Read Online Toss the Bouquet by Ruth Logan Herne - Free Book Online

desk and handed her the four thirty appointment card. “She’s coming to look at mothers’ gowns.”
    â€œI’m going to steam this weekend’s veils. Call me when she arrives.”
    Kathy called her up front about twenty minutes later.
    A woman stood quietly at the desk. She turned, and Tara couldn’t miss the look of apprehension in her eyes, as if Elena’s Bridal was the last place she wanted to be. “Tara, thisis Mrs. Dreschler. She needs a mother-of-the-groom gown, and she heard that we put them on sale.”
    Tara met the woman’s look of concern with a smile. “You’ve come to the right place. May I take your coat?”
    The middle-aged woman tugged the coat more snugly around her. “I’ll keep it. But thank you.”
    Tara led her to the area slated to become a prom display room in a few weeks. She turned, ready to ask questions about the wedding, the timing, and preferred styles, but was startled by the anguished look on the woman’s face.
    â€œAre you okay?” She stepped forward, unsure what to do. Mrs. Dreschler’s cheeks had paled. Her breathing caught as if she was fighting tears, and she seemed terrified, as if the twin racks of dresses might launch an attack at any moment.
    â€œCome here.” Tara took her arm and directed her to the nearby comfortable chair. “Sit down, breathe deep, and tell me what’s going on. I’m here to help.”
    The woman stared at her hands a few seconds, then shrugged as if conceding a long and drawn-out battle. “I had cancer a few years back.”
    â€œI’m so sorry.” Tara took the chair next to her and waited.
    â€œBreast cancer,” the woman whispered. “My insurance wouldn’t cover reconstruction, and so . . .” She winced, studying the dresses. “Nothing looks right. Nothing fits right. And the bride is a nice young woman, but she thinks I should be able to walk in here and get a suitable gown and it will be okay. And of course it won’t.”
    â€œOf course it will.” Tara added punch to the words with a soft call to Maisy working in the first alterations room. As Maisy strode forward in her typical take-no-prisoners style,Tara reached out a hand. “This is Maisy. Maisy, this is Mrs. Dreschler. We need your expertise to tell us which styles will work with post-surgical mastectomy, and how we can establish a normal and comfortable curve for her son’s wedding day.”
    Mrs. Dreschler stared at her, then Maisy in turn. “You can really do this? I know they sell prosthetic devices, but my skin is too sensitive after the radiation. Most days I don’t care,” she added. “My husband doesn’t care. He’s just thankful I’m alive. And my family understands, but for this occasion”—she stressed the last two words—“I want to look and feel normal. Just for one day.”
    And what did tough, drill-sergeant Maisy do? She reached right down and hauled Mrs. Dreschler out of the chair. “Toss off that coat, dearie. What size are you normally? A ten? Twelve?”
    â€œTwelve, yes.” The groom’s mother didn’t dare say no to Maisy. No one did. She removed the coat and draped it on the chair. Maisy gave her a once-over, then a crisp nod.
    â€œGood shoulders, that helps! And they cut these dresses small, a man’s choice, no doubt, utter foolishness. So let’s try some twelves and fourteens, because I can trim as needed.” She handed Tara pretty gowns in rapid-fire fashion. “This, this, this, and this. And that.” She pointed to the rack behind Tara. “And the gold too.”
    She turned back to Mrs. Dreschler. “Tara’s going to take you into my fitting room. I’ve got some wonderful ways of doing just what you want, but you’ve got to trust me to know my stuff!”
    Maisy’s take-charge attitude and self-confidence workedwonders. Mrs.