The next morning, the Toohey wedding caravan departed Hazard Point, beginning with the massive Suburban and the old blue station wagon leaving from the Big House. Uncle Chet drove the Suburban with Grannie riding shotgun and a large lady, who I assumed was Aunt Velveeta, sitting in the backseat knitting. When she smiled at us, she had the same tiny teeth as Cheddar. We followed in the old blue wagon with Cheddar driving. Cheddar had personally detailed it. The car was completely sand-free. Every scrap of paper, every ice cream sandwich wrapper, and even the chocolate stain on the back seat had vanished. The duct tape on the front seat had been scraped off and replaced, so that no sticky surface remained to adhere to an unfortunate butt. Once again wearing my blue linen dress, I rode in the back with Pike. Pepper sat up front with Cheddar. As the cars passed the driveway to Pixie’s house, she and her family waited to join the motorcade in some old jalopy straight out of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. At first, I thought her mother was driving, but she was clearly reading a book. She looked lovely with her blonde wispy bangs and curls poking out from underneath a huge hat.
Then, I realized the steering wheel was on the opposite side and that her dad was driving. He was another blond. His hair was thick and wavy, and he wore it flopped diagonally over his tortoiseshell glasses. He smiled at us. He looked like a total fop. I tried to imagine my father dressing like that, with a big wave of hair swooping down over one eye. Pixie and her family look like a cute set of dolls. It all made sense when you saw them all together. She was wearing another one of her retro outfits; this one made her look like the key witness in an Agatha Christie mystery, a young woman in peril from a killer still at large.
“Speed up, Ched, don’t get stuck behind that thing,” Pepper said. Pepper, on the other hand, was wearing a floral sundress with such resentment that it looked like the dress might burst at the seams out of pure fear.
Cheddar moved the car forward just a touch faster, closing the gap so they’d have to get in line behind us. By the time we made it off Hazard Point Road, we were six cars strong. We drove to Cape Avery in an orderly ride. We parked on a side street and joined the hordes of Tooheys pouring into the bride’s side of the church.
I had never been in a Catholic church before. There was a lot to look at. I walked down the long center aisle, gawking at the stained glass and the gruesome, life-sized Jesus hanging on the cross behind the altar. Then I tripped over Pepper. She seemed to be squatting down before she got in the pew.
“Did you drop something?”
“Genuflect,” she whispered.
“Huh?”
“Kneel down, and make the sign of the cross,” I just stood there. I didn’t know what that meant. I thought she’d be angry, but she was gentle.
“The sign of the what?”
“Just kneel fast and scoot in.” I sort of squatted and then kneeled next to her in the pew.
“I didn’t realize you weren’t Catholic,” she whispered. “Just follow me, do what I do. You’ll be fine.” Do what I do? What was there to do in church?
We were, of course, sitting way up front. The whole second row was reserved for us, just behind the bride’s parents. Grannie sat up front with them, along with Uncle Chet, Aunt Velveeta, and the Old Salt—Pepper’s dad—and her mother. I always thought of Grannie as Pepper’s mother, so I was surprised to finally meet her mom. However, I was not surprised to see that she had a chunky gold horsebit bracelet, horsebit hardware on her boxy purse, and horsebits and horseshoes swirling around on the scarf tied to its handle.
A small eternity later, after kneeling, sitting, standing, singing, and receiving Communion even though I wasn’t supposed to (but Pepper said I could), the ceremony was over. The bride and groom walked down the aisle, and the church emptied out behind them, each row filing out on cue. Pike offered his arm, and I took it. With the recessional playing and everyone looking at us, it was fun to imagine we were the bride and groom, walking arm-in-arm amid smiles and good wishes … until I saw Scout sitting in the last row laughing with some blonde who had a face as flat as a frying pan.
I ignored them and walked straight out of the church, gripping Pike’s arm a little tighter.
The wedding guests made quite the spectacle. Two hundred or so well-dressed people filed out of the church, following the bride and groom and wedding party, walking two-by-two down a busy street in the height of summer toward a grand old hotel in the center of town.
Some tourist aimed her disc camera at us, and a flash went off.
“I think they might be Kennedys,” she told the man with her.
“Smile big, she thinks we’re Kennedys,” Pepper said loudly, pulling sunglasses from her pocket and putting them on.
We found our table at the reception and sat down. Surrounding my plate was a shining arsenal of silverware, each with its own archaic and specific use. I knew just what to do, thanks to Flo.
After my mother left and my grandmother died, I wouldn’t eat. Flo tried all sorts of tricks to get me to eat: Bugs Bunny flatware, toast cut into shapes with cookie cutters, au gratin everything, food hidden in mashed potatoes (treasure pie, she called it), chocolate chips in my cream of wheat. It wasn’t because I was upset about my mom or that I wasn’t hungry. I just liked saying no and then watching her jump through hoops to please me.
Then one day, I came down to lunch, and there was my teddy bear wearing a tie, seated at the dining table, which was covered in my grandmother’s good linen tablecloth and my toy tea set laid out for a formal dinner for two.
“Madame President, you are dining with King Teddy of Beartopia.”
That’s how I learned what fork to use when. Flo knew all about table settings, because in the Alden days, when there was a whole slew of servants taking care of the family in the house at Hazard Point, Flo’s Aunt Mildred was one of them. They had an actual dinner gong, and when the butler rang it, the Aldens went upstairs and dressed for dinner. Mildred served at the table, in addition to a lengthy list of other jobs that fell under the description of “maid” back in the Alden days.
Mildred taught Flo how to lay a formal table, just like Flo taught me with a toy set. We had to pretend things were different sizes, and of course, there wasn’t an oyster course, just a mini marshmallow. Sometimes, Ebbie or my dad would join us for lunch, and Flo would really make it fancy with sherbet between courses and a variety of glassware.
The first course arrived. Oysters.
“Which one?” Cheddar whispered to me.
“The one closest to Pepper that isn’t hers,” I whispered back.
“Thanks,” he said, lifting a glass of water.
“Not yours … and you’re welcome,” I said absently, taking my glass from his hand, while I scanned the room for Scout.
As I guided Cheddar on his forks and knives throughout the meal, I felt I could draw a straight line between all the events in my life and that reception, as if everything I had learned—from those tea parties to years of enrichment camps—was preparing me for the Tooheys.
Cheddar was on one side of me, and some unknown, bucked-toothed cousin in a big hat was seated next to me. Although Pike and I had walked in arm in arm, he ended up directly across from me at the large round table. Pepper was not happy about the seating arrangement, and although she made a stink, she got seated too late to do anything about it. The groom’s relations we were seated with weren’t at all interested in being bossed around by her the way her own cousins were. She did find a bartender who didn’t card, so that was a great consolation for her.
Scout was a few tables away, with that pan-faced girl laughing at all of his dumb jokes.
I couldn’t help but stare. Even her front teeth were flat, and she showed them off with a big smiley-face grin. It was like her mother had spent her entire pregnancy on her stomach, face down on the pavement, with a pile of encyclopedias stacked on her back.
Cheddar once again made it his business to make sure he danced with all his girl cousins (and me) an equal amount of time. This time, Pike refused to play along and sat there, staring off into space, refusing to dance with anyone—not even the good-looking guests on the groom’s side. Scout kept off the dance floor, too. But he was there with that girl, no question about it. Pixie did a swing dance with her dad after Pike refused her.
Eventually, it was just Pike and me sitting across from each other at the table. I caught him looking at me over the centerpiece, then he looked away quickly. He wouldn’t even talk to me. Was Meredith supposed to be his plus one? Was he suddenly sore about that again? Was he mad at me for it?
The band played “Always and Forever,” and then suddenly, he was standing beside me.
“Would you like to dance with me?” he asked, as if we had just met. I couldn’t tell if he was nervous or just asking because he felt like he was supposed to. I nodded, and he took me by the hand to the middle of the dance floor. I felt his wonderful strong arms around me, and I didn’t care why he asked. The chatter and color of the room began to fade away until it was just me and Pike and the music.
Then, there was an obnoxious blast in my ear of a man belting out the lyrics.
“Each moment with you!” It was Scout’s voice, and it was followed by Pan-Face’s cackle.
“Oh my gawd, stawp it!” she shouted.
“Is just like a dream to me!” he continued, and then Pepper joined him, and suddenly, I was no longer dancing with Pike but linked arm-in-arm with Pike and Pan-Face in an ever-growing circle of cousins, then aunts and uncles, the new in-laws, and even Grannie and Uncle Chet and Aunt Velveeta, swaying back and forth, shrieking the lyrics so loud we couldn’t hear the band and ended up a half a measure ahead of them. The lead singer dedicated the next song to the bride and groom, who were going on an extended honeymoon where they’d be volunteering on an archaeological dig in Turkey. And so they played that awful “Istanbul (not Constantinople)” song. I had to leave, because once I heard it, it would get stuck in my head for days. Flo listened to that sort of old stuff when she mops the floor. She had a little boombox that plays the mix tapes that Ebbie makes for her. She also had a Teresa Brewer tape, but I hated that one so much I hid it behind a bookcase, which proved she never cleaned behind there.
I snuck outside to the patio, joining the smokers. A clutch of old geezers with cigars were perched on the wicker lawn furniture, puffing away. I found an empty bench with a nice view of the marina and wondered how long I could get away with sitting here alone. I wondered if they would forget all about me and return to Keech. I wondered if I had a dime to call home. I wondered what Dad would say when he had to drive all the way to Cape Avery to get me.
“Whatcha doing?” That voice in my ear. It was Scout again, hanging on the back of the bench. “Hiding? Hiding from me?”
“I hate that song.”
“You’re not very romantic,” he said, climbing over the bench and sitting next to me.
“You think that’s a romantic song?”
“Well, it depends—” he started to answer.
“There you are!” It was Pan-Face. She flopped down on the other side of him.
“Hi, I’m—” Just as she said her name, a tray was dropped in the kitchen, and the sound of the crash blasted out the window. I could have sworn she actually said Pan-Face.
“What?!” I asked.
“Janice. I’m Janice.”
“Flipper.” I shook her hand.
“You Tooheys sure are a ball with all your nicknames,” she said.
“Can’t imagine what they’ll call me!” she laughed. I fake smiled. She tugged Scout back inside by the hand, and they disappeared in the crowd.
She thought I was a Toohey. Imagine that. Scout didn’t correct her. Imagine that.
“Ugh. Moon Pie sure keeps Scout on a short leash,” Pepper said as she sat down beside me. That was when it hit me that you might get a nickname you didn’t know about.
“Let’s blow this clambake,” she said.
“Gladly.”
We rounded up Pike, Cheddar, and Pixie, who, by then, had enough of looking precious with her parents and was eager to leave with us. We told Grannie we were taking off. She said that it was okay, so I guess what we were really doing was asking if we could leave.
“Let’s go to the outlook!” Pixie said. We piled into the car, and Cheddar drove as we took in the sights. He pulled into the parking lot for the short hike up Cobb’s Mountain. We hiked in our good clothes and bare feet. From the summit, we watched the sun go down until the chill sent us back to the car.
“Put the heat on, Ched. I’m freezing,” Pepper said, undoing her seatbelt and turning around.
“Sit down and put your seatbelt on,” Cheddar said.
“In a minute. I have exciting news,” she said, pausing for effect. “Three words. Sainte Anne de Beaupré.”
“That’s four words.” Pixie said.
“It’s early for the pilgrimage,” Pike said, suddenly shedding his mopey mood.
“When?” asked Cheddar.
“Next Thursday, coming home Monday. It’s a shrine in Quebec,” Pepper said, suddenly remembering I wasn’t Catholic. Would I need a passport? Was I even invited?
“Well, that clogs the pipe,” Pike said.
“That’s hardly any prep time,” Pepper said.
“It’s doable,” Cheddar said.
“You’ll come, right?” Pepper said to me at last.
“On a pilgrimage?” I asked. Was I ready to go full-on Catholic for the Tooheys?
“No, you goof. Gran’s going to the shrine,” Pepper said. “We’re going to have a party. The Party. The one we throw at Hazard Point every summer when she goes to Quebec. Since oh-so-responsible Scout’s here, she’s going early so he can keep an eye on us while she’s away. Isn’t that just a hoot? He’s the one who invented the Sainte Anne de Part-tay.”