Chapter 8.

8.

We rehearsed the ceremony in the Globe, an old outdoor theater constructed by the original summer camp. It was deep in the woods and hidden by tall trees, a deep crater ringed by wooden benches with a stage in the center. It had the feeling of a sacred space, a kind of secret sanctuary deep in the forest, and it might have been quiet and peaceful if there weren’t so many people hanging around. I’d assumed the rehearsal would be a private affair for the bride and groom and family, but several dozen guests had come to watch, many with glasses of wine or small plates of food, like this was just the next stage of the weekend entertainment. I was disappointed that no one chased them off.

At the base of the stage were four women in black dresses with violins and violas; they were tuning their instruments and arranging their sheet music with quiet, well-practiced efficiency. I was watching them set up when a young man with wild curly hair approached and pulled me into a hug. “Hey, Dad, it’s great to meet you! Are you ready for this? I’m RJ, and I’ll be hosting the ceremony.”

He was dressed in chinos and sneakers and a yellow T-shirt advertising Kodak film. “You’re hosting? Are you a pastor?”

“Sometimes it feels that way! But no, I work in human resources. With Errol and Margaret.” He explained that he also dabbled in stand-up comedy and taught improv on Saturday afternoons, so he was accustomed to working a room. He’d paid a sixty-five-dollar fee to a website to become an ordained minister, strictly for the purposes of officiating Margaret and Aidan’s ceremony.

“Now do me a favor,” he said. “Can you point me to the groom? Because I want to say hello before we start.”

Aidan was sitting on a bench with three other young men (his groomsmen, I would later learn, all colleagues from MassArt), and he looked a little sickly—almost feverish. His face was pale and clammy and some kind of rash had broken out on his forehead, a sprinkling of little red dots. RJ greeted him with a double fist bump. “My man!” he exclaimed. “How are you, my brother?”

Errol Gardner arrived with Gerry and Sierra and copious apologies for his wife’s absence. He told everyone that Catherine was still feeling poorly but expressed confidence she would be “ready to rock” for the big ceremony Saturday afternoon. Meanwhile, Tammy showed up with Abigail to practice her flower girl duties. But instead of sitting with us and waiting patiently for the rehearsal to start, Abigail was following Maggie all around the Globe like her little shadow and introducing herself as “the cousin of the bride.”

“That’s not even true,” I told Tammy. “I wish she would stop saying that.”

“It’s adorable, Frankie. People love her.”

“She’s bouncing around like a pinball. How much iced tea did you let her drink?”

Tammy frowned at me. “You need to understand something about Abigail. She is the product of a broken home. Everyone she knows is from a broken home. Outside Disney cartoons, I don’t think she’s ever seen a good marriage. But this weekend, she’s finally meeting two people who really love each other. She’s going to watch them make the ultimate commitment, the biggest promise you can make to another person. ‘To have and to hold, till death do us part.’ You’re so old and jaded and cynical, you’ve lost sight of what those words actually mean. But Abigail’s seeing everything for the first time, so of course she’s excited. And if you took your head out of your ass for one minute and looked around this beautiful space, you’d be excited, too.”

I waited for her to finish her little rant and then I said, “Well, I don’t think Aidan looks too excited. I think he looks like his friend just died and everyone’s pretending nothing bad happened.”

“It’s just nerves. I still remember your rehearsal dinner, and you were a pretty anxious groom yourself.”

And then she turned and introduced herself to the woman on her other side, because once again she was sick of talking to me.

I told myself to calm down and chill out. The fake photo proved that Linda Taggart’s story was bullshit. Dawn had never been to Osprey Cove. And maybe Gwendolyn really did overdose. There were certainly plenty of drugs going around the party. Maybe Aidan was genuinely grieving the unexpected death of his friend—but loved my daughter too much to postpone the wedding. All these ideas seemed entirely rational and plausible. So I made a conscious decision to stop worrying and start having a good time.

At a quarter past four, the rehearsal got underway. RJ stood center stage, holding a large hardcover book that appeared to be a Bible, and he coached us through the procession. Abigail went first, pretending to scatter flower petals as she walked. Next were three pairs of bridesmaids and groomsmen, followed by Aidan and Errol Gardner. And then it was my turn to practice escorting Maggie.

She’d been cold to me since we’d left the lake, since she’d proved without a doubt the photo was a hoax. She’d asked me “what kind of father” would side with a complete stranger over his own daughter, and I had to admit I felt bad for not trusting her instincts. I suggested we link arms, like I’d seen fathers and daughters do at other weddings, but Maggie said we could save the physical contact for tomorrow. Then she walked very purposefully down the aisle, a half step ahead of me, and I could hear spectators chuckling as I struggled to keep up with her.

Up on the stage, I realized RJ’s Bible was just a prop, a Harry Potter book with the jacket removed. “Now I’ll ask, ‘Who presents this woman to be married?’ And that’s your cue, Frank. You say, ‘She presents herself, with her father’s blessing.’ Then you hug your beautiful daughter, you shake hands with the groom, and your work is finished. Sit down, relax, and enjoy the rest of the show.”

I joined Tammy and Abigail in the front row and my sister patted my knee, congratulating me on a job well done. “Just remember to smile tomorrow,” she suggested. “You looked pretty spooked up there.”

RJ sped through the rest of the rehearsal. He assured Maggie and Aidan that he’d go easy on “the God stuff” and then wondered aloud if, given the setting, a little Capaciti humor might be warranted. Everyone looked to Errol for a judgment and he shrugged. “Just don’t go overboard,” he said. “It’s their wedding, not a shareholders meeting.”

Most of the participants seemed too nervous and self-conscious to practice their parts in earnest. The sole exception was my sister, who’d been tasked with a short Bible reading. She asked for permission to rehearse it onstage, to make sure she was loud enough.

“Of course,” RJ said, inviting her forward with a dramatic sweep of his arm. “The stage is yours, madame.”

Tammy had printed her lines on paper in a giant font so she could see them without her glasses. “This reading is from Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians,” she said. “Can everyone hear me okay? Am I being loud enough?”

I gave her a thumbs-up, and she proceeded to recite the passage in its entirety:

Love is patient. Love is kind. It does not envy. It does not boast. It is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.

Tammy finished with a smile and a small sigh of relief, and for a moment there was absolute silence in the Globe, as if the power of her words made all other speech seem frivolous.

Then RJ looked to Maggie and saw something in her face that he didn’t like. “Is it too cringe? Should we try something, I don’t know, more contemporary?”

And for a moment I worried Maggie might agree with him. But then she shook off whatever was bothering her, took both Aidan’s hands, and stared meaningfully into his eyes. “No, no, it wasn’t cringe at all. That was perfect.”