Marrying Daisy Bellamy (13 page)

When she stepped out of the bedroom, she noticed that Logan had gone in to check on Charlie. He bent over the dinosaur bed and drew a blanket up under the little boy's chin.

Daisy stepped into the room. “He always kicks off his covers, doesn't he?”

Logan nodded. In the dimness of the night-light, she could see him smile. “I like bedtime,” he said. “I wish I could be around for more of them.”

“You're around plenty,” she said. She understood, though, that this was not what he was talking about. “Let's put on the noise machine,” she suggested. “That way, if we get too loud, we won't wake him.” She turned the bedside device to “ocean waves.”

As she and Logan exited the room, their bodies brushed together, and she was startled to feel the tingle of…something. And she found herself remembering what he'd said to her while washing the car. Live your life, Daisy. It's time.

A person didn't always end up with a life she'd planned or expected. But turning her back on everything was no solution.

In the living room, Zach and Sonnet were arguing about whether or not “mofo” was an allowable word. “Fortunately,” she said, holding out her iPhone, “there is an app for that.”

“I can see I'm not going to get away with anything tonight,” said Zach.

“Not even worth trying.” Sonnet looked up. “You two ready?”

They delved into the popcorn and Scrabble like a group of college kids in a dorm. Sonnet and Zach got
into the champagne. Daisy switched to ginger ale with Logan. He eyed the frosty glasses on the table. “You don't have to do that.”

She shrugged. “No biggie.” As a general rule, she avoided drinking alcohol around him. He always appeared to be secure in his sobriety, but it seemed prudent not to wave champagne in the guy's face. She didn't believe in tempting fate. Abstaining around Logan was a show of respect, too, in support of what she knew was an everyday struggle for him.

“Hey,” said Sonnet. “You can't add ‘alicious' to my word.” She scowled at Zach.

“I just did, and I get a triple word score for the whole thing.”

Daisy looked at the board. “Pupalicious?”

“Sure,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Just ask Blake. Right, Blake?”

On hearing her name, the dog thumped her tail.

“And I get a bonus for using up all my letters,” said Zach.

“All eight of them.”

“Yup.”

“So,” she said, removing the tiles one by one, “not only are you illiterate, you're a cheat, as well. You're only allowed seven tiles on your rack. However, because I'm feeling generous, I'll let you stay in the game.”

The competition was by turns silly and fierce. Some of the combinations—outgnaw, yabbo, vug—caused arguments, settled by checking a geeky internet site. Sonnet was determined to win, but Logan came from behind, using the prized Q on a double word score at the last minute.

“Sheqel?” Sonnet demanded. “Give me a break.”

“It's an ancient unit of measure,” he said. “Consider
yourself schooled. And I'm picking the movie. Buh-bye, Mr. Pansy-Ass Darcy.” He perused the DVD collection, his face registering dismay. “
Hope Floats? The Age of Innocence? Phantom?
Come on, you're holding out on us.”

“Trust me, I don't have a spare copy of
Gladiator
or
300
stashed somewhere.”

“How did you know my two favorite movies?”

“Aren't those every guy's two favorite movies?”

“They're mine,” Zach admitted.

“We need a plan B,” Logan said, grabbing the remote. He scrolled through some channels, then said, “Yes. Paydirt.”

The four of them lined up on the sofa for an evening of live boxing. And in spite of herself, Daisy kind of got into it. She admired the technique, the raw power of a well-landed blow, the way the opponents sagged against each other in exhaustion, then started swinging again. Fueled by the champagne, Zach and Sonnet got rowdy, but the noise didn't wake Charlie.

Daisy felt happier and more relaxed than she had in months. It was so simple, hanging out with old friends and being silly. She needed to do stuff like this more often.

Another round started up. The announcer introduced the contenders, elongating the words in his circus ring-master's voice. “Aaaand in this corner, we have newcomer Bullseye Tillis, fresh out of the air force!” The words
air force
came at her like a sneak attack, a slender blade slipped between her ribs, puncturing the bubble of happiness. The others didn't seem to notice as they laughed and talked and passed the popcorn. It occurred to Daisy that this syndrome—letting grief over
whelm her life—could be the end of her. Maybe not literally, but emotionally.

Her grief counselor had explained the debilitating effects of lingering in a grieving mode—exhaustion, sleeplessness, distraction, disconnection… It was only now, in this moment, that Daisy understood its impact.

The other thing she realized, sitting there with her laughing friends, was that the time had come to choose happiness. She hadn't felt anything but grief for ages. She needed to move on, or she would lose herself. She wanted happiness. She wanted to stop dragging herself through each day and crying in the night, clutching an old shirt of Julian's. He expected more from her; he would want her to live her life, not struggle through it. For you, Julian, she thought. And for me.

 

The next day dawned with a brilliant sunrise, the kind of day that made Daisy feel glad to be alive. She grabbed her camera bag and took one photo. She only needed the one, and she knew it. Some shots were just right.

She hurried to the computer and checked it out on the big screen. The shot was a close-up of a trumpet-shaped white blossom, beaded in dew. Every droplet on the flower created a convex mirror reflecting the sunrise, creating a complex mosaic of natural color. There was something special about the photo, a peculiar magic that touched her when she looked at it.

For the first time in a long time, she felt like an artist again. She saved the file and made a print and studied it. Then on the back, she noted the date. She took a breath, feeling exhilarated, and slid the print into the tray that had been empty for far too long—the MoMA Emerging Artist competition.

It was a wild long shot, but she was going to do the work, even if it meant going without sleep. If the impossible happened and she was selected for the honor, it would be a miracle. Even if she didn't place, she would still wind up with a portfolio she could be proud of.

When Charlie woke up a bit later, she left him with Sonnet, making pancakes in the shape of dinosaurs. Taking her camera bag and a small notebook and pen, she started on a journey she had been mapping out in her head since the night before.

She drove up to Camp Kioga and walked to the communal fire pit by the lake there. No one was around. The remains of some charred logs lay in the pit, and the lake was like a sheet of glass where the light struck it. She found her angle, and instead of fighting the sun flare, took the shot she wanted, knowing the flare would add a mystical element to the photo.

“I was sitting right there the first time I met you,” she said, speaking softly even though there was no one around to hear. “You were so different from anyone I'd ever met before. I tried to get you to smoke pot with me, like that was going to impress you or something. You said no, but you were really nice about it. And I knew then that I wanted to be friends. All my other friends only wanted to get high and party. I couldn't figure out what you were after, but I was definitely intrigued. Julian, you were everything to me. Losing you was like having a hole blown open in the middle of my chest. Somehow, I'm still alive, walking around and going through the motions of life, but all I've felt this past year is the pain of missing you. Nobody can live with that kind of pain.

“So today is about moving on. I'll never forget you. I'll never stop loving you. But starting now, I'm going to stop wishing for a life that can never be. I need to
find another life, and I'm pretty sure that means finding another love.” She took a deep breath. “Maybe it's a matter of accepting the love that's already in my life. I don't know. This is all so new and horrible. I only know it's time to say goodbye and move on. If you were here, you'd understand. You were more full of life than anyone. I learned so much from you. I haven't been loving my life and I intend to begin. Starting now.”

She grabbed a canoe and paddled out to the spot where he had proposed to her. There were a few resort guests exploring the place, but she didn't mind. The shot that told the story was taken from ground level, two trees framed by an arch of the gazebo with the sky vast and marble hard as a backdrop. She squeezed the shutter as a bird took flight.

Through the rest of the day, she took her time, driving the back roads of the countryside, stopping at the places Julian had taken her to the day he'd proposed. She revisited all those old memories and made pictures and photographed them, and with each mile she traveled, she felt lighter. It was as if, at every stop, she unloaded the heavy rocks and relics of her grief.

The notebook filled up with thoughts from the heart. The photos were nature shots that told a deeper story. She hoped she was capturing the nuance she was after. She suspected she had. She could feel the shots; they were bringing something out in her. It felt new and kind of exciting, as if she had opened a door to a hidden world.

It was late afternoon by the time she returned to the little row house on Oak Street. She felt like…not a different person but maybe a better version of herself.

“I hope it's not a fluke,” she muttered under her breath. It wasn't. It felt like the real thing. Her thumb worried the base of her finger where the engagement
ring used to be. She had finally taken it off because to feel it there, to see it, created a constant reminder of his absence. He'd had one word engraved inside the band: Forever.

What was it he'd once said?
I'm saving forever for you
.

She let herself in, calling out to Sonnet and Charlie.

“Mom!” her little boy came barreling into the front hall with Blake scrabbling along behind him. Charlie threw himself into her arms and said, “You're home.”

She nuzzled him, inhaling his scent of maple syrup and little boy. “That's right, kiddo. I'm home.”

D
aisy felt a thrum of apprehension deep in her gut as she stood in front of the nicest boutique in town, Zuzu's Petals. She'd been in a boutique—a bridal shop—when she'd received the news of Julian's death and had not actually set foot in one since that day. With the grief counselor, Daisy had attempted to joke about the issue. “I must really be cracking up. In the history of psychology, has there ever been a female patient who is afraid to
shop?
”

“You'd be surprised,” the counselor had said, and she'd advised Daisy to push past the fear.

Now Daisy was meeting her cousin Olivia at Zuzu's. The shop's owner had exquisite taste and a business-woman's judgment. Her collection included an eclectic mix of styles, everything from pricey Vena Cava silk dresses to handcrafted sweaters from local artists and simple but delicate tops that looked perfect with a good pair of jeans.

Something New Is Always Blooming At Zuzu's read the slogan above the door, which fronted the town square.
It was an idyllic shopping day, the temperature mild and cool, slightly overcast, the kind of weather that didn't make you yearn to be outside. As she stepped through the door of the cozy, pleasantly cluttered boutique, she breathed in the pleasant aroma of potpourri and new clothes.

Today's excursion had been Daisy's idea. Both cousins had left their kids with their respective dads.

“What's the occasion?” asked Olivia. “Something tells me this is not about having a bit of girl time.”

“You're right,” said Daisy. She felt oddly bashful about disclosing her purpose. “Couple of things. I got a nice bonus from a wedding shoot and it's burning a hole in my pocket.”

“Excellent. This shop will definitely help you out of that little bind.” Olivia plucked a fluttery scarf of watered silk from a display shelf and tossed it around Daisy's neck.

“Also, I need your impeccable style sense,” Daisy added.

“Aw. I'm flattered.”

“Don't be. It's the truth, and I need you.”

Olivia's first career had been staging houses for real estate agents. She'd always had the best flair for fashion of anyone Daisy knew, and Daisy needed that expertise now.

“I'm ready to start looking good,” she said.

“You always look good. You're gorgeous.”

“I appreciate the loyalty, but I don't feel gorgeous. Since getting the news of Julian's death, I haven't felt like doing anything for myself. Now, I want to change. Not only for Charlie's sake but for my own. It's time to quit dragging myself through each day. And God help me, it's time to meet new people. You know, like,
guys
. I'm
so sick of being alone. I mean, I have great friends and family, but I want to be special to someone again.”

Olivia gave her a hug. “Good for you. I mean, really good.” There were tears in her eyes. Daisy wondered if she was thinking about Connor. After the news of his brother's death, Connor had sunk into a black hole of rage and depression so deep that it scared everyone—including Connor. He battled the thing like a warrior, marshaling every weapon he could—counseling, support groups, medication, meditation, breathing exercises, even yoga. It was incongruous to picture Olivia's husband—a ringer for Paul Bunyan—twisting himself into yoga poses and chanting in Sanskrit, but he was determined to leave no stone unturned in trying to crawl out of his grief.

And the thing was, all his efforts paid off. He found a kind of peace and acceptance.

Daisy had taken a different, longer path. The day she'd revisited all the places that had been so special to her and Julian, she had made a series of stunning photos. It hurt to look at them but they were the best work she had ever done.

Finally, she was ready to focus on herself.

Olivia happily embraced the mission. Daisy could tell her cousin loved putting together the perfect outfit, and she left the shop with three ensembles, including some great pieces that would be the start of a new, improved wardrobe. When Daisy stressed out about what she was spending, Olivia kicked in for some accessories, refusing to take no for an answer.

“You're going to look amazing,” Olivia assured her. “Let's see if they can take a drop-in at the salon.”

“Yes.” Daisy wanted to immediately. She couldn't
remember the last time she'd gone in for a cut and style. “Great idea.”

She had long thought she should cut her hair but kept putting it off. She wasn't sure why. Correction—she did know why. Julian had loved her long hair. But everything was different now, and that was what today was about.

Waist-length hair was nice in shampoo ads, but in real life, it simply said, “I'm neglecting myself.” Not long ago she'd gone down to Windham to shoot a wedding, and someone had asked her if she was Pentecostal. Not that there was anything wrong with being Pentecostal, but the question had made her feel like an imposter. An imposter in her own life.

The Twisted Scissors salon was owned and operated by the three Dombrowski sisters who believed, with unwavering faith, in the power of pampering. Maybe, thought Daisy, that was the reason she'd stayed away from the place. Pampering and getting pretty hadn't seemed compatible with her grief.

When she walked through the doors of the salon and was hit by the fruity smells of high-end hair products, she realized what a fool she'd been.

This was a place of healing. Why hadn't she thought of that before?

The Twisted Scissors did more than hair. The youngest sister, Tina, offered the most beautiful manicures and pedicures. The middle sister, Leah, had gone to cosmetology school and was a genius with makeup. All the local brides used her. And the eldest sister, Maxine, was the hair stylist.

When Olivia and Daisy walked in, Maxine was with a client. “I can take you in about a half hour,” she offered. “Get a mani-pedi while you wait.”

“Really good idea,” Olivia said.

“Why not?” Daisy was up for it. She should've done this a long time ago. “Er, that is, if you think we have time.”

“Sure, we have time. The guys can watch the kids all the way through bath and bedtime if we want.”

Daisy knew Logan would never complain about keeping Charlie. When he'd picked Charlie up and headed to Camp Kioga, he'd seemed fine with the proposed plan. The dads and kids were going on a hike and a swim if the day warmed up, then back to Connor's for videos and naps.

She nodded to her cousin. “I wonder if Logan feels weird, spending the day with Connor.”

“Why would he feel weird?”

“Let's see, we've got the father of my child spending the day with the brother of my dead fiancé,” she said. “I'm wondering how the conversation will go.”

“They'll talk about the kids. And sports. And work. They'll make giant club sandwiches for lunch. We can always hope they'll remember not to teach the kids any bad words or how to burp on command.”

Maxine lifted the dryer from her client's head.

“Hey, Daphne,” Daisy said, surprised to recognize the receptionist from her mom's law firm. “Good to see you. This is my cousin Olivia.”

Maxine settled Daphne in the chair and began methodically undoing her foils. The color of choice this time appeared to be electric magenta, which contrasted starkly with Daphne's black hair. She also sported an interesting array of tattoos depicting anime characters.

“How have you been?” Daphne asked. Her tone was polite rather than friendly. She had never really seemed to like Daisy, and Daisy had no idea why.

“Better, thanks. Olivia and I went for some retail
therapy. And now I'm here for a makeover. I'm ready to move on with my life.”

“Was something wrong with your old life?” asked Tina, adjusting her rolling stool across the manicure table from Daisy.

Daisy nodded and took a breath. By now, she was used to telling her story. In the grief group she'd attended, they'd advised her to practice. It was a peculiar process, explaining the most devastating incident of your life in a way that wouldn't make the other person uncomfortable.

“My fiancé died last September,” she said. “He was serving in the air force and he was killed while on a mission.”

“Oh, no,” said Tina, grabbing Daisy's hand and slathering it with warm lotion. “My word, that's terrible. Did you hear that, girls?” she asked. “This poor kid's fiancé was killed. Honey, we are so,
so
sorry.”

“Thank you,” said Daisy, relieved that she'd managed to stumble through the explanation. “There were days when I honestly did think my life was over, too, but that's no way to be, right? I have a beautiful young son and great friends and family.”

“Oh, sweetie, you had his baby?”

“Um, it's a little complicated. My son isn't my fiancé's.” From across the room, she could feel Daphne's keen attention. “Good lord, my life sounds like a telenovela.”

“But in English,” Olivia clarified.

“So who's the baby's daddy?” Leah wanted to know.

“A guy I've known all my life. We had a wild weekend in high school and ended up with Charlie.” She was surprised at herself, sharing personal details with women
she barely knew. That was the nature of a salon, though. It was a place where a woman felt safe giving up her secrets.

“The rat bastard. Knocked you up and—”

“Logan's okay,” Daisy said quickly. “He's pretty great, actually. He's watching Charlie all day today, so I can do this.”

“Well then, there you go,” Tina said. “There's your happy ending after all.”

“Hey, Maxine, I need to get going. Meeting someone for a matinee,” said Daphne. “I'm going to have to skip the comb-out today.”

“You sure?”

“It'll be fine.” She jumped out of the chair and peeled off her smock. At the front counter, she scribbled a check and headed for the door. “See you around, Daisy. And good luck with everything. Nice meeting you, Olivia.”

“Was it something I said?” asked Daisy after she'd left.

“She has Sailor Moon on her checks,” said Maxine. “You know, that anime character. Daphne is a little quirky, but great.”

With her seashell-pink manicure still drying, Daisy went for the works on her hair—wash, condition, cut, style. She had not been to a salon since her wedding hair trial. Her cousin Dare, who had also been the wedding planner, had taken her to a specialty salon in Albany, and the day had been insanely fun. She had laughed and dreamed and imagined how her wedding would go, what she wanted Julian to see when he caught his first glimpse of her. The stylist had created a swirling updo, sprigged with fresh flowers and held in place by her grandmother's silver and mother-of-pearl clasp. She had looked in the mirror and glimpsed the bride she would be.

Now she leaned back over the shampooing sink, shut her eyes and imagined the agony of that memory flowing away, being rinsed off of her and washed down the drain. Enough, she thought. Enough pain.

“Go short,” she said to Maxine after the wash.

“How short?”

“Like, a bob, maybe.”

Maxine drew a wide-toothed comb through her long, wet hair. “You sure?”

“I am right now. Do it fast, before I change my mind.”

“You won't regret it,” Olivia said. “I always thought you'd look great with short hair.”

The scissors snipped with crisp precision, rasping in Daisy's ears. She watched her long locks fall away in damp hanks, each one hitting the mat under the chair with a soft, wet slap.

“It's like a ritual shearing,” she said, pretending not to be nervous.

“It
is
a ritual shearing,” Olivia insisted. “The ritual being, you, my dear cousin, are going to step out of this salon a whole new woman.”

“I'm cool with that,” Daisy said, “but there's one problem.”

“What problem?”

“The whole new woman is going to step back into her old life. Same job, same routine…”

“Maybe so, but you'll have a new attitude. Guys will pick up on that, and you'll start dating again.”

“I never dated before. Went straight from high school to motherhood. I have no idea what to do.”

“Honey, when we're done here, you won't need to know a thing except how to hold on tight while you get swept off your feet,” Maxine assured her.

Daisy gulped as reality set in. This was what moving on was all about. “How do people even meet guys these days? Am I going to have to go online?”

“Maybe,” said Olivia.

“I am so not ready for that.”

“All right, then do it the old-fashioned way. Let your friends introduce you to people.”

“Fine. Who are you going to introduce me to?”

Olivia hesitated a beat too long.

“See? You don't know any—”

“Ned Farkis!” Olivia said with a relieved smile. “He's my CPAs associate, and I know he's totally single because—”

“Ned Farkis? What kind of name is that?”

“Don't judge people by their names, for Pete's sake.”

“I don't know anything else about him.”

“Well, he seems very nice and smart.”

“What does he look like?”

“He looks nice,” she said, clearly evading now.

“And smart?” Daisy teased. “Does he look smart, too?”

“Okay, let's say he's kind of geek chic. And, um, he's got a little extra around the middle.”

“Better and better.”

“All right. Let's move on.”

“Do you know Alvin, from the video store?” asked Leah. “He's cute. Shaggy hair, shy smile.”

“Alvin Gourd?” asked Daisy. “I don't think so.” Although she agreed he was cute in a John-Cusack-
High-Fidelity
way, he was definitely not her type, pale and retiring, a walking encyclopedia of movie trivia.

“Maybe we're going about this the wrong way,” Olivia said. “You're smart, successful and fun. And you're
turning more gorgeous by the moment. No need to worry about introducing you to guys. They're going to flock to you, mark my words. We will build it, and they will come.”