The Wedding Veil(42)

Unable to still my hands enough to dial, I hit the side button on my phone and said, “Siri, call 911.” She did. I remember saying my address and then walking around to Reid’s side of the bed, pumping his chest with all my might—a useless feat considering the give of the mattress—breathing my breath into him. Isn’t that what we had done for each other for all these years? Breathed the same air until we had become one?

I sobbed as they put him in the ambulance, stood screaming in my front yard as they drove him away. I don’t know who called my daughters, but Meredith was suddenly there, guiding me back into the house. I was, after all, still in my pajamas.

I had heard friends say that watching their spouses or parents leave this world was a peaceful experience. Why hadn’t I gotten that? Mine had been terror. Trauma, really. And I knew that day I would never, ever be able to get back in that bed without him.

Now, I waved out the front door at the moving truck, the one that held my curlers and socks, soap, and beloved high heels that I could still wear for short stints of time.

I turned to do one more check of the house. That’s when I noticed I had forgotten something too important to trust the movers with. My black-and-white wedding photo in the sterling Tiffany frame Reid’s parents had given us as a wedding gift. Holding it, I sat down, allowing myself to feel the familiar sadness that sometimes overwhelmed me. Even still, it was all worth it. I would do it again in a heartbeat.

In the house we had shared for more than fifty years since that photo was taken, I looked at that picture, studied that wedding veil, and thought about my granddaughter.

I walked back into my bedroom and opened the closet door, the yards of lace and tulle puddling on the floor, the only thing still hanging, resplendent, in the empty space. I would have Meredith come get it and have it resealed in an heirloom box, so it could be preserved for another generation.

That wedding veil was mine. It was my mother’s. It was a part of our family history, one of the most important parts, in fact. I held that picture to my chest.

I checked the ancient stove once more to make sure I’d turned it off, walked out on the porch, and took a deep, salty breath. Sea oats danced in the rolling dunes, and the ocean beyond was plaintive and contemplative, just like I was.

As I locked the door for the last time and got in the car, I reveled in the thought that this would be a new chapter for me. I looked down at my watch. I wanted to be settled into the town house in time to get to the five-thirty Stretch and Sculpt followed by a group beach walk, cocktails, and dinner. I had a highlight appointment tomorrow, and I thought I’d punch my color up a bit, make it a kickier blond. I had Botox scheduled the following day, and though my daughters proclaimed it silly at my age, I felt strongly that looking and feeling one’s best were paramount. Why could everyone else get fillers and plasma facials while I had to grow old gracefully? I wondered as I pulled out of the driveaway and onto the road that would take me to my new home. I wouldn’t stand for it.

When I reached Summer Acres, flashing my pass at the man in the gatehouse, an extreme sense of calm washed over me. My phone rang. Alice. Well, there went my calm.

“Good morning!” I trilled.

“Mom? Where are you? The doors are locked and it’s so dark in here.” She paused and gasped. “And some of your stuff is gone!”

“How about you get Meredith on the line?” I asked, pulling over into the fitness center parking lot so I wasn’t talking while driving. I wasn’t taking any chances. At eighty years old, they will take your license if you so much as sneeze behind the wheel.

Alice sighed. “Mom, you’re scaring me.”

“Honey, everything is just fine. Can you add your sister to this call so I can tell you what’s going on?”

A few silent seconds passed. “Mom?” Alice asked.

“I’m here.”

“Meredith?”

“Present and accounted for!”

“Oh, good. Well, girls, I have some news I didn’t want to share until it was all settled, but you should know… I’ve moved to Summer Acres. Today.”

“What?” they shouted in perfect unison.

“It felt like the right time, and I didn’t want to bother either of you with the decision.”

Dead silence.

“Okay, sweethearts. I hope you’ll come visit soon, but I need to go direct the movers.”

“How could you move and not even consult us?” Alice interrupted.

Always needing to one-up her twin, Meredith said, “I knew you were thinking about moving, but Mom, this is a hair brash.”

“Mom, are you feeling okay?” Alice asked.

They constantly thought I had dementia. My leg hurt: dementia. I had a new cavity: dementia. I didn’t want to go to church with them: dementia.

“I told you she looked tired last week,” Meredith said.

“Well, you might have said that, Meredith,” Alice snapped, “but tired isn’t going off the deep end and moving without telling your children.”

Since I was basically out of the conversation now, I just hung up the phone, started the car, and resumed driving. If prior experience had taught me anything, it would take them a good ten minutes to realize I wasn’t on the line. I whistled as I drove.

Although by the time they realized I had hung up, they would, no doubt, question whether I had dementia.