Then cried so hard I had to cover my mouth.
Twenty minutes later Laura returned.
Not alone.
Daniel came with her.
Still wearing his tuxedo.
Boutonniere slightly crushed.
My new son-in-law stood three feet from the SUV looking as though somebody had canceled his own wedding rather than mine.
“Claire.”
I wiped my face.
“You should be inside.”
“We need to talk.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“No.”
He looked toward Laura.
She said:
“I’ll wait over there.”
Then walked ten yards away.
Coward.
Daniel moved closer.
He was thirty-one.
Handsome in an ordinary, approachable way.
Brown hair.
Blue eyes.
Account manager for a medical-equipment company.
I had liked him when Emily first brought him home.
That fact tends to disappear in family stories after conflict.
I had liked him.
He listened.
He washed dishes without being asked.
He remembered birthdays.
He called Michael “sir” exactly once before Michael told him never to do that again.
I had not opposed their relationship.
My problems began after the engagement.
Money.
Speed.
Daniel’s mother.
Different things that later became one thing in Emily’s mind.
Daniel said:
“I didn’t know she was going to hit you.”
I stared.
“That is your opening sentence?”
He closed his eyes.
“Sorry.”
“What did you know?”
He stopped.
There.
I felt it.
“What did you know, Daniel?”
He looked toward the venue.
“I knew she was angry about the honeymoon.”
“Because?”
“She got an email saying the payment was reversed.”
“From whom?”
“The resort.”
“Show me.”
He hesitated.
“Now.”
Daniel took out his phone.
Opened the email.
The booking was at a resort in Maui.
Twelve thousand four hundred dollars.
Paid three months earlier.
By me.
The email said:
Your payment reversal has been processed at the request of the cardholder. Remaining balance is now due.
I stared.
I had made no such request.
“What card?”
“Your Amex.”
My stomach tightened.
I opened my phone.
Turned it on.
Banking app.
No refund.
No pending reversal.
I looked at Daniel.
“This is fake.”
His face changed.
“What?”
“There is no reversal.”
“Maybe it hasn’t posted.”
“No.”
“I know my account.”
“Claire—”
“Call the resort.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“Our reception is happening.”
“And apparently our honeymoon is being used to accuse me of sabotage.”
He stared.
Fair.
Then called.