Page 39

5.

At two o’clock, the wedding party assembled on the beach of Lake Wyndham for a photo session. I assumed it would be a small and private affair, but as with the rehearsal, there were dozens of guests milling around and enjoying the preshow spectacle. There was even a bartender mixing cocktails up near Osprey Lodge. It was the man from Mom and Dad’s Restaurant, the same man who claimed the Gardners deserved more credit for all the good things they’d brought to the community. He already had a long line of guests waiting for a drink.

Meanwhile, Maggie and her bridesmaids were out on the dock, posing in front of the lake while a team of photographers snapped camera shutters and a videographer captured wide panoramic shots. A woman with cat’s-eye glasses and a clipboard was shouting instructions—“Show me shy! Show me demure! Okay, now show me flirty! Show me sexy! Come on, ladies, vamp it up! Show me those bedroom eyes!”

They say there’s nothing quite like seeing your daughter in her wedding dress on her big day. It’s the last major milestone of fatherhood, a huge emotional moment for every dad. But when I looked at Maggie, I just felt numb. Her lace tiered ball gown reportedly cost $15,000 and came from a famous designer based in Paris, but I thought it looked flimsy and insubstantial, like the costumes for sale at a Halloween store.

I dragged an Adirondack chair into the shade of the trees and sat down to watch the photo shoot. More and more guests were wandering out to the lawn. The men wore summer suits in neutral shades of blue or light gray, while the women were a bit more showy in brightly colored gowns. I wondered if any of the Capaciti employees knew my daughter’s secret. Surely there had to be rumors. Anytime a young woman straight out of college starts joining the boss on international work trips, there’s bound to be gossip and speculation. Yet everyone I’d met seemed convinced Maggie was a rare and extraordinary talent who’d earned her place in senior management. I suppose it’s easy to make a person believe something when their paycheck depends on their believing it.

A trio emerged from the crowd to approach me. Errol Gardner pushed a wheelchair occupied by his wife, and they were accompanied by a man who looked strangely familiar.

Errol wore a black tuxedo and dark sunglasses that helped to conceal the bruise I’d left on his face, and Catherine scarcely resembled the woman I’d met the night before. Her makeup was subtle and very precise; her hair was clean and artfully styled. She wore an elegant sequined gown with pearl earrings and a glittering diamond necklace. Above all, she was medicated within an inch of her life. Her hands were folded in her lap, and she cast her blank stare all over the lawn, seemingly overwhelmed by so much movement and activity.

Errol proceeded like this was our first introduction. “Catherine, this is Frank. Margaret’s father. He’s very excited to meet you.”

I thought I saw a flicker of recognition in her eyes—a small sign she remembered our conversation from the previous evening. But she simply apologized for not coming downstairs sooner. “My medicines aren’t working so well,” she said in a voice scarcely louder than a whisper. “I’m afraid they’ve left me very fatigued.”

“The doctors ordered her to stay in bed,” Errol explained. “But she refused to listen. She said there was no way she’d miss this ceremony.”

I was ready to suggest that we all just cut the bullshit when the third person spoke up, and his voice was instantly familiar. “I’m glad you made that decision, Catherine. No mother should ever have to miss her son’s wedding.”

The man was my age, bald, with a face I knew I’d recognized. But I was seeing him out of context and simply couldn’t place him.

“Frank, I’d like to introduce you to a good friend of mine,” Errol said. “This is Armando Castado. I believe you two work together.”

Holy mother of God. I suddenly found myself shaking hands with the chief executive officer of the United Parcel Service. “It’s a real pleasure to meet you, Frank. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Mr. Castado.”

“Armando, please.”

“Okay. All right. Armando.” I was so blindsided, I managed to forget the events of the last seventy-two hours and focus on the immediate present. “What are you doing here?”

“The Gardners invited me. And Margaret, of course. We’ve all been working together these past few months, so I was pretty excited to receive their invitation. And when I learned the father of the bride was a fellow UPSer, that just sealed the deal. Circle of Honor, right?”

“Yes! Twenty-six years.”

Armando took a moment to explain the Circle of Honor to Errol and Catherine. He said that only a small fraction of UPS drivers ever managed to join its ranks because going twenty-five years without a scratch was nearly impossible. “It takes extraordinary skill, discipline, and intelligence, day after day and mile after mile. Most people simply cannot do it.”

“I know I couldn’t do it,” Errol said. “Just last week, I dinged my bumper at the airport.”

Catherine smiled uneasily and stared down at her hands. I didn’t think she could follow the conversation at all. A waiter came by with a tray of champagne glasses and asked if we were interested in a little pre-wedding celebration. Armando took flutes for everyone and passed them around. “Let’s raise a glass to the father of the bride,” he said. “Remember, Frank: You’re not losing a daughter. You’re gaining a son. Congratulations.”

“Hear, hear,” Errol said.

Then he held a glass to his wife’s lips. Champagne dribbled down her chest and into her lap, but we all pretended not to notice. I suppose I had fully resigned myself to the situation. I realized that if I ignored everything I’d learned in the last twenty-four hours, the wedding was everything I dreamed it would be. The sky was clear, the sun was shining, my daughter and her bridesmaids looked beautiful. My new in-laws had graciously welcomed me and Tammy into their extended family, and now the CEO of my company was showering me with praise. All I had to do was relax, drink the delicious champagne, and repeat all the old familiar clichés: We couldn’t have asked for a better day. Marriage was hard but well worth it. Grow old with me, the best is yet to be.

A photographer hurried over and interrupted our conversation: “We need all the family members on the dock, please. Mom and both dads. Everybody get their smiles ready!”

“We’ll talk more at dinner,” Armando promised. “Good luck at the ceremony, Frank. It’s going to be wonderful.”

I followed my in-laws down to the beach, where all the groomsmen and bridesmaids and Maggie were waiting. Aidan was running late, so the photographers were ticking off the shots that didn’t require him: me and Maggie, me and Maggie and Tammy, and of course me and Errol Gardner, with Maggie standing between us. “Big smiles, Frank!” the photographer called, clicking the shutter again and again. “Look happy! Oh, that’s perfect! That’s wonderful!” As soon as we finished, I called to the waiter for a second glass of champagne. I realized that if I was going to make it through the ceremony, I would need to give Catherine Gardner a run for her money.

By two-thirty Errol was confronting the groomsmen and asking what the hell was taking Aidan so damned long. No one had a satisfactory answer. No one had seen him in more than an hour. They’d all tried texting Aidan on their phones, and he’d replied with numerous assurances that he was on his way.

The clipboard lady promised everything would be fine; she said it would be easy to take the remaining photographs after the ceremony. “It’s normal for grooms to get confused,” she assured us. “I bet Aidan went straight to the Globe, and now he’s wondering where we are.”

I thought this seemed unlikely, but the clock was ticking and there was a consensus that we all needed to move to the ceremony. I followed the crowd up the lawn and watched Abigail “processing” in front of the bride, clearing a path for my daughter to follow. Tammy sidled up alongside me. “You look very handsome, little brother. I’m glad you’re finally getting into the spirit of things.”

“I don’t think the groom is coming.”

“Of course he is. Don’t jinx us.”

“He’s gone, Tammy.” My heart felt light as I voiced the idea, as if a crushing burden had been lifted. “I think he came to his senses and got the hell out of here.”

“Oh, you think he just drove out the front gate? With Hugo and his whole SWAT team on standby? Don’t bet on it, Frankie.” One of the photographers walked alongside us, snapping candids, and my sister’s cheerful smile didn’t falter. “He’ll be waiting at the Globe.”

But she was wrong. When we arrived at the outdoor theater, there was still no sign of Aidan, and the ceremony was due to start in twenty minutes. Now everyone was texting the groom but no one was getting a reply. Errol sent Gerry to check Osprey Lodge and Hugo radioed his team and ordered a full sweep of the property. I was surprised that no one proposed a visit to Aidan’s studio—the place he always used to escape the chaos of Osprey Cove. “You discovered my little secret,” he had said to me. “Most people don’t even know it’s here.”

Without a word to the others, I ducked into the woods to check the studio myself. I still remembered the route from two days earlier, when I followed Aidan and Gwendolyn to the outer boundaries of the property. After several minutes of walking, I checked the time and then quickened my pace. It was just about quarter to three, and I realized that if my hunch was wrong—if Aidan wasn’t at the studio—I’d never make it back to the Globe in time. I’d miss the chance to walk my daughter down the aisle.

But when I finally arrived at the cottage, the door was unlocked. I stepped inside. There was no sign of Aidan, but I didn’t feel alone. The black-and-white faces watched me with their strange, haunted expressions. I stopped at the spiral staircase and peered down through the hole in the floor. At the bottom was a faint glimmer of light.

“Aidan? Is that you?”

“Don’t come down here, Frank.”

“Everyone’s looking for you. Gerry, Hugo, the photographers—”

“Fuck them.”

I didn’t know how to answer that. I turned around in a circle, casting a glance around the studio and surveying all the paintings in progress. I recognized one of the subjects as Gwendolyn. Her eyes slightly lowered, looking out at the viewer with a shy and slightly flirtatious smile.

“I’m coming downstairs, Aidan.”

“Please don’t.” His voice was shaking. Like he was engaged in some kind of physical exertion. “Just leave. And don’t tell anyone I’m here.”

“Aidan, I just want to make an observation, okay? You don’t need to go through with this wedding. I know you lied to the police. To protect your mother. That’s an honorable thing. Anyone would understand why you did it. But Maggie lied, too. You’re both guilty of the same thing. So if you call off this wedding, she can’t hurt you. She’s powerless.”

“If you think she’s powerless, you don’t know her very well.”

“Believe me, I know her better than anyone. I’ve just spent a lot of time unwilling to see the truth.”

One pretty obvious tenet of situational awareness is that you never want to voluntarily enter a dark basement with just one exit. But I knew I would never convince Aidan of anything until we talked face-to-face, so I ignored my better instincts and descended the staircase. The steps were short and narrow, and I had to grip the steel pole and twist my body into unnatural positions just to reach the bottom. I found myself in a kind of small, cramped vestibule with a round metal door, like the entrance to a bank vault.

Just beyond was a tunnel lined with tall metal shelves, still well stocked with provisions after all these years. There were large rusted cans of stewed tomatoes, creamed corn, pork and beans, tuna fish, and Del Monte fruit cocktail. There were moldering cardboard boxes labeled BISCUITS—SURVIVAL—ALL-PURPOSE and enormous barrels marked DRINKING WATER and lots of vintage 1950s household products: Charmin toilet paper, Ajax detergent, Ivory soap, and Eveready batteries. Plus a small library of paperback novels, how-to manuals, and sets of encyclopedias. The entire shelter had the musty, pleasant smell of a used bookstore.

At the far end of the tunnel, the passage widened into a kind of living area with a sofa, a dining table with chairs, and four pairs of army-style bunk beds. Aidan sat at the head of the table, dressed in his black tuxedo, as if welcoming me to a formal dinner. On the table before him was an open metal case containing a black Colt revolver. Because a bomb shelter would need to be defended from external threats, after all, and the builders had prepared for every worst-case scenario.

“Don’t come any closer, Frank. You should have stayed upstairs.”

“Talk to me, Aidan. What are you thinking right now?”

He wouldn’t look at me. I glanced at the gun, but I couldn’t tell if it was loaded. After sixty years in a musty, humid basement, I didn’t know if the weapon would still fire properly, or if the bullets were still functional. And I didn’t want to know.

“You’re the only person in this camp that I trust,” I told him. “If anything happens to you, I don’t think I’ll be safe here.”

“You’ll be fine, Frank. I went by your cottage a little while ago. I left a gift in your suitcase.”

“What kind of gift?”

“You’ll see. It’s enough to protect you. Don’t worry.”

There was a kind of resigned sadness in his voice, like he had no intention of ever leaving the basement.

“Aidan, listen to me: I have a friend of a friend who works for the Wall Street Journal . It sounds like they’re already investigating your family. I bet they know people who would help you.”

“Frank, if I talk to the Wall Street Journal , your daughter is going to be in an awful lot of trouble.”

“I’m not worried about her. Right now, I’m just worried about you and the gun on the table. Could you close that case for me, please?”

He shook his head, still refusing to make eye contact. His face was flushed. Clearly he had been crying.

“I have an idea, Aidan. Right now, everyone’s waiting for you back at the Globe. Let’s use this moment to get out of here.”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean leave Osprey Cove. Never come back.”

He chuckled. “As if it’s that easy. I’m sure they’ve got Hugo on high alert. We’d never make it past him.”

“How about the fence? Is there a section that’s broken? Someplace we could get through?”

“Not that I’ve ever seen. We could go look, but there’s always security walking the perimeter.”

“What about the lake?”

“You want to swim?”

“We can take your father’s boat. They can’t stop us once we’re on the water. There are too many witnesses. All those sailboats. We’ll cross the lake and find some town and I’ll call the Taggarts.”

“Those people hate me. They won’t help us.”

“They will, if you start telling the truth. Your parents ruined their lives. They deserve to know what really happened.”

I could tell that he agreed with me, but I could also see he was terrified.

“Look, Aidan, if you won’t do this for yourself, and you won’t do it for the Taggarts, how about you do it for Gwendolyn? She liked you. She cared about you. She wanted you to stand up for yourself. And look what they did to her. I know you must feel awful about it.”

He still wouldn’t look at me, but he nodded his head, and I knew I was reaching him.

“If she was still alive, she’d want you to put away the gun and come upstairs with me.”

“You’re right. She would.”

“But we need to go now. Before people start leaving the Globe.” It was already ten past three; we’d have to run if we were going to make it. We’d be very conspicuous in our tuxedoes and black oxford shoes, but maybe with enough of a head start we could do it. “Are you ready?”

Aidan thought for a moment before answering. “I told Gwen the marriage was just for show. I said it was only going to last a year. And in the meantime I was free to see other people. But she refused to play along. She was too principled. She said she wanted nothing to do with me. Not unless I turned my back on all the money and told the truth.”

Then Aidan stood up and straightened his jacket, like he had finally resolved to do just that. He closed the lid on the gun, locked the case, and returned it to a high shelf.

“I know a shortcut we can take,” he said. “There’s a path through the woods that’ll get us to the boathouse.”

“Let’s hurry,” I told him.

I followed Aidan up the spiral staircase and across the studio, but as we approached the door I heard footsteps on the porch outside and realized my miscalculation.

It was indeed ten past three, but in the world of the Gardners it was already three twenty-five—they’d already had plenty of time to start looking for us. Aidan opened the door to discover not just his father and Gerry Levinson but Hugo, too.

“Aidan! What are you doing here?” His father was furious. “We’ve got three hundred people waiting!”

His son turned on his heel and ran back to the stairs. I lunged to stop him but wasn’t quick enough. I called his name but he just spiraled down into the hole.

Errol turned his rage on me. “And what are you doing? Why aren’t you at the Globe?”

I ignored him. I ran to the top of the stairs and called down to the cellar. “Aidan, wait, please—”

And then we all heard it—a single loud pop, amplified and echoing off the basement’s hard concrete walls—and I knew the wedding was off.