by Madelyn Alt
Everything looked perfect. Everything was perfect. And if I had anything to say about it, we were going to have a witchin’ good time.
And so it was on the Saturday before my birthday that I reclined on a backyard lounger beneath the shade of his giant oak tree with my lemon-fabulous cast plopped comfortably on a cushy pillow and a giganto glass of lavender-infused sun tea by my right arm as my best friends in the whole world gathered around me. Marcus, Liss, Steff, Annie, Tara, Evie, Devon McAllister, Gen Valmont, Joe Aames, Eli Yoder (who had brought Hester, who seemed to have blossomed into life in the five months since I’d first met her... hmm . . .), and even Mel and the four girls, who with their nonstop chatter and infectious good humor immediately stole the show right out from under me.
Not that I minded.
At least not until Annie and Steff broke out the sparkle paint, faery glitter, and crystal doodads, and encouraged—nay, outright instigated a new and improved version of pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey.
I was the hapless donkey. Or at least the sparkly guinea pig.
Which was why as a peaceful, heart-full lull settled over the gathering I had to raise my former lemon-fabulous cast to the nearest sunbeam to admire my now bedazzled purple/ peacock blue/neon green glitter cast that had more bling factor than a Hollyweird starlet’s beaded designer gown.
“Do you like it, Auntie Maggie?” Jenna, the oldest of my four nieces at five, raised her excited and proud face to mine.
Courtie chimed in, beaming, “Pretty, i‘n’it?”
I put my arms around their chubby bodies and hugged them tight, then planted a resounding kiss on their foreheads. “It’s the most beautiful and sparkly and perfect cast I’ve ever seen. In fact, I told the doctors I wanted one just like this, but”—I shook my head sadly—“they couldn’t figure out how to do it. But you two knew just how!”
Courtie nodded, but Jenna tilted her head thoughtfully and looked at me askance. “Didn’t they know you can get art supplies at Walmart? That’s where Mommy always buys ’em.”
“I guess not.”
Mel was currently sitting at the other end of the picnic table. She looked tired, but then with two new babies and a husband that had gone off the deep end, I was of the mind that she had a right to be. Greg had showed up again on Mel’s first “official” day home from the hospital... but it was only long enough to pack a bag, kiss the girls, and tell Mel that he’d been doing a lot of thinking, and what he kept thinking was that it would be better that they end things now, before there was a lot of hate and bitterness between them. He could have chosen a better time to turn Mel’s world upside down, rather than hitting her with a sneak attack when she was most vulnerable. So while I couldn’t say I was surprised, it didn’t improve my views of him, and I was determined that my sister would learn from the experience and make a better life for herself, without him.
Steff, too, was a little down in the mouth that day and trying hard not to show it. But as her lifelong best friend, I saw the signs. I knew. Whatever was going on between her and Dr. Dan, it was serious, and my heart ached for her. Still, in true Steff fashion, she brushed all that aside now because once the cast was sufficiently nontacky from the girls’ artistic endeavors, Annie had decided to break out the body-art-quality henna to further enhance my birthday experience, and Steff evidently thought that was the coolest thing in the world. Soon I had beautiful, semipermanent (oy!) henna designs staining the exposed toes on my right foot . . . but the two of them decided that would leave an imbalance in my energy field and so proceeded to henna my left foot and ankle, too. The results were so intriguing to Jenna and Courtie that they hounded their mom to let them be hennaed, too. Kudos to Mel for her relaxed approach to it all: a pretty shrug and, “It’ll wear off.”
The girls managed to sit still through the entire session, thrilled with their swirling, swishing swoops and scallops. To reward them, we broke into the cake.
It really was a lovely, lovely afternoon. Witchin’, even. And then ...
Two SUVs pulled up in front of the house.
“I think someone’s here, I told Marcus.
“Oh?” was his vague response. I saw the slight smile, too, before he hid it away. What was he up to?
My suspicion turned into surprise and bewilderment as from around the corner of the house strode Dr. Dan, wearing his full doctorly regalia of white lab coat, casual khakis, button-down shirt, and stethoscope.
Steff froze in obvious confusion. “Dan. What are you—But I thought you—”
Without a word he took her by the hand and led her over to a lawn chair that had magically (as opposed to magickally) appeared on a bit of lawn set apart from all the others. I glanced over at Marcus. He was humming to himself, smirking and gazing skyward. Guilty. As. Could. Be.
At Dan’s urging, Steff sat down, completely and utterly bemused.
Still without uttering a single word, Dan snapped his fingers. All of a sudden a number of other doctors of assorted ages and sizes, each outfitted in lab coat and stethoscope of their choosing, appeared out of nowhere. Or at least from the front yard.
Ever the dutiful host, Marcus shook their hands and greeted each by name:
“Dr. Carmichael.”
“Dr. Darcy.”
“Dr. Murray.”
“Dr. Crandall.”
“Dr. White.”
“Dr. Brooks.”
“Dr. Osterman.”
Only Marcus and the good doctors seemed to have a clue as to what was going on, and they weren’t giving anything away.
Dr. Dan paced back and forth for a few moments while Steff’s consternation and worry grew. Finally she could take it no more.
“For heaven’s sake, Dan, what on earth is all this about?” Dan turned his back on her and faced his doctor friends. “Gentlemen?”
The very professional, very dignified doctors formed a half circle behind him.
All my hairs were standing on end. Whatever was going on, it was going to be good.
Dan stuck his arm out and pointed a finger at Marcus: “Hit it.”
Grinning like the loopiest of loons, Marcus pushed a button on the MP3 player. Lead-in music—horns, drums, and even a fiddle—began to blare out through the speakers. And as we all watched with mouths that had fallen open in amazement, the doctors began to sway in time to the music, some twirling their stethoscopes around like a burlesque diva’s feather boa, others snapping their fingers in time to the music in a raucous parody of the climactic chapel scene in Mamma Mia!
Dan clasped his hand to his chest and sang:
“Steff, I love you dearly, It’s been a year, or at least nearly ...”
The doctors stopped in place and sang their parts:
“Say I do! I do, I do, I do, I do love you . . .”
And then it was Dan’s turn again. He got down on one knee and took her hand:
“Marry me, baby! You love me, and I don’t mean maybe . . .”
Steff’s mouth had fallen open. Before the docs could launch into their group entreaties, Steff squealed, “Yes! Yes, yes, yes, yes . . .” and did a little launching of her own—straight into Dan’s waiting arms. So hard, in fact, that they both fell backward into the grass, doing a fair amount of damage to Dan’s pristine white lab coat.
Honestly? I don’t think he minded.
The rest of us threw up huzzahs and cheers all around. But I had to laugh when Jenna tsked, a frown drawing her brows together, and shook her head. “They’re getting all dirty. Bet their moms are gonna be real mad.”
And when Steff, in between the thousands of kisses she was pressing all over his face, pulled away just for a moment and exclaimed, “I didn’t even know you liked Mamma Mia!” Dan laughed and kissed her. Properly.
Caught up in the excitement and delight of the moment, I grinned over at Marcus, and he grinned back. “You knew all about this,” I accused.
“Yup.”
“And you didn’t say a word!”
He bent over and k
issed me on the nose. “I know how the two of you are.”
When Dan came up for air at last, he stood holding a blissful, if dazed, Steff in his arms and told me, “Sorry for interrupting your birthday party, Maggie, but I had to know where Steff was going to be in advance in order to pull this off, and this was the best way I could think of. I just really wanted to make it special for her.”
Mission accomplished, methinks.
“When you overheard me and Dr. Crandall hashing out our plans at the hospital—and I still don’t know how you managed to do that—and then spilled the beans to Steff that someone was planning something . . . well, I guess I just panicked. I probably came off a little harsh, but I didn’t want Steff or you digging into anything at the hospital, just in case someone accidentally let something slip.”
Now it was my turn for my mouth to fall open. “So it was you I overheard? Not a Machiavellian plot at all?”
Dan laughed. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far. We did have to do a fair bit of scheming and conniving.”
I glanced at Steff and giggled. She was staring at her left hand, oblivious to all, perhaps blinded by the rock on her ring finger. “Well, I think she at least forgives you.”
And so the wheel turned. Another notch forward on the gears of the history of this small town. Stony Mill doings may be provincial to some, insignificant to others... but I think we’ve all proven one thing at least:
Deadly, Stony Mill might be; but lifeless we are not.
