It was a sleeveless empire dress, designed to hang from wide straps at the shoulders, and gathered at a raised waistline. It had no bows, beads or rhinestones, just yards of pale white silk chiffon arranged in a petal style that gently flowed down the front skirt.
I carefully examined the gown, and as I touched the soft fabric, my dread abated.
“Oh no, that won’t do, it’s too plain,” Mother objected. “Nora needs some sparkle to make her stand out in the church. No one will see her in that thing.”
“A wedding dress is meant to complement the bride, Mrs. Schuller, not outshine her,” Lily extolled as she turned from my mother to me. “Why don’t you go and try it on?” She carefully handed the garment to me.
“All right, Lily.” My mother sighed and shrugged her shoulders. “Come on, Nora.” She waved me toward the dressing room. “Let’s go see what you think of this one.”
As I placed the long silk creation on the hook inside the dressing room, Mother came in and closed the door behind her.
“Why on earth do you want to try on that one?” She waved her hand toward the fitting room. “I picked out some beautiful gowns for you.”
“I like this one, Mother.” I began unbuttoning my pantsuit jacket while kicking off my shoes at the same time.
“Why don’t you try on one of mine after this, and you’ll see how much nicer you will look with a little extra sparkle.”
I pulled off my blouse. “I don’t want to sparkle, Mother.”
When I stood before my mother in my bra and panties, her eyes traveled down the length of my body. “Good God, Nora, what has happened to you? You’re so thin!” She raised her eyes to mine. “What are you doing to yourself? I know you want to look good for your wedding, but you’re emaciated.”
“I’ve been busy and skipped a few meals. Never mind that. Help me with this,” I declared, unzipping the dress.
After I stepped into the gown, Mother zipped up the back as I stood in front of the full-length mirror.
I objectively analyzed my reflection. The dress would definitely have to be taken in several inches in the waist, but the way the fabric cascaded down the front skirt reminded me of a waterfall. It was simple, classic, and elegant.
“I want this one,” I stated as I turned a little to each side to watch the motion of the gown as I moved.
“Oh God, it’s so plain.” Mother contemplated my image in the mirror. “Maybe we could glamour it up a bit with a few choice pieces from Lou’s store.”
“What, a tiara and a diamond drop necklace?”
“Don’t be silly, Nora. Diamond drop necklaces are so last year.”
“Mother!” My voice reverberated off the walls of the dressing room. “I am not wearing a tiara.”
“Just think about it, Nora. Mixed with a lovely long veil, a tiara can make such a statement.”
“It’s a wedding, Mother, not a political rally.” I turned once more to the mirror. It was then I noticed the small white tag hanging from the right shoulder strap of the dress. I reached for the tag.
“Fifteen thousand dollars!” I gasped as I read the price tag again. “This is fifteen thousand dollars,” I repeated as I gaped at my mother through the mirror.
She searched my face as if I were five and had just discovered my first mud puddle. “Of course it’s fifteen thousand dollars. It’s an exclusive shop. Everything is expensive.”
I gazed down at the gown with abject horror. “I could feed an army of homeless people for a month with this thing.”
“Lucky for us there won’t be any homeless people at the wedding,” Mother scoffed. Then she waved her hand nonchalantly over the dress. “What did you expect? It’s an original.”
“An original what? Because unless it’s got The Last Supper painted across it, I don’t see how it’s worth that much.”
She sighed and undid the zipper on my back. “That’s what people spend, Nora.”
“This is ridiculous,” I muttered, pulling the dress off my shoulders.
Mother shrugged at me. “That’s nothing. The gowns I picked out for you start at twenty thousand.”
I began pulling the dress back on my shoulders. “Then this is the one I want.”
“Nora, what do you care what it costs? Lou is paying for everything. He wants you to have a nice wedding, and he told me money is no object.”
I stepped around and showed my unzipped back to her. “I’m not going to bankrupt Lou over a dress. Now zip me up and let’s get this one fitted.”
Mother zipped me up and stared at me through the mirror with her lips pinched tightly together, the way they did when she was upset. “I want you to try on the other ones first, before you make up your mind.”
When I turned to face her, I felt some slender thread inside of me snap. “Mother, this is my wedding, and I will have what I want. I want this dress, and I do not want to sparkle, or glitter, or shine brighter than the Virgin Mary at the altar. We are buying this one, or else I’m walking down the aisle naked!”
Mother recoiled slightly with surprise. “All right, all right, Nora. You don’t have to get so emotional about it.”
As I walked out of the dressing room to begin my fitting with Lily, a surge of exhilaration rushed through me. For the first time in weeks I had voiced my opinion, and it felt wonderful. Relief washed over me as I realized the outspoken girl I used to be before John came into my life had not shriveled up and died. I was there, despite all of the chaos swirling around me. In that moment I knew that I had to take control again. I had to start speaking up for myself, before anyone else did it for me. I wanted my life back, and from now on I was not going to let anyone tell me how to live it.
Chapter 13
John and I stood before St. Rita’s Church on St. Charles Avenue, ready for our first night of Pre-Cana. He held my hand as we gazed up at the solemn spire on the high steeple.
“In just a little over three months, Nora, we will be here, exchanging our vows,” John voiced, sounding almost giddy.
A ripple of panic pervaded my body as I imagined our wedding day. I closed my eyes and pushed the sensation back down into the depths of my being. Now was not the time to entertain such emotions. Perhaps the wedding would be postponed due to a hurricane or an asteroid hitting the earth. Images of natural disasters delaying my wedding had a calming effect on me. I knew this was not normal bride behavior brought on by the demands of planning a big wedding. What I was feeling was something completely different.
When we stepped inside the arched entrance of the church, a short man dressed in black trousers and a black shirt with a white collar greeted us. He had dark hair touched with gray, and a round, chubby face. His cheeks were as red as his lips, and when his large brown eyes spotted me, he gave a welcoming smile.
“Nora Theresa Kehoe,” the priest called out as he came toward me and offered a hug. “It’s been a long time,” he added as he pulled away.
“Father Delacroix.” I motioned to John. “This is my fiancé, John Blessing.”
John took the priest’s hand. “Thank you for arranging to see us this evening, Father. My schedule at the hospital has been rather hectic lately.”
Father Delacroix waved away John’s concern with his plump hand. “Don’t think anything of it, son. It’s the least I can do for Nora and her family. I’ve watched Nora grow up. I baptized her in this church. It was the first ceremony I performed as a priest in this parish. Nora’s father was always very good to me, so I’m glad to repay the kindness to his daughter.” Father Delacroix motioned to a small door off to the side of the entrance. “Come. We can use my office for the sessions. This way.”
The office was roomy with a wide array of religious statues of saints, large bookshelves overflowing with religious books, and piles of boxes on the floor. Father Delacroix went to the two plain wooden chairs placed before his desk and began removing the boxes that were sitting on them.
“Sorry about that,” he said, carrying a box from one chair to
the corner of the room. “Sunday school textbooks just in from the publisher. I haven’t had time to distribute them yet.”
Once the last box had been moved out of the way, John and I were seated before a black walnut desk.
Father Delacroix took his chair behind his desk and began browsing through a small pile of papers in front of him. “I’ve already read through your paperwork and have set aside Saturday, September seventeenth for you on the church calendar,” Father Delacroix began. He pointed to the papers on his desk. “I see here that John does not live too far from you, Nora.” Father Delacroix glanced up at me. “Must be convenient,” he added.
“Yes, it is,” John quickly asserted. “It allows us to visit with each other as much as we can.”
I found it amusing how my devout fiancé could lie so easily to a priest. Wanting to avoid a scene, I bit my lower lip and refrained from snickering.
Father Delacroix placed his folded hands on the desk. “Now, the Pre-Cana is usually coordinated by the parish priest in charge of the service and other parish laypeople come in to facilitate the sessions. A psychologist will be coming in to talk to you about communication in one session; in another, a financial counselor will give you some advice on how to set up household accounts and distribution of household funds; and we have a sexual therapist who will spend an evening going over aspects of human sexuality and health issues with you. But the time you spend with me will focus on the religious and spiritual aspects of marriage.” Father Delacroix paused and collected his thoughts. “Marriage is more than a civil union according to the church; it’s a religious covenant made with God, and as such cannot be broken. I hope you are entering into this marriage with an open heart and a vow to be honest and forthright with each other.”
For some unknown reason, the image of Jean Marc holding me close and dancing with me in his mother’s kitchen filled my head right at that moment. I could feel his muscular arms about me and smell his woody cologne. I smiled as our dance strolled across my memory.
“Nora, is there something you wish to say?” The priest’s voice jolted me out of my daydream.
I felt like a cat caught with the pet canary. I stared at Father Delacroix while my mind raced with excuses. “Ah, I was just thinking about the—”
“You’ll have to forgive Nora, Father,” John interrupted. “All the wedding plans have got her a little flustered.”
I turned to John. “I’m not flustered. I was just thinking about—”
John slapped his hand over my knee. “You weren’t paying attention, dear. You were probably thinking about your wedding dress,” he complained through his gritted teeth. “Now let’s listen to what Father Delacroix has to say.”
“I was paying attention,” I insisted. “And stop interrupting me. I can speak for myself, John.”
“Nora,” John grumbled in a deep tone, his face turning a light shade of red. “Now is not the time to discuss this.”
“Perhaps it’s good that the two of you are here,” Father Delacroix intervened. “Every couple has issues they need to smooth out, but just remember these sessions are to help you make your marriage stronger. Use what you learn here to help you through the rough patches together.”
“Rough patches?” I almost laughed out loud. “You have no idea,” I mumbled, folding my arms across my chest.
“What was that, Nora?” Father Delacroix asked.
John cleared his throat. “Nora, let’s let Father Delacroix finish.”
“No, John.” Father Delacroix waved his hand across his desk. “It’s quite all right. Perhaps there are things we can discuss tonight that can help you two get over this communication problem you seem to be having right now.”
John grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “We’re not having a communication problem. Nora’s just tired. She gets testy when she’s tired.”
I flung off his hand. “I’m not tired, John. Stop making excuses for me.”
Father Delacroix sat back in his chair and looked from John to me. He placed his hands before him as if praying, and then he smiled.
“I feel there are some other issues going on here,” he surmised. “Most young couples I see get all caught up in the wedding, and never really think about the years of marriage that come after it. Part of Pre-Cana is planning for the changes your relationship will endure after the wedding ceremony is over.” Father Delacroix focused his eyes on me. “For better or worse, it’s going to be just the two of you, and you will have to learn to open up and share your thoughts and feelings.” He paused. “So let’s get back to the original question I asked you, Nora. When I was talking about marriage and you smiled, you were thinking of something. What was it?”
* * *
“What the hell was that about Nora?” John shouted once we were in the confines of his perpetually spotless car. “You embarrassed me in there, going on about dancing in some kitchen with a Jean Marc Gaspard. Do you know how that made me feel in front of a priest? The man probably thinks we need therapy before we can even get married.”
I fought to remain calm as I spoke to him. “Father Delacroix asked me about Jean Marc and I told him the truth. He’s an old family friend who has helped my uncle.” I paused and frowned at him. “Why are you getting so bent out of shape about this? And stop speaking for me. I can speak for myself, damn it! I’m not your wife yet.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He briefly gawked at me and then turned back to the road. “I don’t speak for you, and I certainly know you can speak for yourself and always do. All I’m saying is that tonight you spent half of our Pre-Cana session talking about Jean Marc Gaspard and Manchac. We were supposed to be discussing our marriage, not your childhood friends.”
I watched as the sights of uptown New Orleans passed by my car window.
“I’m sorry,” I said after an uncomfortable silence. “I guess I got carried away.”
“Your mother is right. You need to forget about your uncle and those people in Manchac. This is about us, Nora.”
I nodded my head. “Yes, John.”
I returned my gaze to the car window. As the old mansions of the city passed quickly by, the knot in my stomach twisted tighter. Not since the death of my father had I worked so hard at hiding my emotions, and I knew it was only a matter of time before I eventually exploded. But what was beginning to weigh on my mind was who would be left in my life when the dust from my furor finally settled.
* * *
A few days later, I was in my office waiting for the head of the orthopedic department, Dr. Harris, to arrive for our quarterly medical chart review. As I sat at my desk amid a mound of patient charts, Steve ran in my office door.
“Sorry I’m late. Dr. Harris here yet?” he asked breathlessly.
“On his way,” I informed him and closed the chart before me.
He moved a pile of charts from a chair in front of my desk. “Wow, you look like shit.”
I glared at him. “Thanks, Steve. That’s just what every woman wants to hear.”
“Can your haggard appearance be attributed to pre-wedding jitters?” Steve went on as he took his chair. “Still want to marry the fine doctor, or is the fish guy making you have second thoughts?”
I threw the chart in my hands to the side of my desk. “I don’t look haggard, Steve. You sound just like my mother. Everyone is saying I don’t look happy, or I’m too thin, or God knows what else!”
“Hey, there.” Steve jumped up and came around to my side. “This isn’t like you. You always have it so together. What’s wrong? This can’t all be the wedding?”
“Well, most people have never had to plan a wedding with my mother. Between fending off phone calls from my mother about wanting to glue rhinestones to my wedding dress, or John calling me with another one of his plans for our future together, or trying to cram a full-time job into part-time hours, I swear I think I’m losing it.”
“How long do you plan on keeping this up, Nora? If you ask me, this wedding crap is eating yo
u alive.”
I ran my hand over my forehead. “I think you’re being a little overly dramatic, Steve.”
“No, I’m not. For weeks I’ve watched you sulking around your office, losing weight, and looking as if you were carrying the world on your shoulders. This is more than just the wedding. I think your handsome fiancé and your mother are shoving you into a corner, and you’re terrified of telling either one of them what you really want.”
“Maybe I don’t know what I really want,” I whispered as I inspected my engagement ring.
“You know. You’re just too afraid to go after him.”
I retrieved the discarded chart from the side of my desk and opened it, trying to ignore him.
“Perhaps you should put a little space between you and the good doctor for a while. Take a little time off. Might help you sort out your feelings for both men.”
“Very funny. I don’t need time away from John.”
Steve stood back from my desk. “I think that is exactly what you need to get a little perspective on the situation. You should take a night off from the wedding planning.” He paused and placed his hands on his hips. “You could come out with me Friday night. I’ll take you to one of the local karaoke bars in the Quarter and we can get stupid drunk.”
“Fridays John usually works all night and—”
“Perfect.” He grabbed a pen from my desk. “This is my address in the Quarter. Come about eight. We can walk from my place, and if you get too drunk you can pass out in my spare bedroom.” He wrote down the address on a blue piece of paper and handed it to me.
I reluctantly took the paper from his hand. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to go.”
“I won’t take no for an answer, Nora.”
I tucked the paper into my scrub suit pocket. “You’re starting to sound like John.”
Steve arched his gray eyebrows at me. “Girl, you need this more than I thought.”
Chapter 14
I arrived at St. Rita’s on Thursday night for our Pre-Cana meeting to find Father Delacroix working at his black walnut desk. When he saw me enter the office door, he stood from his chair.
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