Page 90 of The Weekend Crashers
“Maggie.”
“I’m serious. What about your retreats? You’ve built so much here. It means everything to people. I saw it myself. Sheila’s been coming here for years. Kalli and Laurel are going to make a tradition out of it. I was only a part of it for one weekend and I saw the community you’ve built.”
Belinda sighs. “To be honest, I did try talking to Max about other options. But money is money, and I can’t hold him back.”
“So... you’re leaving New Hope.”
“I really don’t know, Maggie. Like you, I find myself at a crossroads. So, as you see—I don’t have things all figured out after all.”
Maggie pushes her plate away. She can’t eat. As bad as she feels about the news, she imagines Belinda feels worse.
“I can’t believe this,” Maggie says.
“Well, for what it’s worth, I like your knit shop idea. You’d be great at it. And it would be wonderful for the town.”
Maggie shakes her head. “The knit shop idea doesn’t work without you.”
Belinda reaches out and pats her hand. “That’s very sweet. But of course it does.”
Maggie can barely swallow from the lump in the throat. She sees that Belinda too has stopped eating. Whatever Maggie has lost with this news, Belinda is losing more.
“Are you okay?” Maggie asks gently.
“No,” Belinda says, her eyes glassy. “But I’ll make do.”
Now Maggie feels just awful. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” she says.
“You’re not the one upsetting me,” Belinda sniffs. “Please... stay over tonight. I know this isn’t what you came here expecting to hear. But we can have a nice dinner together and I’m hoping you won’t feel the trip is a total loss.”
How can she refuse? But she has work tomorrow. And yet Elaine is the one who pushed her to start thinking in this direction. Plus, Elaine is from New Hope. She knows of the inn. She’s the one who told her about the retreat in the first place. If anyone will understand, it’s Elaine.
“Sure,” Maggie says. “I’ll stay.”
Piper is getting anxious. She knows that getting anything official done in New York City is a bureaucratic nightmare, but it had been so easy getting the marriage licenses, she’d hoped they’d just be in and out—Mr. and Mrs. before noon. She’s eager to sayI do.
The waiting vestibule is getting more crowded with couples. Behind them, a baby wails in its stroller. A cell phone rings despite the signs saying Please Silence Your Phones.
A nearby door leads to the ceremony room, and every so often, various clerks step out to call out names. Piper has been keeping track, and she’s fairly certain they’re next.
“It’s starting to feel real,” Piper says, and Ethan squeezes her hand.
She hopes someone can take their photo—something better than just a quick selfie. It would be ironic if she had countless photographs of herself wearing clothes that meant nothing to her but not one of her in her bridal outfit. If she could even call it that.
Behind them, the door to the clerk’s office opens and someone calls out in a raspy voice with a heavy Brooklyn dialect, “The Brandt-Hodges party?”
Piper and Ethan stand, and when she turns toward the office, she’s surprised to see a familiar face.
“Hannah Elise?”
“Piper?”
“What are you doing here?” they say in unison.
“You two know each other?” Ethan says.
So this is the bureaucratic day job Hannah Elise refused to talk about.
Hannah Elise steps out of the doorway, joining them in the waiting area. She’s wearing plain black pants and a striped button-down shirt, her strawberry curls tamed in a bun. Only the silver nose ring reflects anything about her personal style.
