CHAPTER THIRTYMarigold
As she made her way from the inn to her parents’ cottage, Marigold thought about how many thousands of times she must’ve followed this route. Back when she was little, they’d walk into town after dinner for ice cream, and Marigold had been allowed to order whatever she wanted as a reward for completing the two-mile trip without complaining. She’d always get a triple scoop (with three different flavors, of course) in a cone, despite the fact that the top scoop would inevitably slide off onto the ground before they made it past the boardwalk. Olivia would roll her eyes while holding her demure cup of vanilla or butter pecan (even as a child, Olivia had had a horror of staining her clothes), and explain that the definition of insanity was “doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.”
Around thirteen or fourteen, Marigold would sneak out after everyone went to bed to meet friends in town, where they encountered little resistance to their quest to get drunk. The fancyhotel bar was staffed by college kids—generally older siblings of people they knew—and the owner of the dive bar happily turned a blind eye. They’d down too many rum and Cokes, then stumble back home through the woods, peeling off as they reached the paths to their own cottages. Marigold’s cottage was the farthest away, which meant finishing the walk alone, but she never minded. The world felt like a safe, welcoming place, even when it was spinning. The trees were her friends, her protectors.
But today, the journey felt different. The familiarity of the wooded path seemed more mocking than comforting, the trees callously indifferent to Marigold’s pain. How could everything look the same when the world was crashing down around her? She knew Olivia had been telling the truth; she’d seen it in her sister’s eyes. Their mother was going to die, and Marigold had ruined the one thing that’d been keeping Lulu going, the event that’d allowed her to put on a brave face.
Marigold thought of all the ways she’d contributed to this mess: hiding her previous marriage from her family and Jonathan to protect her fragile ego, waiting too long to secure the marriage license, piling lie upon lie upon lie. But then again, hadn’t she been right to try to sort it all out on her own? Who could she trust anymore? Not Olivia, who’d decided to keep Marigold in the dark, robbing her of the chance to deal with their mother’s impending death on her own terms. Not Jonathan, who—the moment things turned rocky—fell into the arms of her best friend. And certainly not Natalie, whose betrayal felt like the most shocking letdown of all.
As she turned up the drive, Marigold wasn’t sure what she wanted to find. Part of her hoped her parents had already left for the ceremony so she could delay this conversation until after thewedding, to let Lulu keep the mask on for just a bit longer. But Marigold also knew that there wouldn’tbea wedding if she didn’t let her mother help her sort through the mess she’d created.
Lulu was standing on the porch, staring out through the trees toward the ocean. She was dressed in the outfit she’d picked months ago—a long teal silk dress with a matching sequined bolero jacket, and a black cloche hat with teal feathers. As Marigold approached, her chest tightened, the muscles in her rib cage straining to protect a heart that felt dangerously fragile.
Although Marigold was certain she made no noise as she approached, Lulu still turned to look at her, sensing her presence as always. She beamed when she caught sight of Marigold, then her face fell as she registered the pain in her younger daughter’s face.She knows, Marigold realized.
Lulu came down the front steps and pulled Marigold into a tight hug before stepping back to survey her with a sad smile. “Olivia told you?”
Marigold nodded, afraid to open her mouth lest a sob escape.
“I’m so sorry. You should know, everyone was against this plan—Olivia, Bill. But I was selfish and stubborn and got my way. I just wanted you to have a perfect weekend; I couldn’t bear the thought of ruining your wedding.”
Trembling slightly, Marigold made her way up to the porch and sank into an Adirondack chair. “And now I’ve ruinedyourperfect weekend,” she said, no longer able to hold back tears.
“Don’t be silly.” Lulu sat next to Marigold and placed her thin hand on her knee. “You could never ruin anything.”
Marigold let out a sound that was half laugh, half sob. “Wanna bet?” In one breathless rush, she told her mother everything: about the marriage license and her secret marriage to Hugo, hertrip to Canada and her lies to Jonathan, and what she saw when she finally made it back.
“Oh my god, Marigold, sweetheart.” Lulu closed her eyes, looking pained. “I’m so sorry you had to go through all this.”
“It was all my fault. I deserved it.”
“Absolutely not. You made some poor decisions, but you did it all for the right reasons. I know you were just trying to protect us… to protect me.” Lulu shook her head. “If anyone’s to blame, it’s me. I encouraged you to have this big wedding instead of eloping. I was the one who placed all this pressure on you. This was all my doing.”
“What?” Marigold wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Stop it. You deserved to have something to look forward to.”
“That’s just it—I never wanted it to be about me. I thought you and Olivia and Bill deserved one final, special family memory. I became so fixated on that, I stopped thinking about what you all actually wanted.”
“I just wanted to make you happy,” Marigold said softly. “I wanted you to have something special.”
“That’s the one good thing about dying,” Lulu said with a smile. “Everythingfeels special. Every morning when I wake up, I feel overwhelmed by gratitude, knowing that I have one more day to spend with all of you. I don’t need a big party. Every day feels like a party.”
“I guess that’s good, because it seems like the wedding is probably off.”
“Have you spoken to Jonathan yet?”
“Yeah, we’re meeting up to talk after this. But I don’t really know what I want to say.” Nausea twisted her stomach as she recalled the image of him kissing Natalie. “I’m not sure if I canforgive him. And I’m not sure he can forgive me. Doesn’t seem like the best way to start a marriage, does it?”
“I don’t think there’s any way of knowing until you speak to him. Your heart will know what it wants when you see him.”
“My heart hasn’t been speaking that clearly lately.”
“What do you mean?”
“I guess… I don’t know, I’ve spent my whole life following my heart, and look where it’s gotten me. With Jonathan, it was different. I was trying to let my brain make the decision for once, and it seemed like a good one.”
“Do you love him?”
“Yes! But I also knew he’d be good for me, you know? He’d take care of me, like you said. And choosing him would show the rest of you how much I’d grown up, that I was finally capable of making smart choices.”
