Save the Date(83)

“In fairness, it’s his closet too,” I pointed out, but Jenny kept right on going.

“And it’s bad luck to see the wedding dress before the wedding,” she said, shaking her head. “And I don’t want that on my conscience. I mean, do you? Knowing that their marriage is doomed because of you?”

“No. Obviously. Nobody wants that,” I said.

“Well, then,” Jenny said, holding it out to me. “Here.”

“You can put it in our room,” my mom said. “Unless I’m mistaken, Rodney’s not going to be hanging out in there.”

“Okay,” I said, taking it along with the other garment bag. “I’ll just drop it off, then.” I started to head for the stairs, then turned back to Jenny. “Do you know when the hair and makeup people are coming? Priya was asking.”

“No,” Jenny said, her eyes getting wide. “Is it soon? I wanted to take a shower first. . . .” She hurried into the kitchen, and I started upstairs, moving more slowly under the weight of the dress.

“Charlie, make sure you hang it carefully,” my mother called to me just as the doorbell rang again. “We don’t want it to get wrinkled.”

“Got it.” I craned my neck to see who had arrived and got a glimpse of a girl dressed all in black with a camera bag—and figured this was probably the photographer. Since I was not even close to being camera ready, I increased my pace up the stairs to the second floor and to my parents’ bedroom.

I closed the door just in case Rodney was going to be walking by, since the last thing I needed was blame for more things going wrong with this wedding. Then I unzipped the white satin garment bag and felt my breath catch as I pulled it out.

I’d seen pictures, of course, that Linnie had sent of her in the dress at various fittings. But somehow, none of the pictures had done the dress justice.

It was long, and white—not a bright-white, though, more like there was some gray mixed in with it, somehow, like a pale pebble. It had an open back, and beading on the V-neck and on the straps. I looked at it, fighting the feeling that I was about to burst into tears. I’d known Linnie was getting married—obviously, I’d known it. It was all I’d been thinking about for the last few days, and it had been one of the main topics of conversation ever since she and Rodney got engaged. But somehow, seeing her wedding dress made it all that much more real. And considering I was about to start crying just looking at the dress, I wasn’t sure how I was going keep it together when I actually saw my sister in it, walking down the aisle toward Rodney.

I took a breath and tried to pull myself together. I had a lot to do—and I probably didn’t have time to be getting misty over dresses. I looked around for a place to put it. My parents’ room was the biggest one on this floor—with a king bed, attached master bath, my mom’s closets on one side of the room, my dad’s on the other. There was a daybed in the corner of their room that was mostly just decorative—but as I looked at it now, I realized that someone could have stayed there, in a pinch. Not one of the guests, of course, but I certainly could have, or J.J. . . . I’d forgotten about it, and as I looked at it now, I wondered why my mother hadn’t suggested it when we were looking for room options. And it looked like it was even made up, which it almost never was, so it would have been totally ready for someone—like me—to stay there.

I shook my head at this, then heard the doorbell ring again downstairs and realized that I needed to get moving. I didn’t just want to just cram the dress into my mother’s closet, next to her suits in their dry-cleaner’s plastic and her sensible black pressed pants. This was the most beautiful dress I’d ever seen in person, and it felt like it deserved better than that. After looking around, I carefully laid it over the daybed, arranging the skirt so that it was lying flat and hopefully wouldn’t wrinkle at all. I looked at it for just one more moment, gently touching the fabric of the skirt, before leaving the room, pulling the door firmly shut behind me.

I took the suit in its garment bag with me and headed out onto the landing—nearly tripping over Waffles, who was sitting, perfectly still, outside the door of my dad’s study, like he was waiting for someone on the other side of the door. As I looked at him, I wondered just what kind of dog had come to stay with us for the weekend. Was this a former police dog, or something? Could he smell what Max was undoubtedly up to inside?

“Come here,” I said to him. Waffles just looked at me, but then turned back to the door, now growling low at it.

“Charlie?” Max called through the door, sounding panicked. “Is that you? Is the dog still there?”

“Yeah,” I said, walking over to the dog, not sure I really wanted to pick up a growling beagle. But he stopped as I got closer, and didn’t protest when I picked him up. He was lighter than I’d expected him to be, and curled up a little in my arms, leaning his head against my chest. I gave the top of his head a tentative pat. “I’ve got him, Max.”

“Okay,” Max yelled through the door. “I’ll just—ow—I’ll just stay here. Bye-bye now.”

“Okay,” I said. I was about to tell Max that we’d found someone to perform the ceremony, when Waffles started growling at the door again, and it seemed like the best course of action might be to separate them.