The atmosphere at the Cornwall felt entirely different without the bride and groom. It was too quiet, and lingering in the spa pools now that the wedding had been called off felt almost rude. Even Pauline seemed subdued, fielding questions with a solemn voice.
"Yes, the pool is open again," she said. And, "No, I'm so sorry, but we cannot issue a refund for tonight." And, "Had I known your husband was allergic to oranges, we would have omitted them from the spa infusion."
Phoebe got in line behind Nat and Suz, who were already back in their high buns and neck pillows, making declarations about the wedding in low whispers.
"I truly can't believe it," Suz said. "And yet, I'm not surprised at all."
"I knew Lila wasn't in love with him," Nat said. "I just knew it."
"I didn't know that," Suz said. "But I knew something wasn't right when we were with the Sex Woman."
"Do you think Pauline will give us our money back for tonight if we really beg?" Nat asked.
"No," Suz said. "But at least we got our flights changed."
"You're leaving tonight?" Phoebe asked.
Nat missed Laurel. Suz missed the Little Worm. Then they both went on a long tangent about their own wedding days, how fun they were, how in love they had been. But Phoebe was not ready to leave. Phoebe wanted to stay at this hotel forever.
"Checking out?" Pauline asked Phoebe as she approached.
"I'd actually like to stay another night, if there's room," Phoebe said.
"I'm so sorry, but there are no rooms available," Pauline said. "There's another wedding starting tomorrow. We're fully booked."
"Oh," Phoebe said.
Phoebe felt stunned by the way Pauline said *We're fully booked* with such a decisive tone; it left no room for debate. Pauline, too, had transformed this week—she wore a loose gauzy dress, with wavy beach hair cascading over her shoulders. Phoebe felt proud, but also flustered; she was not ready to leave. She gave Pauline one more moment to make a miracle happen, to look at the computer and say, *Actually, I made a mistake!* But Pauline just blinked, her thick lashes like gargoyle wings. It made Phoebe feel dizzy.
"I'll be staying just tonight, then," Phoebe said.
"Checkout is at eleven," Pauline said.
Upstairs, Phoebe sat on the balcony. She wondered where Gary was. She considered knocking on his door, considered texting him, but then considered that he probably wanted to be alone right now, the way she had wanted to crawl into the hole of her bed after Matt left.
But then she considered that this might be a very different situation. Maybe the last thing he wanted was to be alone. Maybe he was just fine. Maybe he was scuba diving in St. Thomas right now. Maybe she didn't really know him, and again, this was the problem: She worried she didn't.
Phoebe watched Carlson fold up the tiny circular tables he had put out for the hotel after-after-after-party. He stacked them into one long ladder, so tall it looked dangerous. He put the ladder of chairs on his back and walked out of sight. In his wake, Ryun stabbed the white and lilac balloons. He used an obscenely large kitchen knife. Each pop made Phoebe startle.
But then they were gone, and it was just the sound of the ocean and a white ribbon flying off the cliff into the darkness. A waste. The idea was always lurking behind every object, every moment. She imagined the ribbon sinking, and for a moment, she felt herself go with it to the murky bottom.
But then she got up and walked to Gary's door. She knocked. When nobody answered, she turned around to see Marla.
"Where's Gary?" Marla asked.
"I don't know," Phoebe said. "Did he check out of the hotel?"
"I don't know," Marla said. "He just texted and asked me to watch Juice until he gets back. But he didn't say when that will be."
Oliver was by Marla's side.
"So why don't you teach Percy Jackson?" Oliver asked. "Do you not like Greek myth?"
The randomness of the question made Phoebe and Marla laugh.
"Been a little busy," Phoebe said. "But you know what? I'll read one of his books soon and let you know what I think."
Back in her room, Phoebe dawdled, drank some Everybody Water, and ate a complimentary macaron. In a strange way, she felt as she did that first night—unsure of what to do with herself. She would actually have to leave tomorrow, figure out somewhere else to go. Buy a suitcase.
The thought of leaving made her feel nostalgia for the room. No, she felt love for it. She loved this room, the high ceilings, the marble bathroom, the old wood floors. She wished she could take it with her, capture the feeling of being inside here forever, bring it everywhere she went.
And maybe there was some way she could. She opened her notebook.
She reread her wedding speech. As a speech, it was terrible. But as literary analysis of the curious absence of weddings in Victorian marriage plots, it was not bad. She liked the part about Jane Eyre getting married in under a sentence. And the paragraph about Jane's failed wedding being the only wedding that Brontë described in actual detail. And why would Brontë do that? Why spend more time writing the failed wedding than the successful one?
Her phone dinged.
Geoffrey was interested in offering her the job. And yes, she could have a small dog, as long as it was a breed common to the nineteenth century.
Reading the email gave Phoebe the same feeling she got when her father said she could go to summer camp one year. She wanted to tell Gary. She wrote out then deleted a series of possible texts.
*Hey I got the job!*
*Hey there.*
*You okay?*
*Do you think I'd make a good winter keeper?*
Instead, she downloaded *Jane Eyre* on her phone. She reread the scenes leading up to Jane's failed wedding. On the hotel pad, she jotted down any line that seemed to foreshadow the wedding's ruin. She tried to pinpoint the exact moment when the engagement became a trap; was it on the way to town after he proposed? Or did it start much earlier than that, long before Rochester proposed? Eventually she called down for another pad. She wrote all night. She did not smoke. She did not drink. She was energized by the thought of not knowing what she was even writing, of getting to decide it with every sentence.