Save the Date(72)

The kitchen door swung open, and my uncle Stu stepped inside from the backyard, wearing a bathrobe with WESTIN embroidered on it. The dog trotted in after him, and I noticed that his paws looked dirty. I went to try to grab him and clean them off, but maybe sensing what I was after, he took off at a run toward the family room. My uncle slammed the door, and it let out the same three beeps that had sounded when I’d closed it.

“Huh,” Stu said, peering at it. “I think there’s something wrong with your alarm system, Jeff.”

“Thanks for pointing that out, Stu.”

“So,” my uncle said, looking around. “Is breakfast on the way? I could eat a horse.”

J.J. nodded. “That’s what I said! Well, except for the horse part.”

“What’s wrong?” Rodney asked, and to my alarm, I saw that he was looking at Max like he was trying to figure something out. “Max? What’s going on?”

“I’ll do a bagel run,” I said quickly, stepping a little in front of Rodney. “It’s no big deal. I have to get your suit anyway, so . . .”

“What’s wrong with your suit?” The General came into the kitchen from the front hall, and I noticed nearly everyone in the room—aside from Max—stand up a little straighter. It was just his effect on people. It may have also been because while everyone else in the kitchen was either in jeans or pajamas, the General looked like he was ready to play a round of golf, wearing khakis and a button-down, both perfectly pressed.

“Nothing,” Rodney said, walking over to his dad. “It just wasn’t ready yesterday.”

“Well, that’s unacceptable.”

“I agree,” I said quickly. “So I should go pick it up. Along with the bagels.”

“I’ll help,” Bill said immediately, and I could tell just by looking at him that we were thinking the same thing—that it really wouldn’t matter about the suit if we had nobody to perform the ceremony.

“In the meantime, I know we have food in here,” my dad said, crossing to the fridge. “Let me see what’s what. . . .”

“I’ll just . . . ,” I said to Bill, nodding upstairs, so hopefully he would understand I meant I just needed to get dressed. He nodded, and I dashed for the kitchen stairs, nearly crashing into Priya and Jenny W., who were coming down.

“Whoa,” Priya said, her eyes widening. “What’s the hurry?”

“Oh,” I said, starting to edge past them toward the stairs. “Just a lot to do today. You know. Weddings.”

“Is J.J. in there?” Jenny W. asked, fluffing up her hair. I looked at her and noticed she looked awfully good for someone who’d allegedly just woken up.

I just smiled at her, then took the stairs to the third floor two at a time.

*

I put the car in park and glanced at Bill. We had found a spot up the street from Swift Tailors, where Rodney’s suit was waiting for us. The whole ride over, Bill had been trying to find a judge who would be willing to work last-minute on a Saturday, but from what I could hear on this end, it hadn’t sounded like he’d made a ton of progress. “Any luck?”

He lowered his phone slightly, then shook his head. “I keep trying all these offices . . .” He paused. “Chambers? I’m not sure what a judge’s office is called.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “We can ask Rodney.” A second later, though, I remembered that we couldn’t ask Rodney—because as far as Rodney was concerned, Max was still going to be performing his ceremony and Bill and I were not currently on a wild-judge chase.

“Anyway, nobody’s answering the phone,” he said, lowering his cell and looking at it. “I guess when you think about it, court’s not in session on Saturday, so maybe nobody’s there.”

“I guess we should tell them,” I said, glancing over at him. “So we can . . .” I stopped when I realized I didn’t know how to finish that sentence. So that we could what?

“Well,” Bill said, frowning down at his phone, “I’m sure we can think of something. Right? It’s not like the wedding’s not going to happen.”

“Right,” I echoed, hoping I sounded more confident than I felt.

I killed the engine, and we headed up the street and into Swift Tailors. I’d been worried that it wouldn’t be open this early, but Bill had looked it up, and since their adjoining dry-cleaning business, ImPRESSive Cleaners, opened at seven, the tailor shop was open too. But maybe not that surprisingly, since it wasn’t even eight on a Saturday, we were the only people in the store.

“Hi,” I said to the guy behind the counter—GERALD was stitched into his shirt—handing over Rodney’s claim ticket. “Picking up for Rodney Daniels?”

“Ah,” Gerald said, his face creasing into a smile. “The wedding suit, of course. Just a second.” He turned around and walked through a little curtained area in the back.

I leaned my elbows on the counter and looked at the pictures hung up behind the register. The wall was filled with signed pictures of well-known local customers—the governor; Storm Raines, our TV weatherman—and the headshot of Amy Curry, who’d graduated from Stanwich High before I’d gotten there and had had a small part in Time Ninja, last summer’s blockbuster. And above them all—which probably meant it had been there the longest—was a drawing my mother had done, all the GCS characters reacting in horror as a muddy Waffles stood on a pile of clothes. Thanks for always coming to the rescue! she’d scrawled above her signature. The cartoon version of me, at six, was half hiding behind the cartoon version of Danny while Waffles shook mud everywhere.