Chapter 16: Showroom

I answered the first ninety-eight messages from Rafe's kitchen table, with my sister reading over my shoulder.

I wrote the same thing to each of them.

I'm fine. I was never sick.

The wedding is on June 14 at Donnelly's Boathouse. Doors close at 5:30. Bring a pen. There will be a vote.

Eleven people wrote back within the hour.

Eight said they were relieved.

Three said, "My mother-in-law told me not to say anything, but I knew something was off."

Dawn rubbed her stomach and watched the screen with a pinched mouth.

"She called every one of them herself," she said. "She sat at the kitchen table with the church directory for two days."

"Two days?"

"Since the Saturday you came here to cancel. She knew from the receipt."

I put my phone down.

My mother had spent forty-eight hours with a highlighter and a landline, taking my guests away one by one.

I felt something close to respect for the effort.

"We can't call a hundred and forty people," I said.

"We don't have to," Dawn said. "We go to the three who matter."

"Which three?"

"The choir director. The pastor. And Brett's boss."

"Why Brett's boss?"

"Because he's the only one with sixty thousand reasons to come."

Rafe leaned in the doorway with a mug of coffee.

"I'll drive," he said.

"You'll stay here and keep the hall," I said.

"If you drive us, my father hears Donnelly's truck and comes to the dock with a legal pad."

"I'd like that."

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