The Wedding Dress(69)

Trembling, Charlotte sank to the pew. She’d been in a good place, enjoying God and worship. Now she was back to the swirl and whirl of heartbreak and the other woman. She picked her bag off the floor—asked a nurse to retrieve it for her—grabbed her Bible, and headed out.

When she pulled into her Homewood loft, thinking today would be a good day to eat a whole cheese pizza, a woman called her name. She turned to see Hillary hurrying toward her, a tan leather messenger bag slung over her shoulder.

“Hillary? What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I called your bridal shop after you left yesterday. Your friend told me where you lived. I hope you don’t mind.” She met Charlotte at the building’s entrance wearing Joel’s tags around her neck. “My mind was reeling with thoughts of you, the dress, Joel and me. When Greg came home, he found me sitting in the middle of pictures, reliving the whole ordeal, crying. I just never figured out why. Why did I marry Joel, only to lose him? I didn’t realize I was still so angry.” The truth of her confession sat in the taut and deep lines of her face.

“Hillary, I should’ve never come to you. I was so wrapped up in needing to know about Joel and how he related to the dress, I never considered how it would impact you. Not really. I was a bit obsessed.” Charlotte pressed her hands over her middle. Dix had tried to warn her. “One day I had an old gown in my possession. The next I was deep into this mystery of a man whose life was summed up in five lines on a dog tag and a few details on a website.”

“I’m glad you came to me, Charlotte. I needed you to come to me.” Hillary’s hair buoyed in the wind. She wore a long-sleeved t-shirt, Go Navy, and khaki shorts with the same white sneakers from yesterday. “Even my husband knew this day of reckoning had to come. He said he’s known for years I wasn’t finished saying good-bye to Joel. Maybe now I have a chance to find that elusive closure.”

Charlotte jiggled her keys in her hand. “I was about to order a thin-crust cheese pizza.”

“Are you informing me or inviting me?”

Charlotte watched her through narrow eye slits. “Depends on your answer. Do you like pizza?”

“I love pizza. Any kind.”

“I’m on the fourth floor.”

“Lead the way, my dear.”

Taking the stairs to the fourth floor, Charlotte unlocked her loft, remembering the gown was in the living room as Hillary rounded the short hallway wall. She gasped, one hand cupped over her mouth. The other over her heart.

“I’m sorry, Hillary. I forgot the dress was out in view.”

“I never thought I’d see this thing again.” She circled the gown, brushing her cheeks dry and gently lifting the silky folds of the skirt. Lowering her face to the material, she closed her eyes and inhaled. “The skirt always smelled like a thick fragrant oil to me.”

“It seems to always catch and hold the light to me.” Charlotte lightly slipped her hand along the sleeve. “I love the gold threads.”

“It’s still the most beautiful gown I’ve ever seen.”

Charlotte sat on the edge of the sofa, crossing her legs, relaxing into the moment. “I’ve seen a lot of wedding gowns, many of them exquisite, but none compare to this one.”

“It’s special,” Hillary said, her voice and eyes filled with emotion.

“Why do you think it’s so special, Hillary?” Charlotte propped her chin in her hand. Seeing the gown through Hillary’s eyes broadened Charlotte’s heart and determination to find its next bride. She must be a special woman indeed.

“Because it’s only for those who accept it. Who can wear it.”

“What do you mean? Only for those who accept it?”

“I don’t know what I mean . . . it’s just here.” She tapped her heart. “You have to accept this gown, to believe in it. Have faith, if you will.”

“It’s just a gown.”

“No, it’s a destiny.” Hillary’s face brightened, the hue in her eyes the same as the hue of the threads. “I’m so glad you found the trunk, Charlotte. Oh my—” She pressed her hand over her heart, letting her eyes water and leak down her cheeks.

Charlotte swallowed the emotion rising in her chest. “The man who sold me the trunk mentioned something about 1912 and a bride. He handed me a receipt stamped REDEEMED. Do you know what that means? Do you know if you’re the only one to wear it, Hillary?”

“I don’t know for sure, but I had this feeling when I put it on, I wasn’t the first bride to wear it.” She peered over at Charlotte, hard. “And I have a pretty good idea who might wear it after me.”

“Ho, not me.” Charlotte stood, hands surrendered. “I’m going to find the right bride, but trust me, she is not me.”

“Mercy, you protest so loudly.”

“When people talk crazy, I have to speak up. Now, let’s order pizza.”

Charlotte snatched up her cell and phoned in their order, then changed into jeans, leaving Hillary alone with the dress, alone with her memories.

When she came out of her room, Hillary stood by the window, staring northwest toward the city. She cradled a black framed picture against her belly.

“You have a great place here, Charlotte,” she said, turning back into the room.