Shakespeare's Christmas (5 page)

“Oh, my goodness,” said Eve’s mama, her thin face transformed by a sweet smile. “I better say hello, then. I’m Eve’s mother, as I’m sure you figured. Meredith Osborn.”

“Hello again,” I said. “Lily Bard.” This woman had just had a baby, according to Varena, but she looked no larger than a child herself. Losing “baby weight” was not going to be a problem for Meredith Osborn. I didn’t think Meredith Osborn was over thirty-one, my age, and she might be even younger.

“Can you pick us both up, Miss Lily?” Eve asked, and my niece-to-be suddenly looked much more interested in me.

“I think so,” I said and bent my knees. “One on either side, now!”

The girls each picked a side, and I hooked my arms around them and stood, making sure I was steady. The girls were squealing with excitement. “Hold still,” I reminded them, and they stopped the thrashing that I had worried would topple us all over onto the driveway.

“We’re queens of the world,” Anna shouted extravagantly, sweeping her arm to indicate her turf. “Look at how high up we are!”

Dill had been talking to Varena in the doorway, but now he glanced over to find out what Anna was doing. His face looked almost comical with surprise when he saw the girls.

With the anxious smile of someone who is trying not to panic, he strode over. “Better get down, sweetie! You’re a big load for Miss Lily.”

“They’re both small,” I said mildly and surrendered Anna to her dad. I swung Eve in front of me and set her down gently. She grinned up at me. Her mother was looking at her with that smile of love women get when they look at their kids. A little mewling sound came from the house. “I hear your sister crying,” Meredith Osborn said wearily. “We better go in and see. Good-bye, Miss Bard, nice to meet you.”

I nodded at Meredith and gave Eve a little smile. Her brown eyes, peering up at me, looked enormous. She grinned at me, a smile stretching from one ear to another, and dashed in after her mother.

Anna and her father were already in the Bronco, so I climbed in, too. Dill chatted all the way back to my parents’ home, but I half tuned him out. I had already talked to more people today than I normally spoke to in three or four days in Shakespeare. I was out of the habit of chitchat.

I got out at my folks’ with a nod to Dill and Anna and strode into the house. My mother was fluttering around the kitchen, trying to get something ready for us to eat before we went to the shower. My dad was in the bathroom getting ready for the bachelor dinner.

My mother was worried that some of Dill’s friends might get carried away and have a stripper perform at the party. I shrugged. My father wouldn’t be mortally offended.

“It’s your dad’s blood pressure I’m really worried about,” Mom said with a half smile. “If a naked woman popped out of a cake, no telling what might happen!”

I poured iced tea and set the glasses on the table. “It doesn’t seem too likely that anyone will do that,” I said, because she was looking for reassurance. “Dill’s not a kid, and it’s not his first marriage. I don’t think any of his local friends are likely to get that carried away.” I sat down at my place.

“You’re right,” Mom said with some relief. “You always have such good sense, Lily.”

Not always.

“Are you . . . seeing anyone . . . now, honey?” Mom asked gently.

I stared up at her as she hovered over the table, plates in her hands. I almost said no automatically.

“Yes.”

The fleeting look of sheer relief and pleasure that flashed across my mother’s pale, narrow face was so intense I felt like taking back my yes. I was feeling my way with Jack every hour we were together, and to have our relationship classified as a standard dating situation made me horribly anxious.

“Can you tell me a little about him?” Mom’s voice was calm, her hands steady as she set the plates down at our places. She sat down across from me and began to stir sugar into her tea.

I had no idea what to say.

“Oh, that’s all right, I don’t want to intrude on your privacy,” she said after a moment, flustered.

“No,” I said just as quickly. It seemed awful to me that we were so leery of each other’s every word and silence. “No, that’s . . . no, it’s OK. He . . .” I pictured Jack, and a tide of longing swept over me, so intense and painful that it took my breath away. After it ebbed, I said, “He’s a private detective. He lives in Little Rock. He’s thirty-five.”

My mother put her sandwich down on her plate and began smiling. “That’s wonderful, honey. What’s his name? Has he been married before?”

“Yes. His name is Jack Leeds.”

“Any kids?”

“No.”

“That’s easier.”

“Yes.”

“Though I know little Anna so well now, at first when Dill and Varena began dating . . . Anna was so little, not even toilet trained, and Dill’s mother didn’t seem to want to come to take care of Anna, though she was a cute little toddler . . .”

“That worried you?”

“Yes,” she admitted, nodding her faded blond head. “Yes, it did. I didn’t know if Varena could handle it. She never enjoyed babysitting very much, and she never talked about having babies, like most girls do. But she and Anna seemed to take to each other just fine. Sometimes she gets fed up with Anna’s little tricks, and sometimes Anna reminds Varena that she isn’t her real mother, but for the most part they get along great.”

“Dill wasn’t in the car wreck that killed his wife?”

“No, it was a one-car accident. Evidently, Judy, his wife, had just dropped off Anna at a sitter’s.”

“That was before Dill moved here?”

“Yes, just a few months before. He’d been living up northwest of Little Rock. He says he felt he just couldn’t bear to raise Anna there, every day having to pass the spot where his wife died.”

“So he moves to a town where he doesn’t know a soul, where he doesn’t have any family to help him raise Anna.” I spoke before I thought.

My mother gave me a sharp look. “And we’re mighty glad he did,” she said firmly. “The pharmacy here was up for sale, and it’s been wonderful to have it open, so we have a choice.” There was a chain pharmacy in Bartley, too.

“Of course,” I said, to keep the peace.

We finished our meal in silence. My father stomped through on his way out the kitchen door to his car, grousing the whole time about not fitting in at a bachelor dinner. We could tell he was really gleeful about being invited. He had a wrapped present tucked under his arm, and when I asked what it was, his face turned even redder. He pulled on his topcoat and slammed the back door behind him without answering.

“I suspect he bought one of those nasty gag gifts,” Mom said with a little smile as she listened to Father back out of the driveway.

I loved getting surprised by my mother. “I’ll do the dishes while you get ready,” I said.

“You need to try on your bridesmaid dress!” she said abruptly as she was rising to leave the kitchen.

“Right now?”

“What if we need to take it up?”

“Oh . . . all right.” This was not a moment I’d anticipated with any pleasure. Bridesmaids’ dresses are notorious for being unusable, and I’d paid for this one as a good bridesmaid should. But I hadn’t seen it yet. I had a horrible, wincing moment of picturing the dress as red velvet with fake fur trim to suit the Christmas motif.

I should have had more trust in Varena. The dress, which was hanging in my bedroom closet swathed in plastic like Varena’s own dress, was deep burgundy velvet, with a band of matching satin ribbon sewed under the breasts. In back, where the edges of the ribbon came together, there was a matching bow—but it was detachable. The dress had a high neckline but was cut low in the back. My sister didn’t want her bridesmaids demure, that was for sure.

“Try it on,” Mother urged. I could tell she wouldn’t be happy until I did. With my back to her, I pulled off my shirt and wriggled out of my shoes and jeans. But I had to turn to face her to get the dress, which she’d been divesting of its plastic bag.

Every time, the impact of my scars hit her in the heart. She took a deep, ragged breath and handed me the dress, and I got it over my head as quickly as possible. I turned so she could zip me, and together we looked at it in the mirror. Both our pairs of eyes went immediately to the neckline. Perfect. Nothing showed. Thank you, Varena.

“It looks beautiful,” Mother said stoutly. “Stand up straight, now.” (As if I slouched.) The dress did fit well, and who doesn’t love the feel of velvet?

“What kind of flowers are we carrying?”

“The bridesmaids’ bouquets are going to be long sprays of glads and some other stuff,” Mother said, who strictly left the gardening to my father. “You’re the maid of honor, you know.”

Varena hadn’t seen me in three years.

This wasn’t just a wedding, then. This was a full-scale family reconciliation.

I was willing, but I didn’t know if I was able. Plus, I hadn’t been to a wedding in a long time.

“Do I have to do anything special?”

“You have to carry the ring Varena’s giving Dill. You have to take her bouquet while she’s saying her vows.” Mom smiled at me, and her washed-blue eyes crinkled around the corners of her eyelids. When my mother smiled, her whole face smiled with her. “You’re lucky she didn’t pick a dress with a ten-foot train, because you’d have to turn it around for her before she leaves the church.”

I thought I could remember the ring and the bouquet.

“I’ll have to thank her for the honor,” I said, and Mom’s face sagged for just a minute. She thought I was being sarcastic.

“I mean it,” I told her, and I could almost feel her relax.

Had I been so frightening, so unpredictable, so rude?

When I’d worked my way carefully out of the dress, and pulled my T-shirt back on, I patted my mother gently on the shoulder as she made sure the dress was absolutely even on its padded hanger.

She smiled fleetingly at me, and then we went back to the kitchen to clean up.

Chapter 2

I WORE THE OFF-WHITE BLOUSE, GOLD VEST, AND BLACK pants to the shower. I buttoned the blouse all the way up to the neck. My makeup was light and perfect, and my hair fluffed out in the right way. I looked fine, I decided, appropriate. I worked on relaxing, buckled into the backseat of my mother’s car.

We picked up Varena on the way. This was at least her second shower, but she was as excited and pleased as though celebrating her forthcoming marriage was an original idea.

We drove across town to the home of the shower hostess, Margie Lipscom. Margie was another nurse at the little Bartley hospital, which was always threatened with closing or being closed. Margie was married to one of the more prominent lawyers in Bartley, which was actually not saying much. Bartley is a Delta town, and in this phase of its existence, that means poor.

It meant that at least seventy percent of the town’s population was on welfare.

When I’d been growing up, it had just meant that Bartley was flat. You don’t know what flat is until you’ve lived in the Delta.

I missed the low, rolling hills around Shakespeare. I missed the ratty Christmas decorations. I missed my house. I missed my gym.

I would have given anything to be selfish enough to jump in my car and drive home.

I took slow, deep breaths, like I did before I attempted to lift a weight that was a real challenge. Like I did before we sparred in karate class.

Mom drove past Bartley’s dilapidated motel, and I glanced into its U of rooms. There was a car parked there—that, in itself, was nearly amazing—and it looked like . . . my heart began to stutter in an uncomfortable way.

I shook my head. Couldn’t be.

We parked on the street in front of the white-painted brick house all lit up like a birthday cake. There was a white-and-silver paper wedding bell fixed to the front door. A stout redhead stood just within the foyer . . . Margie Lipscom. I’d known her as a plump brunette.

My mother got patted, my sister got hugged, and I was greeted with a shriek.

“Oh,
Lily!
Girl, you look beautiful!” Margie exclaimed. She grabbed me and embraced me. I endured it. Margie was my age, had never been a particular friend of mine; she had grown closer to my sister when they began working together. Margie had always been a hooter and a hugger. She was going to fuss extra over me now, because she felt sorry for me.

“Isn’t she even prettier, Frieda?” Margie said to my mother. Overcompensating for her discomfort.

“Lily has always been lovely,” my mother said calmly.

“Well, let’s go see everyone!” Margie grabbed my hand and led me into the living room. I was biting the inside of my mouth. I was having a little flutter of panic and anger, the sort of nervous spasm I hadn’t had in a long time. A long, long time.

I found a smile and fixed it on my face.

After I’d nodded to everyone and said, “Tell you later,” in answer to almost every query, I was able to sit in a straight chair that had been crammed into a corner of the crowded living room. After that, all I had to do was aim a pleasant look in the direction of the loudest speaker, and I was fine.

This was a lingerie shower, and I’d gotten Varena a present when I’d shopped for myself in Montrose. She hadn’t expected a gift from me, hadn’t noticed me bring it into the house. She looked up at me in surprise when she read the card on the front. I may have imagined it, but she looked a little apprehensive.

My gift was a nightgown, full-length, with spaghetti straps and lace panels—sheer lace panels—over the breasts. It was black. It was beautiful. It was really, really sexy. As Varena was ripping off the paper, I was suddenly convinced I’d made a terrible mistake. The most daring garment Varena had received so far was a tiger-print teddy, and there had been some red faces over that.

When Varena shook out the gown and held it up, there was a moment of silence, during which I decided I might as well sneak out the back way. Then Varena said, “Wow.
This
is for the wedding night.” And there was a chorus of “Oooo” and “Oh, boy!”