Under the Skin (36 page)

“… Honey, just you go ahead … do you good …”

By the time I’d dealt with the pineapple and turned to the mangoes, Gloria seemed to have recovered herself and was questioning Birdie about the “angels,” as Birdie referred to her dead children.

I leaned a little closer to the window.

“… talk to them—and seems at times they talk to me … Luther didn’t believe in such … a comfort to me … like praying.”

When I’d put the sliced-up fruit into the refrigerator and cleaned up the mess, I returned to the sink to wash my hands.

“… I will, Miss Birdie,” I heard Gloria say, her voice filled with an eager joy. “I will …”

S
aturday was upon us and I found myself on my way to a tour of Asheville’s most expensive shops, in search of a wedding dress—or rather, a dress for an unsophisticated bride of mature years, embarking on her second marriage in an informal outdoor setting. I hate to shop, and do it so seldom that I always find myself suffering severe sticker shock at the prices.

For Gloria, on the other hand, shopping is like swimming in her chosen element. Despite the fact that she had been in Asheville only a few times, she was far more familiar with the shopping opportunities than I had ever been and a few days ago had laid out a plan of attack encompassing the various places that might have the sort of dress she deemed suitable.

“There’s a wonderful place just a few doors down from Nigel’s that I want to try. And, if you don’t mind, I’d like to just pop into Nigel’s for a quick shampoo and comb-out—my hair gets so out of control when I do it myself for too long. It wouldn’t take over half an hour—forty-five minutes at the most. Surely you might have some shopping you could do while I was busy.”

I had started to protest and then remembered my favorite downtown bookstore-slash-café near the library. I
could while away a bit of time there—as well as pick up a few assorted books for birthday gifts.

“Sure, Glory!” the new, ever-accommodating Elizabeth had said. “Go on and make your appointment.”

I insisted on an early start, having learned that weekends in Asheville tended toward the hectic at times. Recently, it seemed there was always a festival of some sort going on—Bele Chere, Goombay … I had no idea if something was up this weekend but with June came tourists and increased traffic.

We were passing by the Dewell Hill church, heading for the highway that would take us to the Interstate and on to Asheville, when Gloria slowed and nodded toward the graveyard that surrounded the old church.

“When I went with Amanda yesterday to see the herb garden she’d just installed at that B and B, on the way back I got her to stop here. Miss Birdie told me the other day how there used to be a grave up on a bank near the road that had a dollhouse built over it. She said if you looked through the little window, inside you could see the dolls sitting at a table like they were having a tea party. I wanted to see if I could find where it had been so Amanda and I walked around looking at all the gravestones there were for little children.”

I opened my mouth to say that Birdie had told me that same story years ago and I too had gone looking for the dollhouse grave. But then I realized that this was Gloria’s story. And how badly she needed to tell it.

Since our visit to Miss Birdie, my sister had been in high spirits, almost the same euphoria she’d exhibited during the days she believed Joss was her lost child. I’d hoped she would tell me just what it was that Birdie had said or done that had lifted her spirits so but she hadn’t. And I hadn’t wanted to pry.

But now the story was emerging.

“… so many children’s graves, some with little
lambs. Do you remember, Aunt Dodie said that the stone she put up for my Dana has a lamb on it?”

Her eyes were swimming with tears now, but Gloria brushed them away, careless of her mascara.

“Anyway, I’ve made up my mind. After the wedding, I’m going to go stay with Aunt Dodie for a while. I’d like her to tell me whatever she can about my baby—my Dana. Dodie actually saw her, you know … She said she was beautiful … And then I’ll visit Dana’s grave … and talk to her … the way Birdie talks to her lost babies. She says it gives her healing.”

It took a moment for what my sister had said to register—and then I didn’t know what to say other than, “Well, Glory …”

Gloria sniffed and fumbled in the side pocket for a tissue. “I know … I could talk to her anywhere. If Giles were still here … But he was just in North Carolina for the weekend and, according to his website, he’s going to Australia for several months. Oh, when I think it might have been Dana trying to speak to me and then that crazy Joss interrupted …”

She dabbed at her eyes again. “But it doesn’t matter. First I need to go back to New Bern, apologize to Aunt Dodie, and thank her for taking care of my baby’s grave. Then I’ll spend some time, just with Dana … Turo might join me there … We’ve been talking every night.”

As she continued, it became apparent that once again, Gloria was moving on: putting her current relationship behind her and preparing to plunge again. She’d evidently been in touch with her friend Eleanor who’d confirmed what Phillip had been told—gone him one better, in fact. Jerry had been arrested. Rumor was that, even had Gloria been willing to throw resources into his defense, no lawyer, no matter how good, was going to get Jerry out of the tangle of fraud, extortion, and who
knows what other felonious monkey business he’d been up to.

And Arturo, Gloria mentioned with elaborate casualness, was a widower now, and had been for some years …

“What about this Brice guy you were talking about—what is he, a cosmetic surgeon? I thought that was someone you were interested in?”

My question was innocent; when she’d first arrived Gloria had hardly let a day go by without speaking to Brice and she’d dropped some rather broad hints about their relationship—past and future.

I looked over to see that she had a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. She felt my gaze and lifted her chin.

“I was never really serious about Brice. He was fun to flirt with … but I knew he carried on that way with a lot of women. And anyway—”

She pulled down the sunglasses that had been perched on top of her head. “Well, Eleanor had all kinds of news for me. Along with the latest about Jerry, she also told me about Brice and his receptionist. It’s almost funny: Brice used to brag that he never fooled around with anyone but married women because he wanted to stay single. Evidently he messed up and got his little receptionist pregnant—The wedding was last week.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Oh, Glory …” I began, but she overrode whatever lame condolences I might have been about to offer.

“No biggie, Lizzy!” Her voice was suspiciously bright but she turned and grinned at me. “Let’s
shop
!”

“We’ll go out to Biltmore Village first,” she explained, swinging the Mini off the Interstate onto the Tunnel Road exit. “Bravissimo might have just the sort of striking, arty-looking dress that would suit you. And there
are one or two other places … If we don’t find anything, then we can hit downtown—and there are always the malls …”

Bravissimo had that clarity of perfection—shining glass, subtle lighting, gleaming metal and wood—that warns the prospective shopper if they need to look at the price tags, they’re in the wrong place. But Gloria waved aside my feeble objections.

“This is my treat, Lizzy. You look around and so will I. The dressing rooms are over there.”

Following her instructions, I avoided looking at the price tags and let myself be seduced by gorgeous fabrics and rich colors. Some of the styles seemed a little bizarre but for the most part the garments depended on perfect cut and simplicity. So, ignoring wistful thoughts of that skirt and blouse languishing in my closet, I picked out a garment that reminded me of the first leaves of spring and took it to the dressing room.

I was indulging in a slight preen in the three-way mirror when Gloria appeared in the doorway, shaking her head as she studied my reflection.

“No, Lizzy, that one doesn’t do a thing for you—unless you
want
to blend in with the shrubbery. You’re going to be outside in the garden—what you need is a color that will really
pop
against the backdrop of plants. Something like coral, maybe, or that blue your garden benches are painted.”

She pursed her lips and considered. “It’s a pretty dress but it makes you look like you have jaundice. Green just isn’t your color. Go on and take it off and I’ll bring you some others.”

I fell in love with the third dress that she brought me. A high-waisted, deep periwinkle blue linen bodice from which fell graceful folds of a silky Liberty cotton. The skirt gave the impression of an even deeper solid blue but on closer examination revealed printed figures of
purple on a blue background. It was perfect. Comfortable, becoming, timeless—very much the way I hoped Phillip’s and my marriage would be.

“Are you sure? We could have them hold it and look at some other places.” Gloria was clearly disappointed to have our treasure hunt end so soon but I was adamant.

“This is it, Glory. I really love it.” I was shamelessly admiring myself in the mirror and imagining what Phillip would say when he saw me in such splendor.

Gloria put her head on one side. “It
does
look like you, Lizzy. Just a little hint of a milkmaid … but quite becoming.” Her face brightened. “Now that I know what you’ll be wearing, I’ll look for something for me. I haven’t seen anything here that’s what I have in mind, but we can buzz by a few more places here in the Village. And then that wonderful place right in Asheville not far from Nigel’s salon …”

She glanced at her watch. “My appointment with Nigel is for three-fifteen. If we hurry, we’ll even have time for lunch.”