Page 77 of Old Money

“Fine. I’ll give it a shot, Gordon. Might as well knock on his door,” I say. “I’m still betting he’s moved though. Little FarmLane is barely outside the village—practically shouting distance from the club.”

Jamie grabs our empty beer glasses. “I’m gonna get you a refill,” he says. “And some fries. You want fries?”

He gets up without waiting for my answer.

I check my phone—8:42 p.m. Not long until fireworks. Not long until this day is finally done. I scroll through my texts. Theo messaged me hours ago, and I still haven’t replied.

Ordered the moo shoo in your honor. Jules and the boys say hi. It’s the first year Simon’s watching the T-Zone marathon with us. Too soon? Anyway, we miss you. Happy Wednesday.

His sign-off makes me smile. “Happy Wednesday” is another family tradition. It was little things that caught me off guard after the murder—like the way people say, “Happy Fourth!” by way of greeting on that day. The first anniversary, it upset me terribly. I burst into tears at the grocery store checkout. The second year, I woke up, shuffled out of my bedroom, bracing for another hideous, panicky day, and saw Theo waiting in the living room. He held a makeshift sign above his head, with “Happy Monday” printed on it, in a big, goofy font.

“Hooray! Happy Monday!” Theo shouted, waving the sign.

I didn’t get it for a second, and then I did. And then, I laughed. And he did. And then Mom came out of her room, saw the sign, and she laughed too.

He never made another sign, but we’ve maintained the tradition of wishing each other a happy Monday or Wednesday, or whatever day of the week it is. It helps to remember that although today is many other things, it’s also just a day in the week. It will end, and tomorrow there will be another.

Still smiling, I text Theo back:

Happy Wednesday, one and all.

Jamie returns from the bar, stopping beside our booth, a distant look on his face.

“Are you going to sit?”

Jamie nods, but stays put. He frowns and tilts his head, as though puzzling through a math problem.

“Or maybe speak?” I continue.

“Yeah.” A slow smile spreads across his face. “I have a really bad idea.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

I’m only half-convinced by the time we leave the bar.

“Sleep on it,” Jamie says in the parking lot. “We’ve got a couple weeks to find the holes.”

One comes to mind right now.

“What if they change their minds and move it indoors?”

“Doubtful.” He points his key fob at his car, unlocking it.

“Really? They changed theweddingdate.”

“Fair point.” He taps the hood of his car and shrugs. “Yeah, like I said, it might not work. But let’s figure it out tomorrow. I have to check in at the club before heading home—make sure they’re pushing water. No one ever remembers.”

Who cares!I think. But then I see how beat he is.

“Go.” I wave him off. “Tomorrow.”

***

Jamie’s idea is way beyond bad. It’s high-risk and comically improbable—chock-full of potential holes. But I’m pretty sure we’re doing it.

“The rehearsal dinner,” Jamie explained in the booth. “That’s how we’ll get in the archive. Well, you will. I’ll have to be—”

“Wait, wait,” I said, coughing on beer. “Back up. A lot.”