it was the whole
point. You couldn’t possibly say this dress was too and then not
finish.
Like her own
Charlie and Angie’s son Ben, Lainie and Angie were around the same
age – Lainie was two years older and six inches taller – and they’d
grown up together more like sisters than cousins, swapping fashion
tips and boyfriend stories through their teens, sharing a need to
get away from their downbeat Fort Edward background.
Thirty-five
years later, they still laughed, they drank coffee, they gossiped
and shopped, all the right things, but Lainie could never shake the
suspicion that if you looked at it in the wrong light, they weren’t
really friends, that Angie was out to get her in some subtle,
female, legal way that nobody would ever be able to put a finger on
or find a reason for.
Lainie
honestly knew herself to be someone who was never out to get
anyone, even her rare enemies. Despite spending years in the
cut-throat profession of real estate, she was still the kind of
person who has to say, “It’s not you, it’s me,” when she changes
hairdressers, so she felt at sea about it, at sea as to whether the
problem with Angie even existed. She had no proof. Maybe it was her
imagination. Maybe Angie couldn’t be held responsible for those
occasional odd expressions and comments. Maybe she, Lainie, was the
one to blame.
“Anyhow,
Angie,” she said cheerfully, hiding all this, “it doesn’t matter if
you like it, I just want your opinion on where I should store
it.”
“Emma doesn’t
want it back?”
“Oh, I expect
she does, at some point, but you know it’s sensitive right
now.”
“Would she
sell it, do you think?”
“I have no
idea. It’s too soon.” It was in fact just about the time when Emma
and Charlie should have been coming out of the church as man and
wife.
Lainie had
felt restless and down in the dumps all day, thinking about the two
of them and about the Deans, almost picking up the phone a hundred
times and then feeling too awkward and interfering and
mother-of-the-groom to call. Who would she ask for if Eric or Billy
picked up? Terri? Sarah? Or could she talk to Eric? He was a nice
man. Kind and quiet and clever. He stayed in the background, yet
you had the impression he didn’t miss much. But what would she
say?
“I’m going to
let everything sit for a couple of days,” she said, “then maybe
I’ll call up Terri just to let her know the dress is here and I’m
taking good care of it. I’m thinking the attic, but – ”
“Not the
attic,” Angie said, decisive on the subject. “And not a closet you
use every day. The spare-room closet.”
“That’s small.
It’s such a big dress.”
“We’ll go
look.” Angie led the way upstairs, taking charge.
Lainie carried
the dress, instinctively holding it high off the floor because it
was unbearable to think of the delicate hemline gathering even a
speck of dust. The dress would throw a tantrum and fire its entire
entourage if that happened.
“The attic is
out. Didn't it leak, last time it rained?” Angie said. “And if the
basement gets the slightest bit damp, the smell could soak into the
fabric and never come out.”
She went into
Lainie’s bedroom, where, if she was looking for any kind of a
subtle battle with her cousin, she would probably find ammunition.
The diet book on the bedside table, for example. Angie battled with
her weight, too, but more successfully. “A closet that you use a
lot won’t work,” she decreed. “You’re right, it’s a big dress.
Fragile. Didn’t it come in a garment bag?”
“Oh, my lord,
yes it did! Custom-fitted!”
“So where is
that?”
“It must be
still at the church, in the Reverend’s change-room.”
“Call him up.”
Occasionally, Angie could make very useful, clairvoyant
suggestions.
Lainie
discovered that she wouldn’t at all mind having a good reason to
call up the Reverend Mac, after their almost flirty conversation on
the porch. “Yes, because it does
point. You couldn’t possibly say this dress was too and then not
finish.
Like her own
Charlie and Angie’s son Ben, Lainie and Angie were around the same
age – Lainie was two years older and six inches taller – and they’d
grown up together more like sisters than cousins, swapping fashion
tips and boyfriend stories through their teens, sharing a need to
get away from their downbeat Fort Edward background.
Thirty-five
years later, they still laughed, they drank coffee, they gossiped
and shopped, all the right things, but Lainie could never shake the
suspicion that if you looked at it in the wrong light, they weren’t
really friends, that Angie was out to get her in some subtle,
female, legal way that nobody would ever be able to put a finger on
or find a reason for.
Lainie
honestly knew herself to be someone who was never out to get
anyone, even her rare enemies. Despite spending years in the
cut-throat profession of real estate, she was still the kind of
person who has to say, “It’s not you, it’s me,” when she changes
hairdressers, so she felt at sea about it, at sea as to whether the
problem with Angie even existed. She had no proof. Maybe it was her
imagination. Maybe Angie couldn’t be held responsible for those
occasional odd expressions and comments. Maybe she, Lainie, was the
one to blame.
“Anyhow,
Angie,” she said cheerfully, hiding all this, “it doesn’t matter if
you like it, I just want your opinion on where I should store
it.”
“Emma doesn’t
want it back?”
“Oh, I expect
she does, at some point, but you know it’s sensitive right
now.”
“Would she
sell it, do you think?”
“I have no
idea. It’s too soon.” It was in fact just about the time when Emma
and Charlie should have been coming out of the church as man and
wife.
Lainie had
felt restless and down in the dumps all day, thinking about the two
of them and about the Deans, almost picking up the phone a hundred
times and then feeling too awkward and interfering and
mother-of-the-groom to call. Who would she ask for if Eric or Billy
picked up? Terri? Sarah? Or could she talk to Eric? He was a nice
man. Kind and quiet and clever. He stayed in the background, yet
you had the impression he didn’t miss much. But what would she
say?
“I’m going to
let everything sit for a couple of days,” she said, “then maybe
I’ll call up Terri just to let her know the dress is here and I’m
taking good care of it. I’m thinking the attic, but – ”
“Not the
attic,” Angie said, decisive on the subject. “And not a closet you
use every day. The spare-room closet.”
“That’s small.
It’s such a big dress.”
“We’ll go
look.” Angie led the way upstairs, taking charge.
Lainie carried
the dress, instinctively holding it high off the floor because it
was unbearable to think of the delicate hemline gathering even a
speck of dust. The dress would throw a tantrum and fire its entire
entourage if that happened.
“The attic is
out. Didn't it leak, last time it rained?” Angie said. “And if the
basement gets the slightest bit damp, the smell could soak into the
fabric and never come out.”
She went into
Lainie’s bedroom, where, if she was looking for any kind of a
subtle battle with her cousin, she would probably find ammunition.
The diet book on the bedside table, for example. Angie battled with
her weight, too, but more successfully. “A closet that you use a
lot won’t work,” she decreed. “You’re right, it’s a big dress.
Fragile. Didn’t it come in a garment bag?”
“Oh, my lord,
yes it did! Custom-fitted!”
“So where is
that?”
“It must be
still at the church, in the Reverend’s change-room.”
“Call him up.”
Occasionally, Angie could make very useful, clairvoyant
suggestions.
Lainie
discovered that she wouldn’t at all mind having a good reason to
call up the Reverend Mac, after their almost flirty conversation on
the porch. “Yes, because it does
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