Read Online Rules for Life by Darlene Ryan - Free Book Online Page B

superstition.”
    I grabbed Dad’s arm before he could head inside. “Maybe Anne believes in it.”
    I did. At least for that day … sort of. I didn’t want to challenge fate, the wedding gods or the great cosmic plan. I didn’t want Dad and Anne to get married, but I didn’t want the marriage any more doomed than it already was. “How about if I go see if Anne’s here. All right?”
    Dad turned to look at me. He exhaled so softly I almost missed the sigh. He nodded. “Tell her I … tell her … I’m here.”
    I picked my way across the gravel, wobbling as my high heels sank down between the little rocks. When I stepped inside the old house a young woman with spiky hair like Jason’s leaned around the doorway to the right. She was holding two small pots of yellow roses. Anne was upstairs getting dressed, she told me, first door at the top of the stairs. I held the banister with one hand, my skirt with the other and made my way carefully up the steps. Outside the door I took a deep breath, straightened my shoulders and knocked.
    â€œCome in.” Anne was standing in front of a long oval mirror. She turned, her eyes widening with surprise when she saw it was me. But in the moment before she turned, while she was still looking at her reflection, she’d looked almost as if she was scared, biting the side of her lip.
    â€œYou look beautiful, Isabelle,” she said.
    There was a silence. “You … too,” I said, finally remembering my manners.
    She did. Her hair had been cut even shorter, and soft bits curled around her face. Her dress was ivory with a tint of pink. It had long, fitted sleeves, a scoop neck and slim skirt.
    â€œDad just wanted you to know we’re here,” I said. “And … do you need anything?” I brushed invisible lint off my skirt. Oh Lord, that hand thing of Dad’s was catching.
    â€œI don’t think so.” Anne hesitated. “Except I couldn’t do a couple of the buttons at the back of my dress.”
    â€œI’ll do them. Turn around.” The buttons and the loops of fabric that hooked around them were so tiny my fingers felt like they belonged on a giant’s hands.
    â€œMy fingers are cold,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
    â€œCold hands, warm heart.”
    â€œExcuse me?”
    â€œIt’s just something my grandmother used to say, ‘Cold hands, warm heart.’ She had a lot of sayings like that.”
    The second button finally slid through its loop. The sun was streaming through the window, making a patchwork of light on the floor. Anne smiled. “She used to say, ‘Happy is the bride that the sun shines on, happy is the corpse that the rain rains on.’”
    â€œI guess you’re happy then,” I said.
    She looked straight at me. “Yes, I am. And I hope … I believe we all can be, once we get to know each other. It’ll just take some time.”
    I didn’t say anything. Anne broke the silence. “Is your father okay?” she asked.
    â€œHe’s fine. His friend Peter was telling us this really funny story about Dad, when he and my mom got married. Dad was so nervous he threw up all over his tie.”
    Maybe it seemed cruel to talk about my mother on that day, but I needed Anne to know that I wasn’t going to forget about Mom, not that day, not any day.
    Anne crossed over to the bed and picked up a white box. “Could you take these downstairs?” she asked. “There’s a boutonnière for your—for Marc, and for Peter and Jason.” She hesitated. “And there are flowers for you.”
    I took the box. “Flowers for me?” I said. “You didn’t have to do that.”
    â€œI know,” she said. “But I wanted to.”
    I didn’t know what to say. That’s not something that usually happens to me. And I didn’t like the way it made me