Season of Sisters (8 page)

When Grace and Holly's giggles faded, she added, "When the team went to the movies that night, I snuck back to the store and bought eight penises. Gave 'em as Christmas gifts to the girls on the PTA board with me that year."

Once they all caught their breath, Holly said, "That's enough. My stomach hurts too much to laugh any more."

At that moment, the last little sliver of sun dipped below the horizon and the sky softened into shadowy shades of mauve, purple, and pink. Holly sighed. "I love Texas sunsets."

Grace reached over and patted her knee. "Thank you for sharing this one with us."

"Hear hear," Maggie added.

As a surprising sense of peace stole across her soul, Holly started her car and made a U-turn back toward Fort Worth. She switched on her headlights, then took one last look at the evening sky before focusing her attention on the road. Softly, she said, "You know what, ladies? Everything considered, today wasn't a total disaster, after all."

Chapter 4

Late Sunday afternoon,
Grace sat surrounded by white on three sides while she typed on a laptop computer at a small round table just inside the main entrance to the Greystone Hotel's ballroom. The gowns—eighty-three of them—were those donated to the Pink Sisterhood by local women and a surprising number of men during this weekend's sale.

While she typed names and addresses of the donors into the foundation’s database, Grace listened with idle attention to events taking place around her. At the check-out table just the other side of the rack of vintage gowns to the right she heard Charlene Roberts advise a bride about a headpiece for the gown she'd chosen. At a nearby station, Maggie Prescott explained to another volunteer how to operate the clothes steamer. Near the dressing room door, a newspaper reporter interviewed a shopper for a follow-up article on the sale that would run in Monday's
Star-Telegram.
When the reporter asked the bride-to-be why she'd chosen a secondhand gown for her wedding, the young woman's response gave Grace goose bumps.

"My grandmother died of breast cancer two years ago," she said. "We were very close and I'll miss her dreadfully on my wedding day. When I heard about the Pink Sisterhood, I knew right away I wanted to buy my gown from them. This way I get to help another breast cancer patient, and at the same time, feel like I'm sharing my special day with my nana."

It was the same sort of thing Holly's beau had tried to do, Grace knew. It was a lovely thought, but Holly wasn't ready for it.

"Yet," Grace said aloud as her gaze stole to the end of a nearby rack where Maggie Prescott's donated wedding gown hung. Maggie had said Holly loved her dress, that she thought it was the prettiest one at the sale. Maggie also didn't truly want to let the gown go, Grace could tell. If Grace had any disposable income whatsoever, she'd have bought the gown herself and put it away for the two of them to come to their senses. She'd thought about asking Charlene to set the dress aside for a time, but upon reflection, she'd decided she didn't feel right about doing that. After all, the dress was lovely and would certainly sell quickly. The five hundred dollars that sale would bring in would help send a family to Disney or buy a video camera to tape messages from a Stage IV mother to her children. Grace couldn't in good conscience interfere.

Grace pondered the problem of Maggie's wedding gown as she worked her way to the bottom of the donor list. She'd just begun typing Maggie's zip code when a familiar voice stopped her mid-stroke.

Holly Weeks spoke from the other side of the dress rack.

"Excuse me, Charlene."

"Holly. How lovely to see you. I understood you weren't able to volunteer today."

Grace quit typing.

"To be honest," Holly replied, "I didn't intend to, but I realized a little while ago that I lost an earring yesterday. A gold hoop. It matches this one. Has anyone turned it in to you?"

Grace wanted to go say hello, but something in the young woman's voice gave her pause. She'd wait just a minute. Listen a little more. Thank goodness she wasn't morally opposed to eavesdropping.

"Oh, dear. I am so sorry, but no, we have had no jewelry of any kind turned in. That is such a beautiful earring."

"It was my mother's."

Oh no. An heirloom. Grace wondered if Holly had checked the rest room.

"Have you inquired at the front desk? I am certain the hotel has a Lost and Found."

"Yes. I struck out there, too. Maybe it'll turn up when the gowns are moved out of the ballroom. I'll hang around and help with breakdown if that's all right with you. It's not the most flattering reason for volunteering to help, I know, but..."

Charlene laughed. "I never turn down a volunteer."

As the two women discussed where help was most needed at the time, Charlene's cell phone rang. From the one-sided conversation that followed, Grace gathered a problem had developed regarding a wish Pink Sisterhood had granted to a Washington woman who wanted to visit a dude ranch in Montana. Charlene discussed alternative flight arrangements with her wish director, and immediately upon her finishing the call, her phone rang again. This time it was a local restaurant asking questions about the pizzas to be delivered during breakdown an hour later. Grace heard Charlene say she'd need to ask the hotel liaison, then her voice faded as she walked away.

A shrill voice filled the void. "Who's in charge here? There's a problem with this gown and the girl in the dressing room said I'd have to talk to the woman in charge."

Holly said, "Charlene is busy at the moment. Perhaps I can help?"

"My daughter wants this gown, but it has a tear in it, so I want you to deduct a hundred and fifty dollars."

Frowning, Grace pushed apart two of the wedding gowns on the rack separating her from the check-out table, trying to make a spot through which to peek at Holly and the skinflint without being seen. A bow on the bustle of an early nineties gown blocked her view of Holly, and she scowled at the fashion dinosaur. She was tempted to rip it off, but better sense prevailed. This might be some girl's dream dress. Grace shifted her chair instead.

The woman glaring at Holly was tall, fashionably thin, and dressed to the nines. She held a gown Grace recognized right away. She knew about the "tear." It was a tiny little quarter-inch slit on the train, probably made by a heel, and easily mended.

Grace rose and walked around her shield of white, intending to explain how a little iron-on tape would make the dress like new again, when the mother-of-the-bride continued to speak.

"Also, it's soiled along the edge of the train, so I want the veil and the slip for free."

Grace's chin dropped. The nerve of that woman.

Holly's voice dripped sugar as she briefly met Grace's gaze, then replied, "I'm sorry, but you will need to talk to Charlene about that and she is busy right now on a phone call. I believe it has something to do with the wishes the charity is granting to terminally ill men and women with proceeds from this weekend's sale."

Holly reached over to check the tag on the Demetrios Italian silk gown the woman had piled onto the check-out table. "What a lovely dress," Holly said. "Brand new, too. This is obviously one of the gowns donated by the manufacturer. You know, I believe this one retails for between eighteen hundred and two thousand dollars. Aren't you lucky to be getting it for the five ninety-nine price tag."

"It's soiled, I tell you," insisted the woman as Maggie abandoned the steamer and joined the tableau, her eyebrows lifted in a questioning arch. "I'm not paying over four hundred dollars for it."

"Mmm hmm. Won't it make you feel good to know that the money you spent was used to purchase... well, here, let me look at our list of wishes waiting to be granted." Holly lifted a sheet of paper from the table, a page Grace knew itemized pizza requests rather than wishes.

"It appears as if your purchase will pay for a video camera and VCR for an indigent young mother in Georgia. She wants to record herself reading children's books aloud so her two preschool children will still be able to have their mother read to them after she dies. Oh, but wait. Here it says the equipment costs over six hundred dollars and if the foundation discounts your brand new designer gown, which is already reduced well over a thousand dollars, we won't be able to afford both. Which should we not buy, do you think? The camera or the VCR? Oh, and by the way, your ring is simply beautiful. I love canary diamonds. It's about two carats, isn't it?"

Maggie leaned over and spoke in Grace's ear. "That girl is good."

By the time Charlene finished her phone call and returned, Holly had completed the sale for full price and a bonus. Maggie and Grace filled Charlene in on the younger woman's coup while Holly smirked over her victory.

Talk turned to the Pink Sisterhood organization itself, and Holly explained that she'd visited the foundation's website last night. She asked Charlene about her day-to-day work, then they spoke for a bit about the wishes that the charity had granted and those currently waiting to be filled. It was only when Holly mentioned how, in effect, when a person is diagnosed with breast cancer the entire family is diagnosed with cancer, that Grace again heard the note of pain in Holly's voice.

Charlene reached out and squeezed Holly's hand. "You lost a family member?"

"My mom. It was thirteen years ago, but sometimes it feels like yesterday."

Oh, Holly,
Grace thought.

"Oh, Holly," Charlene said. "She must have been young."

"Thirty-two."

Maggie elaborated. "Holly was only twelve."

"How terribly sad for you both." Sympathy and compassion filled Charlene's expression. "A girl so needs her mother at that time of life. Two of our wish families include pre-teen daughters. Neither of the mothers are expected to live beyond Christmas. It's the saddest thing. I know how to relate to the women. I understand when they wish to talk or simply be silent. The children, the daughters especially, leave me at a loss. I do not know how to communicate with them. It breaks my heart. They break my heart. How does one deal with such a devastating loss at that age?"

"I made a list."

At Charlene's curious look, Holly gave a little, embarrassed laugh, then explained about the Life List she'd mentioned during the brouhaha yesterday in the ladies' room. This time when she said that it contained thirty-two items, Grace made the connection between Holly's number of goals and the age her mother died. Had Holly chosen the number on purpose?

"What sort of goals are on your list?" Charlene asked.

"Number twenty-five is 'I will win the Yard of the Month Award.' Number sixteen is 'I will teach an adult to read.' I've already checked that one off. Number eight is 'I will save a life.'"

"It sounds like an ambitious list," Charlene said. "I love the idea of it."

Holly shrugged. "Don't be too impressed. Owning crotchless panties is on it, too."

Charlene looked scandalized, and Grace barely held back a laugh. Maggie didn't even try. "Maybe I should make a list, too. Think of the fun I could have with it. I could use some fun."

Holly smiled crookedly, then pulled a gold hoop earring from her pocket and slipped it over the ring finger on her left hand. Looking at it, she continued, "I used it as an escape. Whenever my troubles got too heavy to bear, I'd dream about my list. I'd imagine myself skiing the Alps or diving a shipwreck. It helped me cope. You might want to pass the idea along to those daughters you mentioned, Charlene."

The conversation was interrupted when a bride approached the table with a gown purchase. Moments later another half-dozen women waited in line, their arms full of white silk, organza, and lace. Grace and Holly pitched in to bag gowns and veils while Maggie helped Charlene write receipts. When the rush was done, Charlene glanced toward Holly and picked up where they'd left off. "Why don't
you
pass it along?"

"Pardon me?"

Charlene offered a sensible, encouraging, you'll-be-ashamed-if-you-refuse-me smile. "I think it would be nice if you talked to the girls, if you told them about your list, how it helped you, and any other bits of advice you might have. You could talk to them from the position of having been in the trenches with them."

Grace thought it was a wonderful idea and she'd just opened her mouth to add her two cents when Holly backed away.

"Wait a minute," Holly protested. "I'm no counselor. No therapist. I'm certainly no expert on how to deal with a parent's death. I'm still messed up myself. I don't do cancer. I don't talk about it. I try not to even think about it. It's too hard."

Grace reached out and touched Holly's arm. "But you could be a friend who talks about female things. Makeup and boys and shoes. You could be a real-life Pink Sisterhood wish for those girls. You could give them a respite from their worries. I think it's a wonderful idea."

"No. It's not. Really." Holly's dark hair, tied in a youthful ponytail today, whipped back and forth as she shook her head.

Maggie tucked a pink pen behind one ear, then folded her arms. "It's a great idea and you know it. You know how to relate to youngsters that age. You're a middle-school teacher. Relating is your job."