Daring Chloe

by Walker, Laura Jensen

  Julia was always the sweet and pretty angel of goodness and light with perfect hair, perfect teeth, and perfect manners who was homecoming queen in high school and had a bevy of boyfriends and giggling best friends, while I was the messy, uncoordinated, moody bookworm with runaway hair and braces who never went to homecoming or prom, and whose best friend — outside of Tess — was Anne of Green Gables.

  But still.

  Julia was my sister.

  My only sister.

  And she’d been there for me when Chris bailed. Or she’d tried to be. I just hadn’t let her. She’d even returned Grandma Chloe’s cherry wood secretary desk.

  I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Jules. I’m a mean, jealous pig who is evil and must be destroyed.” Awkwardly I hugged my sister’s weeping body next to mine. “It’s going to be all right. Really. You’ll be a wonderful mother — you were made to be a mother, more than anyone else I know.”

  “But I’ve let our mother down.” Julia sniffled. “And Daddy.” She wiped her hand across her face. “And God.” She cried harder and then lifted her tear-stained face to meet my gaze. “At least you waited.”

  “Easier said than done. And the only reason we could wait was because Chris and I were together just five months, not two years like you and Justin. Otherwise . . .” I lifted my shoulders. “I can’t imagine lasting two years.” I reached to stroke her tangled hair, but my hand dropped. How long had it been since I’d shown affection to my sister?

  One step at a time.

  “It’s not the end of the world. Forgiveness is God’s specialty, remember?” I handed her another tissue. “Here. Blow your nose. You’ve got snot all over your face.”

  “Ah, that’s the Chloe I know and love.” She relinquished a wan smile and blew her nose.

  “This is quite the red-letter day. What does Justin say?”

  “He doesn’t know yet. I just found out, and I’m not sure how to tell him. Or Mom and Dad, for that matter.”

  “What?” I yanked Julia’s sundress off the hook on the back of the door and handed it to her. “Mom and Dad can wait. You need to get to your fiancé immediately and share the good news.”

  Julia lifted hopeful eyes to mine. “You think it’s good news?”

  “Of course.”

  “But what about the wedding?” She fingered the folds of her too-tight dream wedding dress. “All our plans?”

  “Pull a Scarlett O’Hara and think about that tomorrow. Right now you need to go tell the man of your dreams that he’s going to be a daddy. But first, you might want to wash the mascara and boogers off your face.”

  Justin was over the moon.

  He wanted to drive up to Lake Tahoe that very afternoon and get married. But both sets of parents — who’d initially been dismayed by the news, but after they got over their surprise, were supportive — convinced him to wait two weeks so they could pull together a lovely, intimate wedding in my parents’ backyard.

  Our whole family pitched in to help.

  Dad corralled Timmy and Tommy to help him cut down and cart off a diseased mulberry tree that Mom had been after him to get rid of for ages, Tess and I pulled weeds, Mom planted extra flowers, Justin spread fresh bark in all of Mom’s flower beds, and Julia deadheaded roses — the only manual labor her protective fiancé would allow her to do.

  “But, honey, I’m pregnant, not incapacitated,” Julia said when Justin balked at her mowing the lawn. “I’m perfectly capable of cutting the grass with Dad’s power mower. I do it all the time.”

  “No need. I’ll do it, sweetie. You just sit back and relax.”

  She did, with a sweet smile. Behind the sweetness, though, I thought I detected the tiniest trace of resentment. I was probably just imagining it.

  Then Mom decided that with guests coming, both bathrooms needed sprucing up. She picked up a few gallons of paint — celery green for one, vanilla cream for the other — and we prepped the rooms for painting. We’d masked everything off, and Julia was about to pry the cover off the celery green paint when Justin skidded around the corner from the living room into the hallway and yelled, “Stop!”

  Mom’s hand fluttered to her chest. “Justin, you gave me a start.”

  “Sorry,” he said distractedly as he approached, his focus solely on Julia. “Sweetie, let someone else do the painting — the fumes aren’t good for you or the baby.”

  “Is that right?” My sister narrowed her eyes at him.

  Ooh. Big mistake, Justin. Do not condescend to a pregnant woman.

  “Hey mom, let’s go get a glass of your wonderful lemonade.” I steered her down the hall toward the kitchen. “I’m super thirsty, and I’ll bet everyone else is too.”

  A few minutes later, Timmy, Tommy, Tess, and I were congregated around the butcher block island scarfing down homemade oatmeal cookies and lemonade while Dad ran to the hardware store for some weed killer.

  Mom was refilling my glass when Julia stormed into the kitchen and grabbed her purse. “Hey, Mom, are you ready to go to the store now and pick up those new bathroom rugs and shower curtains? Your grandchild and I need some fresh air.”

  I relieved my mother of the lemonade pitcher. And by the time she and Julia returned two hours later with several shopping bags between them, my sister had cooled off and both bathrooms were painted.

  Two weeks later, Julia made a beautiful June bride.

  Radiant and beaming in a simple white eyelet dress that floated about her when she walked, she caught my eye and winked as our little cousin Erica finally got to march across the grass, preening in her flower-girl finery and regally dropping clumps of rose petals in her imperious wake.

  Amazing what a little unplanned pregnancy and all-too-human fall from the perfect sister pedestal can do between two sisters. Katie and I followed Erica the Flower-Girl in complementary linen column dresses — Katie’s was soft pink, mine, a cool mint green — that we could wear again after the wedding. The swirly, cotton-candy pink confection remained at the bridal shop ready to ensnare the next maid of honor who walked through the door.

  Thanks, Jules, I owe you, I thought as I walked across the freshly mown lawn.

  When Justin first saw Julia come walking toward him on our father’s arm, he gasped. And then he wept.

  I love that in a man. Don’t you?

  Then I wept when Justin said his vows, his eyes never leaving my sister’s face, holding her hands as he emphasized each word loudly and clearly after our pastor: “For better, for worse. For richer, for poorer. In sickness and in health.” Justin gazed deeply into Julia’s eyes, completely oblivious to everything and everyone else. He squeezed her hands tightly. “As long as we both shall live.”

  I blubbed. And so did every other woman present.

  Then, as their first act together as husband and wife, Julia and Justin took communion as Justin’s friend Andrew sang, “I Will Be Here.”

  More blubbery.

  “Man, those two really did me in!” Tess wiped her eyes as she joined me in the shade of the big oak tree.

  “Tell me about it. Too bad Justin doesn’t have a brother.”

  “Or an unmarried uncle. Widower father. Whatever. That boy’s got romance in his genes.”

  “Looks like he’s not the only one.” I nodded to where Tommy was flirting with Clemmie, my folks’ cute sixteen-year-old next-door neighbor.

  “That’s not romance; that’s hormones,” his mother said with a sigh.

  “Don’t you worry about your boys, Tess,” Dad said as he came up behind us. “I’m keeping an eye on them. Besides, they’re so busy at those summer construction jobs and so tired when they get home, they don’t have time to get into trouble.”

  “From your lips to God’s ears.” Tess glanced at Tommy, who’d just been joined by his twin. “I think I’ll just go tell Clemmie how nice she looks.” Her lips curved upward as she headed across the grass to her sons and the object of their mutual affection.

  Dad looped his arm around my sh
oulders. “How are you doing, sweetheart?”

  “I’m fine.” I reached up and squeezed his hand. “I’m really happy for Justin and Julia. They have what I want, someday. But not right now.”

  As I spoke the words, I realized they were true. I wasn’t just telling my father what he wanted to hear. I sent the bride and groom a thoughtful look. “I realize now I didn’t have that with Chris. That whole steady, unconditional love and acceptance. And I don’t want to settle for anything less.”

  “You’d better not. Both my daughters deserve the best.” He planted a kiss on my forehead and offered me his arm. “Shall we go find your mother? I have a feeling there’s a million and one things she needs us for.”

  “Lead the way.”

  Half an hour later I was standing in front of the cake table, trying to explain to the flower girl from Hades why she couldn’t have a piece of wedding cake “with lots and lots of frosting right now!”

  “Erica, we need to wait for the bride and groom to come cut the first piece of cake before anyone else can have any.” I bent down to her height and nodded to the nearby food table. “But look. There’s still lots of food at the buffet. Would you like to have some more cheese and crackers? Or some delicious grapes? Yum. I love grapes, don’t you?”

  “Don’t want grapes! ” She stomped her pink Mary Jane – shod foot. “Wanna piece of cake. Now!”

  “I’m sorry, you can’t have any now. You have to wait.”

  Like everybody else.

  “Don’t wanna wait! Don’t wanna wait!” Erica began to wail.

  “Sounds like someone needs a nap,” an all-too-familiar voice said.

  I straightened up quickly, realizing that from my bent-over position, I was probably revealing my white lacy bra and way too much cleavage.

  “Ryan. Hi. What are you doing here?”

  “I was invited. Justin and I are in a men’s Bible study group.”

  “Ah. Right. Sorry. Didn’t mean to be rude.”

  “That’s okay,” he said wryly. “I’m kind of used to it by now.”

  “About that. I — Erica, no!”

  The frosting-obsessed flower girl, taking full advantage of my Ryan distraction, had scooted behind me and plunged her chubby little hand into the bottom layer of my sister’s beautiful, three-tiered lemon chiffon wedding cake.

  “Stop right there,” I ordered my cousin from the netherworld.

  Erica glared at me, her eyes filling with angry, rebellious tears, and screeched, “Mommy!”

  “It’s all right. You don’t need to yell,” I said in a calm, soothing tone. “Now you’re going to gently pull your hand out so you don’t break Cousin Julia’s wedding cake. Okay?”

  She nodded.

  Aunt Gabby came rushing up. “Sweetheart! Are you okay? What happened?”

  Erica played her mother like a violin and turned on the waterworks in earnest. “Cousin Chloe yelled at me.”

  “I’m just trying to prevent her from ruining Julia’s wedding cake,” I said. “Now stop crying, Erica, and let’s pull your hand out nice and slow like a good girl. There you go. That’s right. Almost done.”

  Her fist cleared the cake.

  “Good girl.” I grabbed a napkin and slid it beneath her still-clenched fist to prevent any more crumbs and frosting from falling on the white linen tablecloth. “Now go with your mommy, and she’ll get you all cleaned up.”

  Erica shoved her hand in her mouth and gobbled greedily at her fistful of cake. Then she flung herself at her mother’s legs and held on for dear life.

  “Ooh! Careful, honey. You’re getting Mommy’s muumuu all sticky.”

  Erica wailed as Aunt Gabby led her off to the bathroom.

  Ryan whistled softly as he looked at the damaged cake. “Looks like a meteor blasted through there.”

  “Asteroid Erica.” I stared in dismay at the three-inch hole smack dab in the center of the bottom layer of the cake. “What am I going to do? I don’t want anyone to see this. Especially Julia. She may not have gotten the original wedding of her dreams that she’d planned on, but I don’t want this one to turn into a nightmare.”

  “Can’t you just turn it around to the back where no one can see it?”

  “Then the bride and groom cake topper will be mooning everyone.”

  “So take the topper off and turn it around.”

  “I can’t. The florist secured all the flowers on the top tier to the topper. It would destroy the whole arrangement.”

  “Ladies and gentleman,” my dad’s voice boomed out over the backyard. “The bride and groom are now going to cut the cake, so please, make your way over to the cake table. Thank you.”

  I looked hard at my sister’s beautiful lemon-chiffon cake, thinking fast. “Cover me,” I hissed to Ryan.

  As he camouflaged my actions from the crowd, I plucked some daisies out of my bouquet and shoved them into the hole and around all sides of it, creating a sunburst effect. Then I repeated the same design on the middle layer so it looked like it was planned.

  Finally, I turned my denuded bouquet around so the empty spots weren’t facing front and turned around to smile at the approaching horde.

  “I owe you an apology, Ryan.”

  We were sitting on a stone bench in my mother’s freshly weeded and spruced-up cottage garden, eating wedding cake by the delphiniums. “You were right. Chris and I weren’t a good match. We were too different.”

  A knowing grin split his face. “I thought that was you behind the Picasso that morning at Dunkeld’s.”

  “What can I say? I’ve never been very good at hide-and-seek. Or at admitting when I’m wrong.” I stuck out my hand. “Friends again?”

  Ryan set down his cake and shook my hand. “Friends.” Did he linger, with my hand in his? He released it with a little smile and stretched out his legs.

  “How do you feel about becoming an aunt?”

  “Good.” I wiped my sweaty palm on my napkin. “Except for the whole infant part.”

  “What?”

  “I’m just not into the baby thing.” I lifted my shoulders. “I know I’m supposed to be transported to heights of maternal gooeyness whenever I see a little bundle of joy, but I’m just not. Remember when Drew and Trista had their baby and brought it to singles to show everyone?”

  “Vaguely.”

  “Well, every girl within a hundred-yard radius went into overdrive and started gushing about how cute it was.”

  “I think ‘it’ is a boy.”

  “Whatever. They all look alike to me. Anyway, all the women were smiling and cooing and taking turns holding the baby. Except me. I just don’t get the big fascination. All they do is eat, sleep, cry, and poop.”

  I slid a hesitant glance at Ryan. “So do you think I’m awful?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Because I’m not into babies.”

  “So? I’m not into cats.”

  “Yeah, but a lot of guys aren’t. Cats are a girl pet. That’s why so many old ladies have them. But babies are definitely a woman thing.” I sighed. “I think I must be missing the whole baby bonding gene or something. I’m just not feelin’ it.

  “And I’ve tried. Believe me, I’ve tried. I even worked in the church nursery for a while.” I squeezed my eyes tight against the memory. “Talk about a disaster. Every time I picked up a baby, it would cry; I couldn’t figure out how to do the bottle right; and I gagged when they spit up on me. And don’t even mention diaper duty. I saw colors that I’ve never before seen in nature. The smell nearly knocked me out.”

  Well, haven’t I become the Chatty Cathy all of a sudden? What’s up with that?

  “I’m not big on diapers myself.” Ryan laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back on the bench. “And as far as the whole bonding thing goes, I bet that will change when you have your own baby.”

  “Ya think?”

  “That’s what I’ve heard.”

  “I hope so. Meanwhile, I sure hope Julia doesn’t get her feel
ings hurt when I’m not all goopy over little Julia or Justin during the initial baby phase. But once my niece or nephew starts walking and talking” — I stabbed the air with my plastic fork — “I’m all over it. I think they’re adorable when they waddle around with those cute, chubby thighs, sucking their thumbs and clutching onto their blankie. And I can’t wait to be cool, fun Aunt Chloe and take her — or him — everywhere. The park. The zoo. The library.”

  “The ocean?”

  “Don’t push it.”

  Part 6

  16

  Dove nosed into her slip at the Long Beach marina, her sails furled like a bird resting its wings after a storm.

  Dove

  We didn’t get off to a very auspicious beginning on our Huckleberry Finn rafting trip down the American River. First, Jenna’s six-man raft had to be inflated, but she’d forgotten her motorized pump at home, so one by one we took turns blowing the raft up with a foot pump. Not quite the same as pumping up a bicycle tire. Just when I thought my leg would fall off, a family of four showed up and loaned us their automatic pump.

  Then, as we launched the six-man raft — Annette had begged off with a migraine — Kailyn squealed as we stepped into the water. “You promised I wouldn’t get wet!”

  “Chill,” Becca said. “It’s just your feet.”

  “The feet wearing my Michael Kors flip-flops.”

  Designer-impaired Becca and I both gave her blank looks.

  “They cost nearly a hundred bucks!”

  “Are you serious? That’s insane. Mine only cost seven bucks.” I lifted my right foot out of the water to show off my cute black rubber flip-flops. “Target.”

  “They’re not quite the same.”

  “Who wears expensive shoes rafting anyway?”

  “People who were told they wouldn’t get wet.” Kailyn scowled at Becca.