of gnarled wood.

The road ended in a roundabout at the entrance to the lodge, and as we slowed to a stop I saw Aidan reaching for my daughter’s hand. Maggie was dressed like a camp counselor in a pink T-shirt, khaki shorts, and tiny Converse sneakers, and she hugged me as soon as I got out of the Jeep. “I am so glad you’re here,” she said. “We’re going to have so much fun this weekend!”

Aidan wore a long-sleeved sweatshirt and baggy pants spotted with little flecks of paint. I said it looked like he’d been hard at work, and he smiled but didn’t elaborate. The wedding wasn’t until Saturday, but already he seemed nervous, on edge.

“What a place!” Tammy exclaimed. “It’s like the Garden of Eden.” She breathed deeply, filling her lungs with the intoxicating scent of fresh pine. “We don’t have air like this back home. It’s all so clean!”

Abigail was still in the back of the Jeep, clearly not sure how she fit into the scheme of things, or if she should even come out to join us. Tammy waved at her through the glass, gesturing for her to open the door.

“This is Abigail,” she explained. “She’s staying with me for a couple days, and this is her first time attending a wedding!”

My sister must have briefed everyone ahead of time because Maggie greeted Abigail with a big hug, and I cringed when their heads touched. I wanted to warn my daughter not to get too close.

“Thank goodness you’re here,” Maggie said. “We have a really big problem, Abigail, and you’re the only one who can help us.”

The little girl blinked. “Me?”

“Aidan’s cousin was supposed to be my flower girl, but she’s got strep throat and she can’t make it. But you’re the same size and I bet you’d fit into her dress. If you’re willing to step up, you’d be doing all of us a huge favor.”

Abigail’s mouth hung open, revealing the pointy tips of her little yellow fangs. “You want me to be in your bridal party?”

“I promise it’s super easy,” Maggie said. “All you have to do is—”

“‘Precede the bride down the aisle and scatter flower petals on the runner!’” she said. “I already know! I have a whole book about it!”

“So that’s a yes?”

Abigail glanced to Tammy for permission, and my sister flashed her a thumbs-up. “Yes! I’ll do a great job. I’ll go get the instructions!”

She dove into the Jeep to look for her book and I leaned closer to my daughter. “You don’t have to do this, Maggie. I know you’re trying to be nice, but it’s your special day. You shouldn’t have to compromise.”

“I’m not compromising,” Maggie said. “I want to do something nice for her.”

Aidan didn’t say anything. I couldn’t tell if he was uncomfortable with the idea or simply uncomfortable with the presence of our family. “Abigail’s in foster care,” I told him, just to be completely clear. “I had no idea she was coming. Tammy just sprang her on me this morning.”

“Maggie told me. It’s fine.”

But he didn’t seem fine. He seemed annoyed, like we were some unwanted chore he’d been assigned to tackle. Abigail emerged from the Jeep with her etiquette book and thumbed the pages until she found the chapter for flower girls. Maggie was happy to review it with her while the rest of us stood around and watched. Then a tiny electric golf cart came whirring up a paved walkway, like a moon buggy from an old science-fiction movie.

There were two men in the front seat, and Aidan explained they had come for our things. I said, “Oh, that’s not necessary,” but it was too late. One man was already taking our bags out of the hatch while the other covered the driver’s seat in a shroud of plastic wrap so he wouldn’t soil the interior with his body. “Mr. Szatowski, could I trouble you for the keys?”

I didn’t like the idea of turning them over, but everyone acted like it was a perfectly normal thing to do. And after the incident with the privacy doc, I didn’t want to kick up another fuss. “How do I get my car back?”

The men laughed, like I had made a joke. I guessed someone would just tell me later.

After they drove off, I assumed we would go directly inside Osprey Lodge to meet Mr. and Mrs. Gardner. Instead, Aidan led us to a flagstone walkway that wrapped around the side of the building. “We’ll take the scenic route to your cottage. Lunch will be waiting when we get there.”

I asked if his parents were joining us and Maggie said no. She explained that Errol was on a Zoom with Capaciti’s board of directors because they were about to issue their second-quarter earnings report. But she didn’t mention Catherine Gardner so I asked Aidan directly: “What about your mother? How’s she feeling?”

“Not so great,” he admitted.

“The stress is doing a real number on her,” Maggie said, “and it’s exacerbating all of her usual symptoms: the dizziness, neck pain, back pain—”

I didn’t know much about migraines, but my sister nodded like these were all typical concerns. “I’ll tell you something, Maggie: If I had three hundred people coming to my house for my child’s wedding? The stress would cripple me. I’d be a useless puddle of goo!”

“She should be better by dinner,” Aidan said. “She’s really excited to meet you, Frank.”

He bounded ahead and I stepped faster to match his pace and stay beside him. After our awkward first dinner and three months of failed meetups, I was ready for a fresh start. I didn’t expect to become a second father to the kid, but I hoped he would consider me an ally, a dependable person standing in his corner and cheering him on.

“How are you feeling, Aidan?” I asked. “Are you nervous?”

“I’m fine,” he said, with a tone that suggested he wasn’t fine but didn’t want to talk about it. “Thanks for asking.”

Every window on the side of the lodge had its curtains drawn, concealing the activity within. We moved through a small copse of pine trees and I could hear the distant hum of an outboard motor; I smelled fresh-cut grass and the pleasant earthy musk of fresh water. And then the trail emerged from the trees and there was Lake Wyndham in all its glory, the sort of majestic view I’d only ever seen on postcards.

“Oh my goodness!” Tammy exclaimed. “Look at it!”

We’d arrived at the top of a wide and immaculately landscaped lawn. The soft grass descended a gently sloping hill before ending at a sandy beach, an L-shaped wooden dock, and a boathouse. And then the lake itself, ten square miles of royal-blue water, speckled with colorful kayaks and sailboats. Completing the view was a horizon with three green mountains and a sky full of cotton-puff clouds.

“This is where Aidan proposed,” Maggie explained. “Back on Valentine’s Day, so the lake was still frozen over. Snow everywhere you looked. Just this beautiful, majestic winter wonderland. I thought we were going snowshoeing, but next thing you know he was down on one knee with a ring.”

“Sooooo romantic!” Tammy said. “I can’t think of a more perfect spot for a proposal.”

Aidan smiled through pursed lips, and I realized it was the same beach I’d seen in the photograph—the same beach where he’d posed for a snapshot with Dawn Taggart.

“And come Saturday, after the ceremony, this is where we’ll have our reception,” Maggie continued. “Our photographers love it, because the golden hour light is incredible.”

There were large wooded areas on both sides of the lawn, dense New England forests crisscrossed with paved trails and smaller dirt paths, and Maggie warned that it was easy to get disoriented in the woods, especially at night. I showed her the map we’d received from Hugo and she seemed skeptical. “That’s not going to help when it’s after midnight and you can’t see your hand in front of your face. My advice is to always carry your phone, so you’ll always have a flashlight.”

With my sister’s permission, Abigail ran ahead to the beach and we all followed after her. The sand was soft and white and powdery. Aidan claimed it was imported from Waikiki, but I couldn’t tell if he was joking, and I didn’t push to clarify. At the moment, no one was swimming or sunbathing, but there were two dozen empty lounge chairs and umbrellas, suggesting that many more guests were expected.

Abigail stopped at a small fleet of kayaks, canoes, and sailboats. “Mister Frank, do you want to go canoeing?”

“We just got here,” I reminded her.

“Maybe after lunch,” Tammy suggested.

At the edge of the beach was another flagstone walkway, and this one followed the edge of the shore past the boathouse and around the lake. After a minute of walking we arrived at a two-story cottage made of steel and glass and stone, with a wide wraparound porch and big windows overlooking the lake.

“This is Blackbird,” Maggie announced. “I think it’s the cutest property at the camp and I wanted you guys to have it.”

Aidan explained that every building on the property had keyless locks, so we would use Bluetooth technology to enter our cabin. Tammy and I surrendered our phones so Aidan could download and install the necessary app. The camp had lightning-fast Wi-Fi and the process took less than a minute. “I’m adding you to our family account,” he explained, “so you can access all the main buildings. Now walk to your door and watch what happens.”

As I climbed the steps to the front porch, the door clicked open and swung inward, as if released by a spring. I stepped inside a great room with hard pine floors, rough-hewn timber walls, and a stone fireplace that rose through a two-story atrium. The place was furnished with rustic decorations—elk antlers and vintage wooden oars and maps of the local terrain—plus enough chairs and sofas for a dozen visitors.

“How many people are staying here?”

“Just you three.” Aidan pointed to the upstairs balcony and a pair of doors. “Your luggage should be waiting in the bedrooms. You’re in the master suite, on the left, but Tammy’s room is almost identical. I think you’ll both be very pleased.”

My sister and Abigail followed us inside, and Tammy clutched a hand over her heart. “Holy guacamole, look at this place! Abigail, have you ever seen anything like it?”

The kid spun around in a circle and pretended to faint on the floor. “Are you serious? This is our motel room?”

“Feel free to use anything in the house,” Maggie said. “And if you need something you can’t find, just pick up the phone and dial zero. Someone will run it right over.”

I felt certain the cottage had everything we could possibly want. There were closets filled with extra blankets, pillows, towels, first aid kits, bug sprays, flashlights, and pullover water shoes. Plus an enormous flat-screen TV with dual soundbars, a big round table for playing cards, and a whole shelf full of board games: Mouse Trap, Snakes and Ladders, Trouble, and Taboo.

But my delight was short-lived because Aidan announced he was already leaving. “Glen’s here,” he told Maggie, and he showed her a text on his phone. “I better go lend a hand.”

“Of course.” She gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Say hi for me, and we’ll see you at dinner.”

Aidan encouraged us to unpack and relax and enjoy ourselves, and then just like that he was gone. We’d been at the camp for a total of eighteen minutes.

“Where’s he going?” I asked.

“College friend,” Maggie said, as if this explained everything, as if I hadn’t just driven three hundred and sixty miles to have lunch with my future son-in-law.

Tammy must have heard the irritation in my voice because she changed the subject. “Do I smell cinnamon rolls? Or is it just my imagination?”

“I’ll show you,” Maggie said.

She walked us through a dining area and into a thoroughly modern kitchen. Waiting on the countertop was an enormous spread of food: baskets of fresh-baked bread, platters of miniature sandwiches, a whole tray of fresh-cut fruit, and a mountain of pastries and cookies and brownie bites. There were enough provisions to last the three of us all weekend, but Maggie presented the vast buffet as simply “lunch.”

“I figured you’d want something quick,” she said. “Does this look okay?”

Tammy laughed. “Maggie, are you kidding? This is more than we have for Thanksgiving!”

Abigail asked for permission to start, then reached for a plate and started loading it up with chicken sliders, miniature BLTs, and three enormous scoops of potato salad. “Take it easy,” I told her. “The food’s not going anywhere.”

“She’s just hungry,” Tammy said. “I’m hungry, too.” Then she passed me a plate and grabbed one for herself.

“Go ahead and eat,” Maggie said. “I’ll give you some time to settle in, and then I’ll swing back in a couple hours.”

I couldn’t believe it. “A couple hours?”

“Dad, I have wedding stuff.”

“I thought we were having lunch together.”

“No, I said there would be lunch for you . But I ate before you got here. Because I still have a million things to do.”

I returned my plate to the counter. “Then let me help you, kiddo. Put me to work. What needs to be done?”

She shook her head, like I was failing to grasp the enormous magnitude of planning a wedding. “Dad, we have three hundred people coming this weekend. Sixty are vegetarian, twenty-six are vegan, eleven are gluten-free. There’s a hundred guests staying at the camp and another two hundred staying in hotels, and I need three very nice charter buses to shuttle people back and forth.” The pitch of her voice climbed higher and higher because she wasn’t stopping to breathe. “However, the only charter bus company within a hundred miles just canceled on me for no reason at all. No apology, no explanation. Just ‘Sorry, miss, we can’t make it.’ So unless you know three bus drivers, I don’t think you can help me.”

I actually did know three bus drivers—it’s a popular second career for UPS drivers who get tired of hauling boxes—but none of them owned their own vehicles, and they certainly didn’t drive the kind of luxury bus that the Gardners probably wanted.

“Oh, sweetie, that’s terrible!” Tammy said. “Did you call the Better Business Bureau? It’s their job to investigate these companies. Someone has to hold them accountable.”

Maggie nodded patiently and waited for my sister to finish her suggestion. “That’s a great idea, Aunt Tammy, but I already have a plan. I just need to go do it. If you all want to help me, you’ll just stay here and unpack and relax.”

I could see she was frazzled. I knew planning a wedding was a ton of work, and I didn’t want to add to my daughter’s growing list of burdens. So I tried to look agreeable, but she could still see the disappointment on my face.

“Listen, Dad, I’ll try to be back by three o’clock. And then I’ll give you a tour of the camp, okay? How does that sound?”

“That sounds great,” Tammy said, hooking her elbow through mine and then leading me away from my daughter. “Go take care of business, Maggie. We’ll be fine. Don’t you worry!”