The Accidental Tourist

A politely inquisitive look remained on her face. Evidently no one had filled her in. (Or else she hadn't bothered to listen.) "Well, since I seem to be the maitre d'/' she said, "I'll show you out back where the bride and groom are."

"Rose is not in hiding?"

"No, she says she doesn't see the logic in missing her own wedding,"

Alicia said, leading them toward the rear of the house. "Muriel, have you known Macon long?"

"Oh, kind of."

"He's very stuffy," Alicia said confidingly. "All my children are. They get it from the Leary side."

"I think he's nice," Muriel said.

"Oh, nice, yes. All very well and good," Alicia said, throwing Macon a look he couldn't read. She had linked arms with Muriel; she was always so physical. The trim on her caftan nearly matched Muriel's shawl. Macon had a sudden appalling thought: Maybe in his middle age he was starting to choose his mother's style of person, as if concluding that Alicia-silly, vain, annoying woman-might have the right answers after all. But no. He put the thought away from him. And Muriel slipped free of Alicia's arm.

"Alexander? Coming?" she asked.

They stepped through the double doors of the sun porch. The backyard was full of pastels-Rose's old ladies in pale dresses, daffodils set everywhere in buckets, forsythia in full bloom along the alley. Dr.

Grauer, Rose's minister, stepped forward and shook Macon's hand. "Aha!

The best man," he said, and behind him came Julian in black- not his color. His nose was peeling. It must be boating season again. He put a gold ring in Macon's palm and said, "Like for you to have this." For a moment Macon imagined he was really meant to have it. Then he said, "Oh, yes, the ring," and dropped it in his pocket.

"I can't believe I'm finally getting a son-in-law," Alicia told Julian.

"All I've ever had is daughter-in-laws."

"Daughters," Macon said automatically.

"No, daughter-in-laws."

"Daughters-in-law, Mother."

"And didn't manage to keep them long, either," Alicia said.

When Macon was small, he used to worry that his mother was teaching him the wrong names for things. "They call this corduroy," she'd said, buttoning his new coat, and he had thought, But do they really? Funny word, in fact, corduroy. Very suspicious. How could he be sure that other people weren't speaking a whole different language out there? He'd examined his mother distrustfully-her foolish fluff of curls and her flickery, unsteady eyes.

Now here came Porter's children, the three of them sticking close together; and behind them June, their mother. Wasn't it unusual to invite your brother's ex-wife to your wedding? Particularly when she was big as a barn with another man's baby. But she seemed to be enjoying herself.

She pecked Macon on the cheek and cocked her head appraisingly at Muriel.

"Kids, this is Alexander," Macon said. He was hoping against hope that they'd all just fall in together somehow and be friends, which of course didn't happen. Porter's children eyed Alexander sullenly and said nothing. Alexander knotted his fists in his pockets. June told Julian, "Your bride is looking just radiant," and Julian said, "Yes, isn't she," but when Macon located Rose he thought she looked tense and frayed, as most brides do if people would only admit it. She wore a white dress, mid-calf length but very simple, and a little puff of lace or net or something on her head. She was talking to their hardware man. And yes, there was the girl who cashed their checks at the Mercantile Bank, and over next to Charles was the family dentist. Macon thought of Mary Poppins-those late-night adventures he used to read to Ethan, where all the tradespeople showed up behaving nothing like their daytime selves.

"I'm not sure if there's been any research on this," Charles was telling the dentist, "but have you ever tried polishing your teeth with a T-shirt after flossing?"

"Er . . ."

"A plain cotton T-shirt. One hundred percent cotton. I think you're going to be impressed when I have my next checkup. See, my theory is-"

Muriel and June were discussing Caesareans. Julian was asking Alicia if she'd ever sailed the Intracoastal Waterway. Mrs. Barrett was telling the mailman that Leary Metals used to make the handsomest stamped tin ceilings in Baltimore.

And Sarah was talking to Macon about the weather.

"Yes, I worried when it rained last night," Macon said. Or he said something; something or other . . .

He was looking at Sarah. Really he was consuming her: her burnished curls and her round, sweet face, and the dusting of powder on the down along her jawline.

"How have you been, Macon?" she asked him.

"I've been all right."

"Are you pleased about the wedding?"

"Well," he said, "I am if Rose is, I guess. Though I can't help feeling .

. . well, Julian. You know."

"Yes, I know. But there's more to him than you think. He might be a very good choice."