Save the Date(101)

“Charlotte.” I looked over to see Aunt Liz striding up to me, her jaw set and eyes narrowed.

“Um—hi.” She was clearly unhappy with me, but at this moment, I couldn’t think why. “Are you . . . having a nice time at the reception?”

“I was,” she said, taking a deep breath and then letting it out, like she was on the verge of screaming at me. “But then I saw where I’d been sat for dinner.”

“We changed that.” I turned to Bill, who immediately nodded.

“You’re Elizabeth?” he asked with a smile. “Don’t worry. I moved you. You’re nowhere near Jimmy.”

“I’m right next to Jimmy!” she spat, pointing across the room, then shook her head and stalked away. I looked where she had pointed and saw the man who must be Uncle Jimmy. He looked like he was a little younger than Aunt Liz and looked very dapper in a sport coat, but this was marred slightly by the fact that he was glowering at Liz, his arms folded across his chest.

I turned to Bill, baffled. “What was that about?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I moved Elizabeth—I know I did.”

“Elizabeth? Or Liz?”

“I—” Bill stopped talking and looked at me, brow furrowing. “Aren’t they the same thing?”

I shook my head. “Elizabeth’s Rodney’s sister—she’s in the bridal party. She was named for Liz. . . .”

“Oh,” Bill said, and I could see his eyes widening as this sank in. “Oh god.”

The seating list that had been assembled from Brooke’s picture—the one Rodney’s dad had been using to do the place cards—was back in the house. It quickly became clear that we weren’t going to be able to get anything done on the board where people were currently picking up their seat assignments. But it also didn’t look like anyone would notice if I stepped out for a moment—we were doing dinner first, then the speeches, and if I had to miss the appetizers, it didn’t seem to be that big of a sacrifice if we could prevent two people from killing each other. I tried to catch Jesse’s eye again, so that he could see that I was leaving and wouldn’t wonder where I’d gotten to. But I noticed now that he was talking to Rodney’s cousin Kyra, who was a little older than me, smiling easily as he leaned closer to hear what she was saying.

Bill held open the back door of the tent for me, and I stepped outside and winced. Things had gotten worse since we’d done our procession from the house. It was almost totally dark out now, and very cold, and the wind had picked up. But more than that, there was the feeling in the air that a storm was brewing, that sense that it’s going to rain, sooner rather than later. I held my skirt down against the wind as we hurried across the lawn to the house.

“The seating chart’s in the dining room,” Bill said as we both stepped inside. I nodded and headed there, carefully walking around the wedding cake on its rolling cart (presumably to get it out to the tent) in the center of the kitchen. One of the caterers was putting finishing touches on it, and I could see the little bride and groom figurines standing up on the kitchen counter, like they were waiting for the cake to be ready for them.

“It looks great,” I said to the man working on the cake, who shot me a quick, hassled smile that disappeared almost instantly. As I looked around, I realized that we’d chosen probably the worst moment to invade the kitchen—the caterers were prepping the plates of appetizers, and there was a buzzing, busy energy that certainly hadn’t been there before. I was halfway across the kitchen, nearly to the dining room, when I heard the sound. “What is that?” I asked, stopping short. It was like I could hear the sound of scratching on the wood floors and a faint yowling sound.

Bill stopped too, frowning, just as Max burst into the kitchen, out of breath, looking around a little desperately. “Maple Syrup?” he called. “Where’s Maple Syrup?”

“Hey, Max,” I said, taking a tentative step toward him, wondering just what kind of munchies he was currently having. “What’s up?”

“I have to find Maple Syrup,” he cried, looking around the kitchen. “He’s gone!”

“He?” Bill asked, just as the yowling got louder.

“What are you talking about, Max?”

“Maple Syrup is my cat,” Max said, his shoulders slumping. “I’ve been hiding him in my room.”

“There’s been a cat here this entire time?” I asked. Max nodded. “No wonder Linnie keeps sneezing! She’s allergic.”

“I’m so sorry, but my cat sitter bailed, so I thought it would be fine, but I went upstairs to . . . um . . .” I nodded, since we all knew what Max had been doing. “And anyway, he got out? So I just need to find him, and—”

With a yowl, a white blur burst into the kitchen, followed closely by a brown-and-white blur that I realized was Waffles. “What—” I started, since I had no idea how the dog had gotten out as well.

The caterers shrieked, and one of them dropped the tray she’d been holding as a cat—and then a dog—ran around her legs. “Hold on,” I yelled, though I didn’t know if I was talking to the caterers, or the animals, but I jumped into action anyway, and I saw Bill do the same. “Let’s just—try—” I yelled, attempting to intercept the dog and cat, who were still racing in circles around the kitchen, zigzagging back and forth as the cat changed direction and Waffles gave chase. He was barking as he ran, a loud, insistent sound, the cat screeching as it tried to get away from him.