Things Worth Remembering (27 page)

“Yet it’s cheerful,” Mom said. “Perfect for your personality.”

What made it really pretty, though, were the daisies. Jackie said they were “just too much,” the exact thing she would expect for Spoiley Girl’s room. We sat on my bed all morning and watched Mom stencil the white daisies with their green stems and leaves all around the white frames of my two windows. When she was finished we took a lunch break before she went upstairs and put up my white valances and handed me pillows to put on my white bedspread—two square yellow ones and a green one shaped like an
M
and sprinkled with yellow polka dots.

“Finally,” Mom said, pulling something huge from under my bed, “the
pièce de résistance
!”

“The what?”

“The main and best thing,” Mom said. “Well, of course I think the daisies are the
best
thing, but, Maisey, I think you’ll enjoy these.” On the wall where the door is, she hung two big bulletin boards, long rectangles trimmed with white frames. “You can put up whatever you want—posters, pictures, memorabilia.”

“Mem-o-ra-bilia?” Jackie mouthed when Mom looked away to straighten one of the boards.

“There,” Mom said when everything was finished. “What do you think?”

“I love it,” I said.

That night when she turned out my light and said, “Sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite,” I told her the bedbugs said they hadn’t appreciated all the commotion, but they thought my room was adorable, a perfect place to hang out.

And in the morning when I woke up, I saw the daisies and remembered Mom rocking me when I was little, singing in her soft, soothing voice, “My sweet girl Maisey is more darling than a daisy.”

Kendy

Marcus has gone to the store and picked up ingredients for a chef’s salad and has it ready when we pull into the driveway just after noon. None of us wants more than that, knowing Dottie has planned quite a nice dinner at the inn for after the rehearsal.

“Maisey picked up Sarah at eleven,” Marcus says. “They stopped to eat at a Chinese place in Indy. Apparently Sarah was starving.”

We are sitting at the kitchen table, which is a little awkward. We haven’t gathered here since Wednesday night, when the four of us were caught in the whirlwind of Maisey’s pain.

While we eat, Luke and I fill Marcus in on the events of the last twenty-four hours, and now we are sitting here for no other reason than we don’t want to get up. After a short, silent prayer for courage, I broach the subject of Wednesday night, or at least allude to it.

“I hope I get a chance to talk to Maisey today.”

Luke collects our plates and puts them in the sink, refills our glasses.

“I do too, Kendy,” Marcus says.

“But
you’re
here now,” I say, reaching over to pat his hand. “So let me tell you how sorry I am that you have been drawn into this family crisis. I’m sorrier, of course, for the poor choices I made nine years ago that have led to it. But by God’s grace, Luke and I have moved past that sad chapter of our lives. Unfortunately, we had no idea what Maisey had seen, no idea what she has been dealing with all these years.”

Marcus leans over and kisses my cheek. “Things will be better now, Kendy.”

This thoughtful gesture takes me by surprise, and I tear up and smile at the same time. “I hope so, Marcus, I really hope so.”

I send Luke and Marcus out to shoot baskets, saying it will be a good way for them to pass the time while they wait for the other members of the Blair clan to show up. Marcus says he needs the practice. Meanwhile, I clean up the kitchen, my specialty. The effects of Marcus’s kiss linger, delighting me, comforting me, and imbuing my solitary task with grace. I am happy, even in my distress, because whatever else happens, Maisey is marrying a man overflowing with admirable qualities, not the least of which is mercy. Once again I count Marcus among my best blessings.

I barely finish in the kitchen and unpack the two little bags Luke carried in from my car when the first Blair brother arrives. By two o’clock they are all here, and Pete the dog is safely deposited in the “guesthouse.” I’m not sure Dottie is entirely happy with the accommodations, but Doug, Marcus’s dad, assures her the dog will be fine, and she puts a smile on her face, gives Pete three dog biscuits, and tells him she’ll see him soon. Doug shakes his head, and Marcus laughs.

They’re here short of an hour when Maisey and Sarah arrive. Marcus, coming downstairs with his things, puts everything down and hugs Sarah and then Maisey.

“Are you going already?” she asks.

Then because Maisey has arrived, everyone congregates back on the porch with another round of sodas and tea and discusses the matters at hand for Marcus and Maisey: the rehearsal, the dinner, the wedding ceremony, the honeymoon, and their immediate plans on their return. But before long, Dottie stands up and says they need to get settled in the inn so that she can make necessary preparations in the room reserved for
the rehearsal dinner.

We stand in the driveway, waving, saying we’ll see them at the church at six. When the five cars pull out of the driveway, silence seems to fill the earth, or at least our five acres of it.

Maisey breaks the silence.

“Do you mind if I take Sarah over to Jackie’s for a while?”

“Don’t you want to check on your dress first?” I ask. The first thing I did when we arrived home was to take it upstairs and hang it in her closet.

“We won’t be gone long,” she says. “I’m sure my dress is fine. You and Gram made certain of that. Thanks for going to get it, Mother. But I left Sarah’s dress at Jackie’s, and I really do want to make sure the hem is right on it. Jackie’s mom said she could take care of any last-minute alterations if I got it to her today.”

What can I say, especially with Sarah standing here?

“Fine. Tell Jackie hi. Be safe.”

And they are off.

Luke is too, cleaning up e-mails and returning calls during this lull. Not much left to do before we meet at the church. I, having chosen the patio over the chaise in my room, am sitting here trying not to brood. I don’t know when I thought Maisey and I would have time to talk.

“Hey,” Paula says. “I took a chance.”

I look up and see her standing beside me, wearing her sunglasses and hat and holding a water bottle.

“I’m glad you did,” I say. “Perfect timing, in fact.”

“What is
that
!” she asks, looking toward the pen where Pete is sitting—wondering, I’m sure, what he did to be banished to the netherworld.

“That’s Pete, the Blairs’ dog. Not pretty, is he? I thought Marcus was Dottie’s youngest child, but I was wrong; Pete is, by twelve years. Dottie’s crazy about that dog, hard as it is to imagine, so would you please pray nothing happens to him out there?”

“Well, I can tell you that will be way down on my prayer list.”

“Move it up, will you? Honestly, I have visions of Dottie driving up Sunday and Luke running out to meet her with Pete’s collar and an apology.”

“What are the chances?”

“The way things are going? Probably fifty-fifty.”

“Come now,” she says.

“He’s not a pup.”

“I predict he’ll be fine. I’m in a positive mood, mainly because of the dress I found for the wedding. It’s perfect.”

“I’m glad something is.”

“I take it you haven’t talked to Maisey.”

“No, but she did thank me for bringing her dress. And without a trace of sarcasm.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Beats ‘I hate you’ by quite a lot.”

“Do you want me to come to the rehearsal after all? Moral support?”

“No, you were right. I need to give my attention to the Blair bunch. Goodness, there are a lot of them. Maisey really is marrying into a wonderful family.”

“It would be so good for both you and Maisey if you can talk to her before the wedding.”

“I just have to, Paula. Maybe there will be time tonight. The kids are doing it the old-fashioned way. Marcus won’t be seeing Maisey tomorrow until she walks down the aisle. Since Mother isn’t here, the three of us should be alone at some point tonight. That is if she doesn’t tell me at the rehearsal dinner she’s spending the night at Jackie’s. Now that Mother won’t be here to distract us, I wouldn’t be surprised. I know she doesn’t want to talk to me about what she saw or what she said.”

“And you do?”

“Can you imagine anything worse?”

“There’s genocide.”

“Well, yes, there’s that.”

Paula walks over to the edge of the pool with her empty water bottle and dips it under the water. Back in her chair, she dribbles water on her arms and legs and hands the bottle to me.

“I don’t know how much a talk the night before her wedding can accomplish,” I say, trickling the rest of the water on my arms, “but I want to at least tell my daughter how sorry I am. Then tomorrow, if she lets me catch her eye when she’s walking down the aisle, there can be truth and a measure of peace between us. I’d like to accomplish that much—for her sake. And for the sake of the wedding she has looked forward to since she dressed her bride doll with such care and hopped her down our staircase, humming a perfectly pitched ‘Wedding March.’ ”

Paula reaches over and squeezes my hand. “That will be first on my prayer list, then,” she says. “But don’t worry—Pete will be second.”

We sit here, staring across the field, comfortable in silent camaraderie, until Luke comes out and asks if we want something to drink.

“Bring your wife something,” Paula says. “I should go. I have errands to run before dinner.”

I tell Luke not to bother, that I’ll come get something as soon as Paula leaves.

She has been gone awhile now, though, and here I sit, close to lethargic. I should go in. Miller and Anne will be here any minute. If they said five, they’ll be here at five.

I recall the words of Paula’s favorite philosopher, Mary Engelbreit. These words have been emblazoned on a sign in Paula’s kitchen for I don’t know how long:
Snap out of it!

I get out of my chair and head into the house.
I’ll try, Mary,
I’ll try.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Maisey

Jackie, Sarah, and I drive up just behind my grandparents. The girls insist on previewing my dress now that it’s safe in my closet. We run in to see it while Mom and Dad sit in the kitchen, chatting with Grandpa and Grandma. I unzip the bag, lift the dress out carefully, and lay it across my bed so they can get the full effect. It’s even more beautiful than I remembered.

“Put it on,” Jackie says, and though we hardly have time, I can’t resist.

“Oh!” Jackie says after she gets me zipped and buttoned. For Jackie, such exclamation is the highest praise.

“Let’s go down and show everyone,” she says.

“We can’t. We’re going to be late,” I say.

Jackie looks at her watch. “Come on. You have time.”

And I do, if I hurry.

Jackie runs downstairs and gathers the parents and grandparents in the living room for a private showing of the dress. I suddenly find myself apprehensive about walking down the stairs, but the expectation is there, so I can hardly change my mind. I relax a little when I come out of my room at the top of the stairs and hear Jackie telling everyone she’d play the “Wedding March” if she hadn’t left her triangle at home.

As I come down the stairs, everyone is smiling, even Mother. “It’s beautiful,” they all say at once, but it is Mother’s voice I hear most clearly, it is her eyes I see brimming with tears, her hand covering her mouth, and I can hardly catch my breath.

“I should have bought it here,” I whisper when I reach the bottom of the stairs. “I should have, and I’m sorry.”

Everyone else is focusing on the dress, but Mother has heard what I said.

“Don’t be,” she says, circling me, looking at the dress from every angle. “It couldn’t be more beautiful. It’s perfect.”

“It
is
perfect,” Dad says, “but you’d better change. We have to go.”

I turn and steal a look at Mother. She’s still looking at me and the dress. She seems enthralled.

“Go!” Dad says, pointing to the stairs.

Fifteen minutes later car doors are slamming, and the seven of us—Mom and Dad in their car, Grandma and Grandpa in theirs, and Sarah and Jackie in mine—take off for the church.

The rehearsal goes off without a hitch. I have handed out all sorts of warnings and assignments. I told Marcus he’d better not faint when I walk down the aisle. That’s one of the disasters I’ve read about. And I asked Max, Marcus’s brother and best man, to help take care of their five-year-old nephew, who is all about being “ring boy.” It will be up to Jackie to watch out for the flower girl, the ring bearer’s four-year-old sister. Even with their parents nearby, I don’t trust ring bearers and flower girls, and I would drop these two from the program in a minute if they hadn’t been on board and focused during the rehearsal. I don’t trust candle lighters either, which is why the candles will be lit
before
the service begins.

If I can keep my veil from catching on fire—I’ve heard of that too—the wedding will be wonderful. I realize, of course, that any number of things can go wrong, even for the totally prepared, and believe me, I fit into that category. I overheard Jackie’s aunt, the unofficial wedding coordinator, telling Mother that I’ve made her job quite easy.

In slightly over an hour, we have gone through everything twice, every question anyone could think of has been answered, and the crowd moves from the church to the inn. Ring Boy and Flower Girl beg to ride with Marcus and me, and the consensus on the church steps and in the parking lot is that Marcus and I will make great parents. Marcus lifts the ring bearer onto his shoulders. “Someday,” he says, galloping with a shrieking little boy all the way to the car.

Dottie has gone to so much trouble preparing for the rehearsal dinner that I worry the event might be a bit uptight. But apparently the Blairs don’t do uptight, and I don’t know how a rehearsal dinner could be nicer. I’m glad I didn’t bother to worry about the parents getting along, because they seem to be enjoying each other no end. I heard Mother saying something to Dottie about Pete wanting to stay in the guesthouse for the summer, and whatever Dottie said in reply made them laugh.