Chapter 2 - The Dress in the Evidence Bag
Odessa answered on the first ring. She didn't ask whether the wedding was beautiful or whether I'd eaten breakfast. She listened while I told her what happened, then said, “Don't let anybody steam that dress.”
“I'm not planning to.”
“Good. Steam can set some of those compounds. Wrap the damaged section in clean cotton, keep the bottle, and get yourself out of that room.”
“I can't leave.”
“Child, you can leave a room. You can even leave a wedding. What you can't do is undo a decision just because somebody told you everybody was waiting.”
Odessa had been saying versions of that to me since I was eleven and convinced every crooked seam meant I was hopeless. She was seventy-two now, recently retired from an upholstery mill, and ran Blue Thread two afternoons a week out of the community college annex. Seventeen women had sewn my gown there after hours. I paid for the materials; they refused wages because it was their gift, although I had made each of them accept a commission for the matching handkerchiefs they designed for my wedding party.
“Did you sign a release for Sloane?” I asked.
A long silence. “Who told you there was a release?”
“She did. Or nearly did.”
“Then I need to come to that hotel,” Odessa said.
Lena took the bottle with a folded tissue and slipped it into a clear zipper bag. She photographed its label, the damaged bodice, and the time on her own phone. My mother kept trying to straighten the vanity towels, creating order in the one place no one needed it.
“Mom. Look at me.”
She did, reluctantly.
“Did you know?”
“Not about the glue.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
Her eyes filled. “Sloane said the licensing contract would save the shop.”
“Blue Thread isn't your shop.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you talking about it as if you can sell it?”
She touched the pearl pin at her throat, one from the same box she'd used in my hair. “Because when your father died, he left more bills than you knew. Sloane handled them. I let her.”
“You let her handle bills, Mom. Did you let her handle other people's designs?”
My mother sat down. I had never seen her look older.
The door opened before she could answer. Mason Vale, Sloane's business partner and boyfriend, came in without knocking. In his navy suit he looked like a groom who had arrived at the wrong wedding.
“Sloane says we've got a wardrobe issue.” He saw the dress and whistled. “That's unfortunate. The branded gown is right here. Problem solved.”
“Please leave,” I told him.
“We have a launch livestream in thirty minutes.”
“You have a launch livestream. I have a wedding.”
He reached for the zipper bag Lena was holding. “We should dispose of that. It looks bad sitting around.”
Lena pulled it away. “Don't touch me.”
He stopped, but his smile disappeared. “You are all making a bad situation expensive.”
“Funny,” I said. “That's what Sloane told me about getting married without sponsors.”
Mason glanced at my mother's bowed head. “Diane, talk to your daughter.”
I stepped between him and her. “No. You talk to me. What did you buy from Blue Thread?”
He shifted the garment bag off a chair and held it out. “Put this on and we'll sort out the paperwork next week.”
“No.”
“Then give me your phone. I'll explain the contract.”
He reached for my wrist. I moved back; my damp hem caught under my shoe. He grabbed my forearm harder, and I stumbled against the vanity.
“Let go,” I said.
The next voice came from the open doorway. “She asked you to let go.”
Eli had come upstairs after my unanswered message. He wore the dark suit we'd chosen together, and his tie was still crooked. His eyes went straight to Mason's hand on my arm.
“Eli,” I said, “I'm okay. I need him to release me.”
Mason did. Then, as Eli moved into the room, Mason shoved him backward against the doorframe and swung at him. Eli ducked, struck Mason once in the jaw, and stepped away with both hands open. The blow knocked Mason against the wall. He stayed on his feet, startled, one hand over his mouth.
“Stop,” Eli said. “We're done.”
Security arrived within seconds, called by the attendant who'd heard the crash. I gave her my name and asked her to record that Mason had grabbed me, shoved Eli, and swung first. Eli reported his punch without minimizing it. Mason demanded to speak to the hotel manager.
I didn't feel victorious. My arm hurt. My dress was ruined. I hadn't even looked at my fiancé properly.
Then Eli finally turned toward me. “Did she do that?”
I nodded.
He took in the adhesive on my veil and my bare shoulders, the way I was clutching a clean sheet around the bodice. “Do you want to get married today?”
“Don't ask me because everyone is downstairs.”
“I'm asking because I want to marry you. A wedding is a different question.”
I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to hide. Most of all I wanted to stop being the person who made everybody else's mess look presentable.
“I do,” I said. “But not in Sloane's dress. And not in her launch.”
“Then we don't.”
My mother got up and quietly lifted the branded gown out of the room. I couldn't tell whether she meant to return it or hide it. She came back without it.
Lena found a plain ivory dress in the suitcase I'd packed for our honeymoon dinner. It was knee-length cotton, slightly wrinkled, and cost forty-eight dollars at a consignment shop. My hair took longer. The attendant supplied clean towels and called a stylist who carefully removed what could be removed without pulling on my scalp. Some pearls had to stay trapped in the ruined veil.
I handed the gown to Lena inside a clean cotton sheet. “Put it in the hotel safe if they'll accept it. If not, keep it with you. I want every woman who worked on it to see what's happened before anyone decides what to do next.”
Lena nodded. “You got it.”
Just as the stylist reached for a comb, Odessa called again.
“I'm downstairs,” she said. “Mara, don't sign anything. Especially not if the paper has my name on it.”
May you like
“Why yours?”
“Because I signed one thing six weeks ago,” she said. “And now I can't find the page that told me what it was.”
