The Wedding Dress(31)

“Tawny?” Dix said.

“She’s invited me to a luncheon with her bridesmaids. She wants them to meet ‘the great Charlotte Malone,’ her words not mine.” Charlotte grinned. “Only one of them is already married and three others are in serious relationships . . . Bless Tawny for helping my business. Marketing is really all about word of—Dix, why do you have a hammer and screwdriver?”

Dixie clapped the tools together. “Never know when they might come in handy. I might see a protruding nail in your loft.” Dix mimed hammering a wall. “Or a find a loose screw somewhere.”

“Besides the one in your own head, you mean?” Charlotte finished adding lunch with Tawny to her schedule.

“Or we could use these to open the trunk.”

“Open the trunk?” Charlotte met her gaze, exhaling a small laugh. “It’s welded shut, Dix. A hammer and screwdriver can’t undo welded metal. If they can, I’m never driving over a bridge again.”

“Well, it’s all I had.” Dixie dropped the tools on the table. “Dr. Hotstuff deals in scalpels and scissors. His toolbox is pathetic. All it has in it is a fork, a hammer, and this rusty screwdriver.”

“A fork?”

“Yeah, left over from the piece of pie he ate while hanging the pictures in our loft. So, where’s this thousand-dollar trunk?” Dixie scanned the loft living area, around to the kitchen.

“In my room.” Charlotte gestured toward the short hallway.

“Char, how can you stand not opening it?”

“It reminds me . . . I can’t help but think that ugly thing was the catalyst that ended Tim and me.” Charlotte took a brief scan of e-mail, glad to have a focus besides Dixie and her tools. Though her friend had a way of barging past emotional welded locks with her tools of boldness.

“You know, you can’t avoid things because they’re difficult or welded shut.”

“I’m not avoiding anything. Just that trunk.”

“Char, really, are you okay?” Dixie dropped onto a chair, hammer and screwdriver in her lap.

“You asked me that a hundred times this afternoon. I’m fine.”

“If Jared had broken off with me two months before our wedding, I’d still be in bed hugging a box of tissues.”

“You hole up in bed with tissues, I work. Move forward. Forget the past.” Charlotte set down her iPad. “When Mama died and I had to move in with Gert, I cried for a while, told Gert I was too sick to go to school. But after a month of crying every night, I stopped. Tears weren’t going to raise Mama from the dead. They weren’t going to bring me a father or grandparents. So I mourned Mama by doing something. I got up, went to school, conquered fractions, grasped grammar, became the first one picked for volleyball in gym class. I was going to make Mama proud.” Charlotte stared toward the dark-paned windows, the lights of Homewood beaming up from the ground. “Tears aren’t going to bring Tim back either. So I work. I make Mama proud.”

The silence between the friends gave Charlotte a moment to exhale and think, digest her own thoughts, put a picture to her feelings. She loved Tim, but something had made her second-guess.

Dixie reached across and squeezed her hand. “Are you hungry?”

“I could eat.”

“How’s Homewood Gourmet sound?”

“Let’s go.” Charlotte slung her bag over her shoulder. “I’ve been thinking about taking a Paris trip in the fall. A visit to Bray-Lindsay and our other designers. You game?”

“Game? I’m the whole party. Absolutely, I want to go to Paris. If you go without me I’ll burn the shop down.” Dixie sliced the air with the hammer and screwdriver.

“We don’t need tools tonight, Dix.” Charlotte started down the hall toward the elevator.

“I don’t know, we might.” Dixie examined the hammer as Charlotte pushed the first-floor button. “One thing we do know, it’ll be winter in hades before Jared notices they’re gone.”



Charlotte ordered pesto chicken with soup and salad, then took a swig of tea, waiting for Dixie to order. She loved the we-welcome-you atmosphere of Homewood Gourmet, the small hum of voices, the clatter of dishes, the anticipation of unique food.

She pulled out her iPad to look at the fall calendar, block off time for Paris. She’d need to contact her designers, determine a good visiting time, hire someone to watch the shop, so she’d best formulate a time frame.

Charlotte gazed up when Dixie finished ordering, ready to ask about her schedule. But as she took in the view of the front door, the words stuck in her throat and her weak heart tumbled to its knees.

Tim. With a beautiful woman.

“Char, what is it?” Dixie whipped around to see over her shoulder. “Oh wow, I don’t believe it.”

“Let’s just go.” Charlotte closed up her iPad and jammed it into her satchel. “Once they’re seated”—she ducked low to the table, hiding behind Dixie—“we can sneak out.”

“Sit up. You’re not going to hide, ashamed. He’s the one that ought to be ashamed.”

“Sure, but he’s with a gorgeous date and I’m sitting here with you.”

“I’ll take that like you intended, not like it sounded, Charlotte.”