All Dressed Up (2 page)

“You know what
I hate?” Emma said brightly, fixing her gaze on the altar, not on
the people around her. “That I’m the bad guy, you know? That I’m
the one who has worked so hard for this wedding… for my medical
career… to do the right thing… for everything… ten years or more…
not saying a word… and I’m still the bad guy.” She looked at Sarah,
so that Sarah would know that she made Emma into the bad guy,
too.

Which
hurt.

Even though it
was probably true.

“You have been
tightening this around me for months, Charlie.” Emma stepped toward
him, looking small against his ideal male height. He could have
played a doctor on TV, instead of being a real one – a neurosurgery
resident this year. “It’s a strait jacket and you’ve tightened it
and I’ve accepted it, that this was just the way it had to be and
now I’m the bad guy… I’m the witch… and I’m not going to get
married as the witch. The bitch. I’m not. I’m not. I – have – to –
fix – things – first.”

She was crying
– great heaving, gut-wrenching sobs that stopped her words or made
them squeak. It took her endless seconds to get out her final
sentence. Charlie stayed patient, distant. Humans were odd
creatures, he seemed to be thinking.

Sarah was
shaking almost as hard as Emma, now. She wished Mom and Dad and
Billy were still here, because she knew with a fresh, painful
clarity that this was more about them – about the entire Dean
family – than it was about the wedding or Charlie.

They all
needed to fix things, not just Emma. They were such a good, nice
family. They loved each other. And yet something wasn't right.

“Emma?”
Brooke-the-courtesy-bridesmaid was the one who spoke gently, who
put her arms around the fragile bridal shoulders first, who had
just the right perfect touch. Which was somewhat ironic, because
Emma had been complaining about Brooke’s imperfect attitude to the
wedding for months. “Let’s just splash your face a little and get
you dressed and take you home, honey, okay?”

Sarah found a
tissue for Emma, and Amber followed them a few steps behind, making
mince-meat out of her lower lip.

Lainie watched
her niece and Sarah flanking Emma in her strapless miracle bra,
incongruous Capri pants and plastic-bag covered shoes, with the
other girl, Emma’s friend Amber, lagging behind.

Emma’s
shoulders looked hunched and frail. She was much slighter but less
graceful than Sarah, who had a comfortable, well-rounded build, a
dancer’s way of moving, a sweet pretty face, light brown glossy
hair and breasts most men would love.

Emma’s wounded
posture made her chest cave in, so that the stiff cups of the
bridal bra stood out from her body and waggled when she moved.
Those cups! She had nothing to put in them. Her friend and her
sister and Brooke took her away to the back room. Their hands
dabbed at her and hovered around her as if they wanted to hug her
better but couldn't quite get there because of the don’t-touch-me
force-field Emma had put in place.

All four of
them were as pretty as butterflies; warm, bright young women with
good hearts, two of them lo-carb skinny, two a little plumper. They
must have left the church through the side door because they didn't
reappear. Quite soon, Lainie heard two cars starting.

The rain had
eased. She had mosquito bites on her ankles and hands from standing
on the damp porch talking with the Reverend Mac – a rambling,
laughing conversation which they’d both enjoyed so much it was
almost a flirtation. The Dean family – Eric and Terri and
ten-year-old Billy – would be arriving at the rehearsal dinner
restaurant by now, oblivious to what had happened. They wouldn’t
stay oblivious for long, however, because the girls were probably
already running their cell phones hot as they drove.

It was like a
bereavement, Lainie decided. You had to pick up the phone and tell
people, and it was terrible, and those wooden little words were so
powerful.

The wedding is
off.

“What just
happened?” Charlie said. He scratched the back of his neck below
the short, even haircut that showed off the black hair, the perfect
shape of his head. Lainie could never quite believe he was her son.
He didn’t look it, with his dark coloring and exotic shaped black
eyes. His long-gone father had claimed Chippewa and Creole
ancestry, amongst other things, but she had no idea if that was
true. Charlie had a build that belonged to her family, the Keoghs,
big-boned and strong.

“You and Emma
had a who’s-going-to-be-the-first-one-to-cancel-the-wedding contest
and she won,” she told him. “But I have to say it was a close
race.”

“Whoop-ti-doo!” He sounded weary and numb.

“Give
yourselves some time to cool down, and to talk,” Mac said to
Charlie. “I’m around all weekend if you get to the point where you
can go ahead. Even if there’s just the two of you and a couple of
witnesses to your vows.”

Charlie said
quietly, “No. She meant it. And I’m not going to bust my gut to
change her mind. It’s been coming on for a while. I don’t know what
went wrong. We had so much going for us with this. She – she – ”
His voice cracked for a moment, and he grinned in embarrassment,
shook his head, closed his eyes, pressed his surgeon’s thumbs into
the sockets, took another painful breath through that grimace of a
grin.

The flare-up
and split hadn’t come as a relief, Lainie realized. He loved her.
Quite simply loved her. It was a marvel to her that someone as
scary-bright as Charlie could still manage to be simple, when it
counted.

“I doubt we’ll
need you this weekend, Reverend, to be honest,” he said, voice deep
and gravelly. He shook his head again. “I can’t see it.”

“Cool down,”
Mac repeated. “Talk to each other.”

“I don’t want
to talk to her. I want to damn well take Joe or Ben or Elliott to
goddamned Aruba and make the whole ten days into a frenzy of
grateful celebration at how narrowly I got off.” He grinned again,
mocking himself, then paused for a second, blinking the emotion
away. “But I won’t. I’ll go back to work. Do you know what we both
had to do to get time off from the hospital for a June
wedding?”

“That’s really
what you're going to do, Charlie?” Lainie asked. “Go back to
work?”

“Yep.”

“She’s left
the dress behind. You’re wanting to close up, aren’t you,
Reverend?”

Mac. Mac. But
she couldn’t call him Mac to his face after the delicious flirting
in the rain, after discovering such blue eyes and such a bear-like
build, such a hearty laugh, such a sexy black Norton motorcycle,
parked beside the church. And she couldn’t go on flirting with him,
even though he’d made it clear he was single, because she didn’t
have enough faith in God.

“Yes, but
there’s no rush,” the Reverend said.

“I’ll take the
dress,” Charlie announced. “We can’t leave it here. I’m going to
head back to New York. She can pick it up from my apartment if she
wants it. She has keys. She has half her stuff there.”

“You mean head
back to New York tonight?” Lainie asked.

“Yes.”

“Go to the
hospital tomorrow?”

“Probably.
Monday, anyhow.” He virtually lived at the hospital. He was a
neurosurgeon the way some people were vampires or nuns. It ran
right through him. “Tell her I’ll handle canceling the honeymoon
arrangements, can you, please, Mom? I’d offer to do other stuff –
returning the gifts, calling the goddamned florist – ” Lainie
flinched at the repeated blasphemy on the Reverend Mac’s behalf. “
– but she has it sewn up so tight with all her lists…” He shook his
head, gave another agonized grin. “She’ll have to do it.”

“You think I
can talk to her, Charlie?” Lainie said. “Me? The mother-in-law?
Without us yelling at each other?”

“Can’t you?”
He blinked and looked at her warily as if realizing, oh yeah, she’s
not just my mom, she’s human. He bent to pick up the gown. “I’ll
drop you home, Mom. Let me see if she’s left anything in the back
room. She was pretty upset.” He spoke as if he’d already begun to
forgive her, and yet he added immediately, “I probably should have
put the brakes on months ago. I didn’t want this. Any of this.” He
straightened with the dress in his arms. It looked like a bride
being lifted over the threshold.

Chapter
Two

“Yeah, hi,
honey,” said Angie, into her cell. The ring tone told her it was
Brooke. “You’re at the rehearsal dinner?”

“No, I’m not,”
her daughter answered. “I’m checking that you’re home. I’m coming
over.”

“I have a new
listing to measure up. I’m walking out the door. You should be on
your way to the restaurant by now, shouldn’t you?”

“Except that
Emma and Charlie both lost it in the church, right in front of the
minister, so the wedding is off.”

“Off? It’s
off?” God help her, the first reaction was triumph. God help her,
please God forgive her. Angie schooled herself, knowing how wrong
it was, hating the terrible jealousy, the lurching kick of it in
her stomach. “Oh… Brooke… Lordy crap! If only I didn’t have to see
these clients! Where are you? Do you have Ashlyn?”

“On my way
from the church. Emma and Sarah and Amber have gone back to the
Deans’ place. Ash is still with the sitter. I should pick her up.
I’m not thinking.”

“Of course
you’re not. Come over. You have your key? I’ll only be an hour.
Less, if I can. By the time you’ve picked up Ash… Or – Should I
call Lainie? How is she taking it? She must be devastated.” Saying
it, Angie felt the relief of some empathy for her cousin, felt the
jealousy loosen its claws.

“I’m not
sure,” Brooke said. “It happened so fast. She and Charlie and the
minister were still in the church when I left. I have no idea
what’s happening, how anyone feels. Shall I stop off for pizza or
something?”

“Sure. Yes,
do.” Angie couldn’t think, couldn’t even feel. Her teeth were
chattering. It was decades long, this battle between what she
wanted to find in her heart about Lainie, and what was so often
really there. This was the thing people didn’t understand if they
hadn’t experienced it for themselves. You don’t choose jealousy.
Jealousy chooses you.

Charlie and
Emma’s wedding canceled!

Meanwhile,
Brooke’s own wedding plans were proceeding without a hitch. The
disappointment of it hit Angie again, harder to bear in some ways
because she was so determined never to let it show, never to let it
spoil her closeness to her daughter. No-one was going to guess from
the way she behaved and talked that Scott wasn’t a joy to her heart
and a better son-in-law-to-be than she’d ever dared to dream.

And yet her
heart cried out that her kind, pretty, wonderful daughter could do
so much better. Ashlyn’s father was a deadbeat, out of the picture.
Scott was a big improvement but nowhere near enough. All Angie
wanted for Brooke was a really good man. She had spent months
praying that something would drag Brooke back from the altar in
time, that something would stall her until someone better came her
way.

Angie had
practically gone on her bended knees to get Lainie to ask Charlie
to persuade well-heeled, well-raised Emma Dean to have Brooke as
one of her bridesmaids purely in order to throw some better men in
her daughter’s path and give her some higher goals. Wouldn’t most
girls kill for a perfect wedding like Emma’s?

But no.

Brooke had her
down-market catering hall reserved, her bargain basement
invitations sent out, her tacky dress hanging in the closet and her
no-prospects groom telling her, “Do it however you want, honey.”
Their tawdry little wedding day was bearing down upon them and
couldn’t be derailed.

And I
shouldn’t be feeling this way. Does it matter so much if it’s
tawdry? Scott’s not a bad man. But I don’t know how to stop.

Jealousy
chooses you, and it chooses the person you’re jealous of. You have
no control. You can’t reason it away.

Angie parked
in front of her new listing and walked briskly up to the front
door, leaving her private life locked in the back seat of the car
like two screaming toddlers with all the windows shut. She measured
the rooms, suggested painting a Patriot Blue feature wall in the
dining room and took some photos from the curb. She was capable and
pleasant the whole entire time. She was nice. Back in the car, the
contrasting weddings, Charlie’s and Brooke’s, greeted her still
screaming from the back seat as she slid behind the wheel.

She laughed
out loud, bitter at herself and the world. Once again, Lainie Keogh
had what Angie Lang wanted – on this occasion, a canceled wedding –
with the infuriating twist that Charlie’s and Emma’s was the
wedding that should go ahead. Lainie should be devastated at its
cancelation, at such a perfect marriage failing to get off the
ground, but no doubt she wouldn’t be, she would just mouth out some
platitude about listening to their hearts.

She had no
sense of proportion, Lainie, and no practical aspirations, and she
was one of Angie’s three favorite people in the world, along with
Ashlyn and Brooke, but sometimes God forgive me I just can’t feel
it.

Back home,
Angie found her little blonde grand-daughter sitting waiting for
her on the front steps. “We’re hungry, Grammalang.” Grandma Lang.
Ash always said it as if it was one word. So cute.

“You didn’t
have to wait for me, honey.” But she was glad that they had. She
gave Ashlyn a fierce squeeze and took her inside, hugged Brooke
also, and kept the horrible eagerness out of her voice as she said,
“So tell me how it all happened with Emma and Charlie. Is there any
chance it’ll still go ahead? Was it awful?”

Please,
Brooke, God forgive me, tell me that it was awful!

“Tell me
what's going on in your head, Em,” Sarah begged. “Are you okay to
drive?”