Shakespeare's Christmas Part 3

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 cla.s.sified 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, fl.u.s.tered.

"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 baby-sitting 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 pa.s.s 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 antic.i.p.ated 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 b.r.e.a.s.t.s. 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. .h.i.t 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 Two.

I wore the off-white blouse, gold vest, and black pants to the shower. I b.u.t.toned 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 cla.s.s.

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! 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. 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 b.r.e.a.s.t.s. It was black. It was beautiful. It was really, really s.e.xy. 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 This is for the wedding night." And there was a chorus of "Oooo" and "Oh, boy!" is for the wedding night." And there was a chorus of "Oooo" and "Oh, boy!"

"Lily, this is beautiful," Varena said directly. "And I bet Dill's gonna thank you, too!"

There was a chorus of laughter, and then the next gift was pa.s.sed to my sister to open.

I relaxed and coasted on autopilot for the rest of the evening.

During the punch and cakes, the talk turned to Bartley's purse s.n.a.t.c.her. This seemed an urban sort of crime for Bartley, so I paid attention. Margie was saying, "And he stole Diane's purse right off her arm and ran off with it!"

"Did she get a good look at him?" the minister's wife asked. Lou O'Shea was a buxom brunette with a ski-jump nose and intelligent eyes. I'd never met her before. I hadn't been to church, in Bartley or anywhere else, in years.

"Just a black guy, medium height," Margie said. "Could be a hundred people."

"She's all right?" my mother asked.

"Well, he knocked her down to the sidewalk, so she had some sc.r.a.pes and bruises. It could've been a lot worse."

After a second's thoughtful pause, a few eyes slid in my direction. I was the worse it could have been.

But I was used to that. I kept my face blank, and the little moment pa.s.sed. A purse s.n.a.t.c.hing did not seem as remarkable as it would have a few years ago. Now, with gang presence and drugs in every tiny town up and down the interstate and all in between, what happened to Diane d.y.k.eman, a sales clerk at one of the local clothing stores, didn't seem so bad. She seemed lucky to be unhurt, rather than unfortunate to have her purse s.n.a.t.c.hed at all.

After a tedious two and a half hours we drove home, taking a different route this time since we were giving a lift to Lou O'Shea, whose husband had dropped her off on his way to a meeting. The Presbyterian manse was a large redbrick home that matched the adjacent church. I half listened to the backseat conversation between Varena and Lou, enough to gather that Lou, like Meredith Osborn, had an eight-year-old girl and another, younger child. When we pulled into the driveway, Lou seemed reluctant to get out.

"I'm afraid it doesn't make Krista any fonder of Luke, him crying so much," Lou told us with a heavy sigh. "She's not too enthusiastic about her little brother right now."

"Krista is Anna's age, they play together a lot," Varena reminded me.

"It'll all straighten out," my mother said in her soothing way. "Sooner or later you'll find out why Luke cries all night, and he'll stop. And then Krista will forget all about it. She's a smart little girl, Lou."

"You're right," Lou said instantly, back on her mettle as a minister's wife. "Thanks for the lift. I'll see you-all tomorrow afternoon!"

When we were driving away, Varena said, "Lou'll be coming to the rehearsal dinner tomorrow night."

"Isn't it traditional to have the rehearsal dinner the night before the wedding?" I didn't want to sound critical, but I was faintly curious.

"Yes. Dill had originally scheduled it for that night," Mother said. I was being subtly reminded that the groom's family had the responsibility for the rehearsal dinner. "But Sarah May's was already booked for the two evenings before the wedding! So we just moved it to three nights, and the couple giving the supper for Dill and Varena rescheduled it to the night before the wedding, bless them."

I nodded, hardly paying attention. I was absolutely confident I would be told what to do, when. I found myself wanting to be alone so badly I could taste it. When we got to Varena's, I unloaded the shower presents with great dispatch, and at my folks' house, I said a brief good-night to Mom before heading for my room.

My father hadn't yet gotten home from the bachelor party. I hoped he wasn't drinking and smoking cigars. His blood pressure would soar.

I sat in the little chair in my room and read for a long time, a biography I'd brought with me. Then I hooked my feet under the bed and did sit-ups, I dropped and did pushups, and I did eighty leg lifts. After that, it was time for a relaxing shower. I noticed that my father had come in at some point and turned out the remaining lights.

But even after the hot shower, I felt itchy. I couldn't walk in Bartley. People would talk about my family. The police weren't used to me. They might stop me-if I saw any. The Bartley police force was not large.

I pushed the temptation away and forced myself to climb in the bed. I worked three crossword puzzles in a book I found in the bedside table drawer. Somehow, trying to think of a five-letter word meaning an earth-covered Indian dwelling did the trick. Finally, I was able to draw a curtain on a very long day.

Unfortunately, the next was more of the same.

Before noon, I decided that everyone in my family should have had to go to work until an hour before the wedding.

My father had taken two weeks' vacation from the electric company. Since my mother was a housewife, she was always at work-but still in the house, constantly thinking of things that just had to be done. Varena had just taken three weeks' leave from her job at the hospital, and even Dill was often leaving the drugstore to his normally part-time a.s.sistant, a young mother who was also a pharmacist.

More presents arrived, to be unwrapped and admired and entered on the list. More thank-you notes had to be written. The two other bridesmaids had to stop by and admire and check on last-minute plans. The minister, Jess O'Shea, came in for a minute to verify a couple of things. He had smooth dark blond hair and was quietly good-looking in a blocky, square-jawed way: I hoped he was as good as he was handsome, because I'd always imagined that ministers were prime targets for neurotic-or just hopeful-members of their congregation.

His little girl was in tow. Chunky Krista, whose hair was the same dark brown as her mother's but not as perfectly smooth, was sleepy-eyed and cross with her baby brother's nocturnal activity, just as Lou had predicted. Krista was in a whiny mood.