Surprisingly, it was still on her lashes and not under her eyes or running down her cheeks. But that was bound to change before the day was over. “Waterproof” or not.
“You look fine,” she heard Dirk say. “Beautiful, in fact.” Savannah looked down at the bright yellow sheath dress and shuddered. “Thank you. But I don’t feel beautiful. I look like a giant daffodil.”
“No, you don’t,” Brody said, leaning over her shoulder and looking down at her dress. “You look pretty.”
“Why, thank you, Brody! What a sweet thing to say.”
“Yeah. Like a big ol’ lemon Popsicle.”
“Oh.”
Dirk looked back at the boy and said, “You came close, dude. So-o-o close. Only to fumble at the one-yard line.”
Brody reconsidered and tried again. “A Popsicle with matching yellow shoes?”
“Seriously, son. Stop while you’re ahead.”
Savannah glanced back at Brody, who looked like a mini Robert Redford in his black tuxedo with a bright yellow vest and tie. His blond hair had been heavily gelled and carefully sculpted into a coiffure worthy of a gentleman of the Roaring Twenties.
He was adorable.
He also meant well. He loved Popsicles.
She turned to Dirk and enjoyed the sight of him for a moment, as well. He was wearing a tuxedo, too. He hadn’t been thrilled at the prospect, until he’d found out that he was being asked to do so because he had been assigned a most prestigious honor. One he had not been expecting.
Alma asked him to honor her by walking her “down the aisle.” Or down the staircase leading into the ballroom, where the ceremony was to be performed.
Dirk had gotten teary-eyed and choked up a bit when he accepted—most graciously and gratefully.
He had balked at the yellow vest and, like the rest of the males in the wedding party, conceded to a yellow rose boutonniere.
Savannah looked him over and thought she had never seen him more handsome. She was looking forward to this evening for more reasons than one. The best thing about attending weddings and parties with Dirk was that he loved to ballroom dance. Much to the surprise of those who knew him, he was quite good at it. She couldn’t wait for their first waltz.
But while Savannah was looking Dirk over and approving of his appearance, Brody was studying him, as well. “I’m sorry they didn’t give you a cool vest, too,” the boy told him, genuinely concerned about the injustice of the situation.
Dirk shrugged. “I know, huh? My feelings were plumb hurt.”
Dirk turned to Savannah and rolled his eyes. She gave him an air kiss.
“Let’s get going,” she said, reaching for the gift bag on the floor. “I’m supposed to be helping the bride put on her veil or garter or something.”
“What’s a garter?” Brody asked. Then his eyes grew large, “Oh, wait. I know. It’s one of those things that ladies put around their legs and . . . never mind. Yuck.”
They got out of the Buick and walked toward the massive, arched entryway with all of its intricate brickwork. Brody craned his neck to look up the entire height of the four-story building with its marble façade, decorated with bands of complicated geometric patterns, and lit with Moroccan lanterns, their stained-glass panels casting their jewel-toned glow on the stone and masonry.
“This is so, so cool!” he exclaimed. “It’s like a castle where Aladdin would live. Maybe the genie, too!”
When they arrived at the door, Brody asked if he could do the knocking, and Dirk gave him a boost so he could reach the large, brass hand affixed to the center of the door. No sooner had Brody used it to rap as loudly as he could, than someone answered.
In fact, it wasn’t a person, but a crowd consisting of the seven people Savannah loved most in the world: Granny, Waycross, Tammy, Ryan, John, and little Vanna Rose and Freddy.
The munchkins were dressed as befitted their royal titles of “Flower Girl” and “Ring Bearer,” with Vanna in a frilly, yellow dress that reached down to her beloved penguin slippers. For the occasion, the birds were adorned with yellow daisies on their heads instead of the usual bells.
“Hey! He got a cool yellow vest, too!” Brody said, pointing to Freddy’s outfit, which was as festive as his own. “I guess those tuxedo folks like kids more than grown-ups.”
The quintessential hosts, Ryan and John, greeted Savannah and her fellows warmly and coaxed everyone to pass through to the parlor for refreshments.
Savannah took Tammy’s hand, looked her up and down, and said, “You look especially stunning in that shade of yellow.”
Tammy ducked her head and blushed, which was most becoming on a goddess who was unaware of her unearthly beauty. “I’m so pleased she asked me. I mean, with all of her sisters—”
“—her sisters, her real sisters, are gonna be standin’ right there with her,” Granny piped up, slipping between the two. She grabbed Savannah’s hand, then Tammy’s. “You two were the ones her heart chose. I believe she picked well. It takes more than being born to the same parents to be a sister, and you two have been the best sisters in the world to her. Accept the honor and hug it to your hearts. You deserve it.”
Savannah looked down into her grandmother’s blue eyes, so like her own, and thought how much she loved this lady with the silver halo of hair, looking so lovely in her dress of pale aqua lace.
“Thank you, Granny,” Savannah said. “We’ll do just that. But where is the special couple?”
“Ethan’s in one of the guest rooms, gettin’ hisself dressed. Alma’s in the master bedroom. Ryan and John were set on her havin’ the fanciest.”
“Of course they did. When it comes to heart-adopted brothers, they’re the best. Good restorer/decorators, too.”
She looked around the glorious foyer, large enough to be the lobby of a fine hotel or theater. Light from the stained-glass windows streamed in, setting the marble walls aflame with shades of ruby, emerald, sapphire, and amethyst.
More exotic Moroccan lanterns, like the ones outside, lined the walls, lending their gleaming warmth to the embossed bronze friezes.
To her left, Savannah could see the ballroom, and she was floored by the difference in the place from the last time she had seen it.
Back then it had been a terrible hoard, head high and packed from wall to wall. The owner had died there in that mess, under terrible circumstances. Savannah would never have guessed, standing in that same spot last year, what the place could look like.
At that moment, Ryan walked by, also decked out in a tux, looking far too good.
Before Savannah had met Ethan, Savannah had considered Ryan to be the most gorgeous male she had ever seen. Tonight, he was simply stunning in his evening wear, and in spite of his hosting responsibilities, he was relaxed and obviously enjoying himself.
But handsome as he was, Savannah had found Dirk to be a better dancer, and along with that was the fact that he was hers and appeared to want to remain so. Those things put him at the top of the list of men in her life. Forever.
“You and John did an amazing job on this place, Ryan,” she said. “You took it from a nightmare to simply stunning.”
“Thank you.” He beamed at the praise. “I won’t say it was easy. There were times we thought we were crazy to have even tried to do it. But we’re very happy with the results. Do you think she would have approved?”
Savannah didn’t have to ask who “she” was. He meant the elderly, former silver screen actress who had lived in the house from the time she was young, beautiful, and the toast of old Hollywood—until she died inside it, lying amid the clutter of a life lived, sometimes without conscience, but always with gusto.
“She absolutely would have approved,” Savannah told him. “She would have loved to see it like this, restored to its original grandeur and with modern plumbing.”
He laughed, leaned down, and kissed her cheek. “Thank you. That means a lot to me, and it will to John, too, when I tell him.”
Savannah looked aro
und to see what everyone was doing. Dirk, Waycross, Brody, Freddy, and Vanna Rose had left the parlor and gone into the ballroom. The little ones were toddling about, taking full advantage of the vastness of the gigantic room.
She couldn’t help noticing the glistening parquet floor and the stately floor-to-ceiling, marble fireplace. Neither of which had been visible before because of the hoard. The massive crystal chandelier hanging in the center of the coffered ceiling now sparkled like ones in the palaces Savannah could only imagine as a child.
“This is so special,” she told Ryan, “such a gift to our family, you hosting us here in your home. Far away from paparazzi eyes. A beautiful setting with just friends and family. It doesn’t get better than this, Ryan.”
“Yes, it does,” he said with a smile. “You haven’t seen your little sister on her wedding day yet. She is gorgeous!” He offered his arm. “May I have the honor of escorting the maid of honor to our lovely bride?”
“Sure!” Savannah turned to Granny and Tammy. “Would you two like to go up with me? I’m sure the master bedroom in this place is large enough to accommodate the bride’s entire entourage.”
Granny glanced down at the gift bag in Savannah’s hand and said, “That’s okay, darlin’. We were just up there with her for a long time while she was getting her face done. I know you’ve got something in that bag you want to discuss with her. Go on ahead and have some private time with your sister.”
“Good idea,” Tammy said. “We’re going to go check out the ballroom.”
Savannah passed her hand through Ryan’s arm. “Thank you, kind sir,” she said, giving him a dimpled smile. “Lead on.”
* * *
The moment Savannah stepped into the magnificent bedroom, she saw a scene that would be a forever, lifelong memory. One of her favorites.
She saw her precious little Alma Joy, the quiet one in the family, gentle but brave, always there when you needed her, compassionate and understanding Alma.
But at that moment, she didn’t look like their Alma, the plain little girl who had grown up on the wrong side of the tracks in a one-flashing-light town in rural Georgia.
Sitting on a chair in front of a dresser, checking her makeup in the mirror, her white lace gown and its train cascading down her lithe body and onto the floor around her, she looked like a glamorous, silver screen actress from the Roaring Twenties.
She also looked like a heroine from one of Ethan Malloy’s romantic movies.
But mostly, she looked happy. Ecstatically happy.
More important than her glossy, raven’s wing black hair, her perfect skin, and her sapphire blue eyes, her joy was what illuminated her and made her seem to literally shine.
Alma saw Savannah in the mirror, turned, and said shyly, “Hi.”
“Hi? You’re sitting there looking like an oil painting on a castle wall and all you have to say is, ‘Hi’?”
Savannah hurried over to her, started to hug her, then said, “You’re so perfect, I don’t want to mess you up.”
“Aw, let’s risk it,” Alma said, as she gathered Savannah into a tight embrace and held on for a long time before releasing her with a satisfied sigh. “I needed that,” she said, sinking back onto the chair.
“Are you okay?” Savannah asked, concerned.
“Oh, I’m so okay I can hardly stay inside my own skin. I’m so happy, I feel like I’m going to just float away!”
“Good. That’s the way a gal should feel on her wedding day, if she’s marrying the right guy.”
“Ethan’s the right guy. For me, anyway.”
“I know, sugar.”
“Were you this happy the day you married Dirk?”
“I was. We were older than you and had known each other way longer than you and Ethan have, but we were still excited about starting our lives together. Being a couple. All that good stuff.”
Savannah leaned down to study Alma’s makeup more carefully. It was exquisitely done, subtle, gentle colors that suited her creamy complexion and accentuated her eyes, making them sparkle all the more.
“You did an amazing job on your makeup, kiddo,” she told her. “I wish I could do mine like that.”
Alma laughed. “I wish I could, too.”
“You didn’t do it?”
“No. My makeup was a present to me, a surprise. A few weeks ago, I was watching one of Ethan’s older movies, and I told him I thought the heroine’s makeup was really pretty. I said I was going to try to do mine like that for the wedding. So this morning, we get here, and what has he done? He got the exact same makeup artist that worked on that actress to fly here all the way from New York and do mine for me this morning.”
“Wow! He’s even more perfect that I thought. What a guy!”
“I know. He’s so good to me, Sis. I just hope I can make him happy. That’s what I want, more than anything.”
“You will. I know you, Miss Alma Joy. You were appropriately named. You make people happy everywhere you go. He’s blessed to have you, and I’m quite sure he knows it, too.”
Savannah looked down at the gift bag in her hand. “I have something to give Ethan, something I made especially for him in honor of his wedding day. But before I give it to him, I want you to see it. I won’t let him have it without your blessing.”
Alma glanced down at the bag, smiled, and said, “If you made it, I’m sure it’s wonderful and you have my blessing to give it to him. But I’d sure like to see it, just for curiosity sake.”
Savannah took the gift from the bag, placed it in her sister’s hands, and waited to see what she would do.
She cried.
But thankfully, not enough to mess up her makeup, that had been applied so perfectly, so professionally, by the lady from New York.
Chapter 35
When Savannah knocked on the door of the guest bedroom, it opened almost immediately, and she found herself facing a disheveled and nerve-frazzled groom, who fortunately had his pants on but was still in his undershirt.
“Oh, Savannah. Hi,” he said. “I’m, I’m trying to . . . Do you know anything about those stupid tuxedo shirt stud things. I hate them, and the shirt I’ve got has white buttons on it and . . .”
“Sh-h-h,” she said. “Don’t fret. You don’t wanna get all in a tizzy over buttons on your wedding day.”
“I hate to sound spoiled, but the few times a year I wear a tux, there’s usually somebody around who does that stuff for me.”
“You’re in luck because I’m an expert when it comes to tuxedo shirt studs.”
“You are?”
“I am now. I just helped my husband and son with theirs not an hour ago. I do believe I still recall how they work.”
She looked over at the dresser and saw a bunch of black studs and some cufflinks scattered across a baroque, antique jewelry tray. “Tell you what,” she said. “I’ll get you into that shirt, if you can give me two minutes afterward. There’s something I want to give you.”
“Sure!” He rushed over to the bed, picked up the shirt, hurried back to her, and shoved it into her hands. “There you go. I’m all yours.”
As Savannah slipped the shirt onto her soon-to-be brother-in-law’s back, turned him around, and started to slip the studs through the small holes above each white button, she couldn’t help thinking she must be the envy of all womanhood at that moment. Ethan Malloy himself had just told her, “I’m all yours,” which, of course, meant nothing at all. Especially since it was his wedding day and his bride was her little sister. But still.
Better yet, she was actually dressing Ethan Malloy.
Considering how outrageously popular the actor was, if she sat down later in the evening and wrote a one-page book, detailing the experience, she could publish it tomorrow, and it would be a best seller.
Well, maybe not a New York Times best seller, she thought. For it to hit the top of the charts, she’d have to be undressing Ethan Malloy.
But there wasn’t time for that. He was marrying her sister in
half an hour.
Not to mention the fact that she already had a man of her own, and he was an excellent dancer.
In no time, she had Ethan’s shirt buttoned and cuffed. Helped him into his vest and had adjusted his tie.
Once he was dressed, he seemed to calm down considerably. “I won’t put on the coat until I get ready to go down,” he told her. “Thank you so much!”
“No problem. Really. Happy to help.”
She picked a tiny bit of lint off the coat and laid it carefully on the bed.
“Have you seen Alma?” he asked.
“Just left her. She’s still in the bedroom, happier than I’ve ever seen her. Or anybody else for that matter.”
“Good.” He grinned and, for a moment, the world-renowned actor looked like a shy little boy experiencing his first crush. “I’m glad. I’m happy, too. Oh, what was it you wanted me to do for you?”
“I want you to sit over there in that chair for a minute. I made something for you, and I’d like to give it to you before the ceremony, if that’s okay.”
“Okay? Of course it’s okay. That’s so kind of you, Savannah, especially with all that you’ve had going on.”
She followed him over to the chair she had indicated, where he sat down. She placed the gift bag in his hand and sat on another chair next to him.
“A present just from you to me? This is so special,” he said.
He reached into the bag, brushed away the copious yellow tissue paper she had stuffed inside, and pulled out the gift—a rosewood memory box. She had sanded, stained, and polished the finish to a soft shine, then added a gold-leafed, ornate letter A to the top.
“How beautiful!” he said, running his fingers over the smooth surface. “You made this?”
“I did. But the box isn’t important. The gift is what’s in it.”
He opened it slowly, then peered inside at the strange assortment of objects. A stack of photos, some old and faded, tied together with a frayed red ribbon. A small lozenge tin that had been painted white with a large red cross on the lid. A necklace of glittery plastic, pop-together beads. And four blue ribbons printed with the words 1st Place Winner, McGill Spelling Bee.
A Few Drops of Bitters Page 25
