Chapter 9.

9.

The theme of the rehearsal dinner was Lobster Night and each place setting included hand wipes, a checkered red-and-white napkin, a souvenir lobster cracker, and a custom-printed dinner bib ( MARGARET AND AIDAN’S WEDDING: A CLAWS FOR CELEbrATION! ).

The seats were assigned, and I was grateful to find myself at a table with Tammy, Maggie, Aidan, Errol, and Abigail. There was an extra chair reserved for Catherine Gardner, in the event that she was well enough to join us, but by this point I had stopped expecting to ever meet her.

Aidan took a seat between Maggie and Abigail, and I called across the table, “I’m sorry about Gwendolyn.”

“Thank you, Frank.”

“Has anyone spoken to her family?”

“Gerry’s office is doing some research. Gwen was raised by a grandmother who’s not with us anymore, so they’re not sure who to call.”

Maggie leaned forward in her chair. “Dad, it’s the rehearsal dinner, remember? Can we stay focused? Is everyone having lobster?”

Tammy raised her hand. “Yes, please!”

Abigail was more reticent. “They look scary.”

Aidan encouraged her to try one, anyway. “New England has the best lobster in the world. You’ll never get a better chance.”

And when the waiters brought over our meals—one whole lobster per person, jumbo-size crustaceans with massive foreclaws dangling off the sides of the plates—Aidan patiently taught Abigail how to break apart the shell and pry out the tender meat within. He spoke to her with a gentle tone that was wholly unfamiliar. I heard him asking patient questions about her interest in world geography—about her favorite mountains, rivers, and volcanoes. It was the most I’d heard Aidan speak to anyone all weekend—except for Gwendolyn, I suppose. He seemed happy to focus all his attention on the little kid and ignore the rest of the table—and the rest of the reception.

The vibe of the dinner was country-casual. There was a jug band with banjos and washboards, and they performed silly songs about bullfrogs and sunbeams and falling in love under the harvest moon. Waiters walked around with pitchers of beer, but no one was getting too sloppy; it seemed like people had learned a lesson from the previous night’s tragedy. Every so often some joker would start clinking his fork against a wineglass and others would join in and the sound would crescendo until Maggie and Aidan kissed. Abigail stood up and applauded every single time. She couldn’t believe it was a real tradition; she said her wedding book never mentioned it.

There was a microphone and a stage for people who wanted to deliver a toast to the bride and groom, and Errol asked me if I planned to say anything. I told him I was saving my remarks for tomorrow’s wedding, and he kept his own speech very brief. He thanked everyone for attending. He acknowledged the absence of his wife and her continuing health problems but promised we would see her in the morning. And then he raised his glass to the bride and groom. “Margaret is a smart, hardworking, and beautiful woman, and I am so grateful that she and Aidan found each other. I love you both so much.” He finished to a standing ovation and thunderous applause, like he’d just recited the “I Have a Dream” speech. My sister grabbed a red-and-white napkin to dab the tears from her eyes. “I always cry at weddings,” she told everyone.

Aidan clapped politely, then removed his phone from his pocket to view an incoming text. He frowned at the screen before setting the device face down next to his plate. Then he leaned over to Abigail and asked if she’d ever been to the Grand Canyon, if she knew it was deep enough to hold four Empire State Buildings stacked on top of each other.

There were a lot more toasts. In the wake of Errol’s speech, it seemed like every Capaciti employee wanted to get onstage and share a story of how Maggie had touched their lives. And then RJ got up and did ten minutes of crowd work, gently poking fun at all the married couples in the audience (“What is the deal with mothers-in-law, amiright?”). I had a hard time focusing on any of it. My thoughts kept drifting back to the mystery photograph of Aidan with Dawn Taggart. I understood that Maggie was correct—the photo was clearly manipulated, an obvious fake. But after meeting Linda and Brody, I couldn’t believe they were capable of doing the work.

Which left Dawn Taggart. She had an expensive-looking computer in her bedroom. It was possible that she photoshopped the image herself—but why?

Why invent a relationship with Aidan?

Up on the stage, Gerry and Sierra were delivering a joint toast to the bride and groom and sharing secrets from their own successful marriage. And then I glanced at my future son-in-law, sitting silently and wringing his hands in his lap. I could tell his thoughts were elsewhere, that he wasn’t hearing a word of their speech.

And resting beside him was a key that would unlock the answers to all my questions.