Dead Letters(102)

“Nope. I’ll come over with you and show you which cases we want. Um, Dora…” I pause, uncomfortable at the thought of ordering her around, but she looks capable and keen to help out. “There are some tablecloths and decorations for the tasting room inside. Maybe you and Steve can load them in your car and bring them over? My grandmother is inside, and she can show you what needs to come.”

“Got it.” Dora salutes me semiseriously and disappears inside. I gesture to Wyatt, and we head back over to the tasting room.

“Things under control here?” he asks, looking closely at me in concern. “You doing okay?”

“Oh, you know,” I breathe shakily. “I’ll be fine. Nervous that Zelda is going to pop up at some point.” Wyatt says nothing. “Or that someone will show up to arrest me.” This possibility has had me more than a little concerned.

Wyatt grunts. “Any more notes?” he asks gruffly.

“Not yet. That has me on edge too,” I add. “Oh, by the way: I got U wrong. The letter, I mean,” I correct myself swiftly. “It wasn’t unlocked. It was underneath. The deck.”

“Carefully constructed,” Wyatt says. I nod and recount how I found V and X, Vicodin and Xanax. I don’t tell him what Zelda wants me to do with them, what I’ve been mulling over.

“What do you think W is?” he asks.

“Maybe it’s for Wyatt,” I answer, stopping at the entrance to the tasting room and draping my arms around his neck to give him a kiss. I don’t want to talk about Zelda’s game anymore; I suspect that if I allow myself to feel anything at all, I will collapse into a weepy hot mess.

“I don’t know how you can live with all this, Ava,” Wyatt says. He strokes my hair. “You’re incredible.”

“I’ve had a lifetime of practice.” I untangle myself from him and open the door to the tasting room cellar with my key, inhaling the pleasant scent of our cave: grapy and woody and musty all at once. I point out the wine that Marlon wants to use, and Wyatt dutifully lifts two cases of the Chardonnay while I struggle with one box of the red blend. I have no idea how many people we’re expecting, but three cases seems bountiful, at least for now.

By the time we make it up the stairs into the tasting room, I’m panting, and a vein in my head is throbbing. My sweat has an unhealthy smell, and I wonder if I should change my dress. Wyatt and I unpack the bottles of white and plunge them into an ice bath. My mouth waters as I handle the cool glass, and I’m extremely tempted to open a bottle right now.

“Is it too early for a glass?” Wyatt asks, half-kidding, and I chuckle.

“Was just thinking exactly that. I still have to set up and herd people over here, so I suppose it’s too early for me. But help yourself.”

“I’ll wait for a civilized moment,” Wyatt says. I hear footsteps on the deck; Dora and Steve bustle in with armfuls of fabric spilling out of boxes.

“God, it’s been so long since we were here!” Dora exclaims. “It’s so effing pretty.”

“Totally,” Steve agrees, sounding happily stoned.

“Yeah, shame my family is crawling all over it,” I reply. “Otherwise it would be lovely.”

Tactfully ignoring what I’ve just said, the Darlings begin unpacking tablecloths and vases. It seems outrageous to make the space appear festive, but once we’ve arranged everything, it does look like we’re going to have a party. Zelda would appreciate it. I dispatch Dora back to the big house for the speakers and send Steve to pick some wildflower posies for the empty vases. Wyatt opens bottles for a few minutes, and I fuss distractedly, though I can’t stop staring at the road, waiting for Marlon’s rented convertible to swing into the drive. Wyatt comes over and grabs my hands; I’ve been shredding a stray doily into little paper snowflakes.

“I know this is awful,” he says soothingly. “You, having to enact this…whatever it is. Pretend this game is real. Zelda’s put you in a shitty situation.”

“Yes, yes, she has.” I shake my hands, trying to dispel my physical tension. “Is it crazy that I feel something like stage fright? I’m really fucking anxious,” I admit.

“No. You’re performing, after all.”

I nod. “I think Marlon booked,” I say weakly.

“Really? He’s not here?” Wyatt stiffens and looks toward the window, as though Marlon will be in sight.

“Left this morning. I think he bailed.”

“Shit. That asshole!” Wyatt looks murderous. I could kiss him. I do.

“C’est la vie,” I say lightly. “We’ll just get through this afternoon.”

“I’m here, Ava. I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs.

Dora and Steve come back with both sound equipment and floral arrangements moments later, and we bustle around, adding our finishing touches. A car pulls into the driveway as we’re testing out the music, and I swallow hard. Here we go.

“I’ll be right back. I’ve gotta go collect Nadine and Opal. And change my dress,” I add with a delicate sniff.

Wyatt nods. “I’ll hold down the fort.”

I pour myself a serious slug of wine and toss it back medicinally. Then I dash over toward the house to usher Nadine and Opal over, only to find that Opal is already tugging Nadine across the lawn. They look like two frail old ladies, not women from two different generations. Nadine has a contemptuous and stubborn expression on her face, but Opal won’t be deterred. She refuses to slow down as they make their way along the dirt path. I catch up to them and seize my mother’s other arm. She doesn’t acknowledge me.