A Nantucket Wedding(81)

“Yes, Mrs. O’Reilly has contacted me. I will fit her outfit tomorrow,” Anya said. “Pregnant women’s bodies can change radically from day to day.”

Aha! Alison thought. A topic in common. “Do you have children, Anya?”

“No.”

Alison put on music. A light classical piece danced around the air for the rest of the drive.

In the apartment, Alison offered tea or coffee, but Anya was clearly eager to fit the dress. They went up to the guest bedroom, and together they lifted one large cardboard box onto the bed. Anya took Alison’s dress from its stiff plastic garment bag and held it out for Alison to step into it.

The beautiful dress transformed her. Anya zipped the back and fussed around, making adjustments to the skirt, the bodice. But Alison simply gazed at her reflection in the mirror. She’d never been one to wear a gown. And maybe this wasn’t even a gown, because it wasn’t floor length.

Whatever it was, it was the most beautiful thing Alison had ever worn. The fitted ivory satin top was elegant in its simplicity. The skirt belled out from the waist in a fall of ivory silk panels, ending just at her knee.

    “Oh, Anya,” Alison said. “This is perfect.”

“Actually, no, because the bodice pulls slightly at the back. I will need to let it out an inch here by the waistline. You have been eating too much.”

Alison laughed out loud at Anya’s blunt declaration. She stared at herself in the mirror, turning this way and that, while Anya bustled around with a tape measure. In the wedding boutique, Alison had been scattered, but here in her own home in her own bedroom, she took a deep breath and gave herself over to the pleasure of being cared for and even bossed around by someone else. She remembered her mother making clothes for her when she was a child, making Alison stand on a stool while her mother pinned up the hem.

“I brought this,” Anya said, lifting something small and ivory from another box. “You might like, you might not like. But I think is good.”

Alison bent her knees so Anya could place the short, round satin hat, like something Jacqueline Kennedy might have worn, on Alison’s hair. A chin-length veil of ivory net sprinkled with a few sparkling crystals surrounded Alison’s face, and the back of the hat was embellished with a small ivory satin rose and more crystals.

Alison burst into tears.

“You like, eh?” Anya crossed her arms over her chest and smiled triumphantly.

“Oh, Anya, I could kiss you!” Alison cried.

“Okay, not necessary.” Anya took a few steps back. “You have shoes?”

“Yes. Yes, I have the shoes. I had them dyed to match the fabric sample you gave me. They’re in a box in the closet. I’ll get them.”

“No, no. I can get them. You need to see yourself in the mirror.”

Anya pulled the box from the closet. She took off the lid and set the ivory satin high-heeled shoes in front of Alison. Alison put a hand, for balance, on Anya’s shoulder and stepped into the shoes.

“Oh, my,” Alison said. “Look at me. And I’m not even wearing jewelry or makeup.”

“Yes. Is nice dress.”

    It’s more than nice! Alison wanted to protest, but she understood that by keeping aloof, Anya was giving Alison the great gift of freedom. Freedom for this brief moment to indulge, to be thrilled, to admire herself and fill with eagerness for her wedding day, when the man she loved would see her looking like this, as splendidly dressed as a queen. This was why people had ceremonies to renew their vows, Alison thought, so they could celebrate the triumph of their lasting love, yes, but also to celebrate the beauty of being alive.

“Anya, I’m going to call my friend Margo and have her come over now to see this dress. Then we’ll have coffee and cake.”

“Very good idea,” Anya said.





twenty-five


Welsh showed no relation to any language Jane had ever learned or even seen. Wales in Welsh was Cymru; Hospital was Ysbyty. Fortunately, all street signs were in both English and Welsh, and the taxi driver who parked in front of the airport spoke English.

When she arrived in Bangor, it was after two in the afternoon in Wales, but early morning in New York City. The time difference confused her poor brain, already tired from the rush to the airport and the plane ride and then the train journey. Even so, Jane was shot through with adrenaline. Finally, she was here! And Scott was alive! As the driver steered them through the unknown streets, Jane couldn’t keep from babbling, telling the driver about Scott’s fall, and her fear, and Derfel’s call, and her utter relief.

“You’ve come a long way,” the driver said.

“Yes,” Jane responded thoughtfully. “Yes. You’ve no idea.”

    “Oh, I’ve been across the pond a few times myself.”

“I didn’t mean— Where did you go? New York City?”

“Ha! I might as well go to London. No, I like that place you have over there called Las Vegas. I enjoy playing cards and my wife takes in a few shows. One day we drive out into the desert and scare ourselves half to death looking at all that sand, then we come home happy.”

“I’ve never been to Las Vegas,” Jane admitted.

“No? You should go. Now here we are. I’ll be taking you to the emergency entrance of the hospital,” the driver told her.