by Elaine Viets
“Of all the—” Helen said.
“What’s wrong?” Margery said. Helen handed her the bill.
“Don’t that beat all?” Margery said. “He wants Phil to pay for his tux. I think I’ll raise his rent a hundred and ten dollars. That guy is too cheap to live.”
“Don’t bother,” Helen said. “He is cheap, but he pays his rent on time and he’s quiet.”
Phil came up the walkway, carrying a fat takeout bag. Helen was hungrier than she thought. She finished the last crumb of food, then yawned.
“I’ve had a long day,” Helen said. “I need some sleep.”
Phil walked her to Margery’s doorstep. Helen kissed him. “This time Saturday, we’ll be married,” she said dreamily.
“Can’t wait,” Phil said, kissing her again.
“One last kiss,” Helen said, “then I go inside.”
“Oh, wait,” Phil said, “I forgot this letter. It was in the mailbox for you.”
Helen opened it and grabbed on to the doorknob for support.
“What’s wrong?” Phil asked. “You’re the color of putty.”
“It’s another threatening letter. This one says, YOU HAVE BROKEN YOUR PROMISE AND WILL DIE. It’s postmarked Berlin, Maryland. Where’s that?”
“That’s another town near the Eastern Shore,” Phil said. “All the other letters are from the same area. I googled them.”
“Aren’t Josh and Jason, the ousted renters, from around there?” Helen asked.
“Close,” Margery said. “Jason said he lived in Ocean Pines, Maryland.”
“Maybe they’ve been sending those letters,” Helen said.
“I doubt if they’re smart enough,” Margery said.
“Who cares? They’re gone,” Phil said. “Quit worrying. We’re getting married Saturday. Nothing can stop us now.”
Chapter 31
“That bruise is a beaut this morning,” Margery said. “Nice shade of purple. My favorite color.”
Helen had to fight to keep from telling her hostess to shut up. “I’d better see Phil,” she said. “He wants to talk about the wedding music.” When she first saw the purple-red knob on her forehead, she’d wanted to cry. Helen downed two aspirin and carried her coffee outside to the umbrella table.
“Head still hurt?” Phil asked as he kissed her gently on the cheek.
“A little,” Helen said.
“That means ‘a lot.’ I’m learning to speak wife. I’ve picked out the music, if you’re ready.”
Helen nodded and thought her head would roll off her shoulders.
“We can start with a classic, ‘Wonderful Tonight.’ Clapton wrote it for his future wife, Pattie. Then there’s ‘Promises.’ And ‘Layla.’ All Clapton, all night.”
“Okay,” Helen said.
“What’s wrong? You don’t sound enthusiastic.”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Helen said.
“That means something’s wrong,” Phil said.
“If something was wrong, I’d say so,” Helen said.
“No, you wouldn’t.”
“I wish Clapton hadn’t left his wife Pattie for another woman. Their marriage failed. That song is bad luck.”
“Says who?” Phil said.
“You told me to speak, and now you don’t want me to talk.”
“Helen, you know I love Clapton—and you, too, of course. But you’re being unreasonable.”
“I am not!” Helen said.
Margery stormed out of her kitchen into the yard. “What’s going on? I could hear you two arguing.”
“Helen’s having a case of bridal nerves,” Phil said.
“That’s not true. I don’t think a song Eric Clapton wrote for a woman he dumped later is the right music for our wedding.”
“Good musicians have messy lives,” Phil said.
“What’s the song?” Margery asked.
“‘Wonderful Tonight,’ ” Phil said. “Clapton wrote it for Pattie Harrison.”
“Who was married to George and hit on by Mick Jagger,” Helen added.
“Nice bit of rock-and-roll history there, Helen,” Margery said. “But that was the sixties, and from what anyone can remember through the drug haze, they were all in bed together. Ozzie and Harriet didn’t write many songs. Phil, why don’t you feed the cat while I talk to Bridezilla?”
Margery waited until Phil was inside. Then she lit a cigarette and turned on Helen. “What’s wrong with you? You’re quibbling about songs because of the sex lives of the musicians? Are you insane?”
“I’m worried,” Helen said. “I’m afraid something will go wrong with this wedding. The last one I went to, the groom was murdered.”
“Too bad the groom was a freaking pervert,” Margery said, “but that had nothing to do with his murder. I’m sure he drowned because they played Handel’s Water Music. I’m worried, too. I’m afraid Phil is going to walk out when you start this crazy talk. Then I’ll be stuck with you till death do us part. That will be soon, because I’m ready to strangle you. What music did you have at your first wedding?”
“The usual,” Helen said. “Wagner’s bridal chorus from Lohengrin—‘Here Comes the Bride’—and Mendelssohn’s ‘Wedding March’ after the ceremony.”
“No wonder your marriage failed,” Margery said. “Wagner had three wives. Mendelssohn died of multiple strokes at age thirty-eight. Talk about unlucky. That music doomed your marriage before you even left the church.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” Helen said.
“I am, but you’re not?” Margery’s hair was wreathed in blue smoke. She was so angry, Helen couldn’t tell if the smoke was coming from the burning cigarette or the irate landlady.
“You’ve had plenty of time to go over the playlist,” Margery said. “But you let Phil pick out the songs, then second-guessed him and threw a hissy fit. Phil may excuse your behavior as bridal nerves. I think you’re a jerk. You go apologize, then agree on some songs, or I’ll provide my own music. I’ll sing, ‘Here comes the bride, short, fat and wide’ when you march down my aisle. And don’t think I won’t.”
Margery marched back into her apartment. Helen followed and quietly changed into her work clothes, combed her hair and put on some lipstick. Then she knocked on Phil’s apartment door. He was watching Thumbs chow down. The cat crunched his food happily. Helen put her arms around Phil. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me. ‘Wonderful Tonight’ is the perfect wedding song.”
“Are you sure?” Phil asked.
“I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life,” she said, and kissed him.
Thumbs patted her leg with his huge paw, demanding fresh water. Helen filled his dish, then said, “It’s nine thirty. I need to be at work.”
“I’ll drive you,” Phil said.
“I’ll walk,” she said. “You give Thumbs some quality time. He’ll miss us when we’re on our honeymoon.”
It was another sultry South Florida summer day. Helen studied the sky, but there was no sign of rain. She opened the salon door to a thrilling sight: Every stylist’s chair had a client. The couches in the waiting area were filled with customers. Ana Luisa was running a customer’s credit card through the machine. The phone was ringing. blowdryers roared. Carlos dashed around the salon like a hummingbird—fetching towels, robes, glasses of water.
“Look at this,” Helen said. “The regular customers are back.”
“The celebrities are booking again,” Ana Luisa said. “Kim Hammond wants an appointment immediately, and so does LaDonna. People magazine wants a story about Miguel Angel’s ordeal. Vogue is interviewing him Monday.”
“Helen!” Miguel Angel said. “I have you to thank for this.” He hugged her. “What happened to your forehead?”
“Phoebe got nasty when I confronted her, and she clobbered me. I hit her with an iron bar.”
“Good,” he said. “I saw her arrest on television. She was naked, the slut.”
He fussed with Helen’s hair and said,“I should be
able to cover that. Are you well enough to work? Maybe you should go home and rest.”
“I’m fine,” Helen said. “I’m lifting teacups, not breaking rocks.”
Miguel Angel turned back to his client, a fortyish woman with light brown hair and an air of authority. “We’re doing your color today, Jennifer?”
“Right,” Jennifer said.
“Are you getting a cut?”
“That depends on you,” Jennifer said. “I don’t make that decision.”
Under the roar of the blowdryers, Helen whispered to Ana Luisa, “Did Miguel’s hair dryer suck out her brains?”
“Hardly,” Ana Luisa said. “She’s a partner with a big law firm. You didn’t see her when she first started coming here. She had dyed black hair and a short, frizzy perm. Looked like a grandmother. Miguel Angel’s remake took fifteen years off her.”
Helen brought Jennifer a Diet Coke, and she opened her briefcase to read legal papers. Two hours later, she left the salon looking regal and confident.
The afternoon passed quickly. Helen poured water, sliced lemons and fetched magazines.
At four o’clock, Ana Luisa came over to her. “Margery is on the phone. Your sister says she and her family can stay at a hotel in Boynton Beach tonight or come see you in half an hour.”
“Tell Kathy to come to Lauderdale,” Helen said. “I’ll see her about six thirty.”
“You’ll leave now,” Miguel Angel said. “You won’t be in tomorrow, either. You’ll spend the day with your sister.”
“But—”
“I don’t want to see you until Saturday,” Miguel Angel said. “Show your face before then, and you’re fired. Now leave.”
Helen left.
Kathy and Tom’s blue minivan was pulling into the Coronado parking lot when Helen arrived. A weary-looking Kathy climbed out of the passenger seat. Tom helped the two children out of the minivan. “Watch it, Tommy,” he said. “Be careful of your little sister.”
“Helen, are you okay?” Kathy was a little plumper than Helen remembered, and her temples were touched with gray. “What happened to your head?”
“It’s just a bump,” Helen said.
“Looks like it hurt,” Tom said. His blond hair was thinner, and his glasses were thicker. But he still had that sweet smile. Helen liked the way he held Kathy’s hand after more than a decade of marriage. Her sister seemed happy, a woman content with her life.
Tom picked up a sleepy Allison. Helen’s niece had downy dark curls and silky skin.
“This is Phil,” Helen said, as if she was unveiling a prize.
Phil gave his lopsided grin. “Can I help carry something?”
“Those two red suitcases,” Tom said.
“You don’t mind that we’re early?” Kathy said.
“I have tomorrow off,” Helen said. “We can spend it by the pool.”
“I wanna see the ocean,” Tommy Junior said. He was a sturdy boy with his father’s blond hair and his mother’s serious eyes.
“Your daddy can take you,” Kathy said. “Your aunt Helen and I will talk.”
“And drink wine,” Helen said. “Let me show you to your apartment.” She unlocked the door to her place and handed Kathy the key. Most of the living room floor was taken up by an inflatable green gator.
“Is that your gator?” Tommy Junior asked.
“No, it’s yours,” Phil said. “The Little Mermaid sand castle set is for Allison.” He set down the suitcases.
“And what do you say?” Kathy prompted.
“Thank you, Uncle Phil,” Tommy and Allison chorused.
Margery appeared in the doorway, wearing purple shorts. Her wrap-around sandals showed off tangerine-painted toes. “Have you met my landlady, Margery Flax?” Helen asked.
“I’ve certainly talked to her,” Kathy said. “Nice to finally see you. Thanks for taking care of my sister.”
“She needs a full-time keeper,” Margery said. “I’ll be glad to marry her off. Would you like a drink?”
“Wine for me,” Kathy said.
“Beer, please,” Tom said.
“I’m hungry,” Tommy Junior whined. “When do we eat?”
“In a few minutes,” Phil said. “Your hot dogs are on the barbecue grill.”
Kathy fixed two plates for Allison and Tommy. The little boy wolfed down his hot dog and asked for another. Allison took one bite and put her head down on the table.
“She’s sound asleep,” Kathy said.
“We have roll-away beds for the kids,” Helen said. “I’ll help you set them up.”
The two women went back to Helen’s apartment. “Phil is definitely a keeper,” Kathy said as she unfurled a sheet. “Much more thoughtful than Rob. This is a new beginning. Tom and I are so happy you found Phil.”
“Me, too,” Helen said.
“Then what’s wrong?” Kathy said.
“Nothing.” Helen stuffed a pillow into a case.
“That means something. Don’t lie to your sister.”
“I just feel uneasy, that’s all. I was hit on the head yesterday and it still hurts.”
“Are you worried Rob will come back and cause trouble?” Kathy asked.
“He hasn’t been seen in months,” Helen said, plumping another pillow. “So my troubles are gone.”
She turned to her sister. “Kathy, I’m afraid I’m making another mistake getting married again. I was crazy about Rob, and that marriage went wrong. What if I’m making another bad choice?”
“You’re a different woman now,” Kathy said. “Do you remember how you acted when you married Rob? Mom pushed you into the wedding. I think she wanted Rob for herself.”
“She sure loved him more than she did me,” Helen said. “Mom will never forgive me for divorcing Rob. She sees all of my flaws, but none of his.”
“Mom sees what she wants to see,” Kathy said. “She never saw any of Dad’s faults.”
“Or floozies,” Helen said.
“Do they use that word anymore?” Kathy asked, and giggled. “I can say this now, since you’ve changed. You were the original Bridezilla when you married Rob. Everything about that wedding had to be perfect—the flowers, the dresses, the reception. I begged you for a different style bridesmaid dress. That blue froufrou made me look fat. But you wouldn’t listen. You said it was your day and nobody would notice the bridesmaids.”
“Oh no.” Helen blushed with shame. “It’s too late to apologize.”
“Marrying Rob was punishment enough,” Kathy said. “I tried to warn you about him. I caught Rob kissing your maid of honor before the wedding. You said I was jealous.”
“What a bitch I was,” Helen said. “Kathy, you were right from the beginning. Rob was never faithful, but I didn’t want to believe that. When I finally caught him with our next-door neighbor, Sandy, it was like I woke up after a long illness. I suddenly saw a lot of things I’d tried hard not to notice.”
“A skill learned at our mother’s knee,” Kathy said. “You’re a better person, Helen. You’ve learned from your mistakes, and from working those jobs where nobody sucks up to you. I like you and so does Tom. This time, listen to your sister: Marrying Phil is the smartest thing you’ve ever done. There’s no reason to feel uneasy about this wedding.”
“I guess I’m not used to being happy,” Helen said, and hugged her sister.
Chapter 32
Helen spent her last day as a single woman sitting by the pool with her sister, Kathy. They drank white wine, slathered each other with suntan oil and giggled for no reason.
“I can’t believe you talked Tom into taking both kids to the beach,” Helen said, pouring her sister more wine.
“Oh, I used a little persuasion,” Kathy said. “Good thing Tommy and Allison are sound sleepers.” She giggled again. “Phil is the real saint, wanting to go along with two screaming kids.”
“He is a find,” Helen said. “I couldn’t see Rob volunteering to take his niece and nephew to the beach. I saw Tommy Junior hau
ling his inflatable gator out this morning. I’m glad you have a minivan. I don’t think it would fit in a sedan.”
“Tommy Junior slept with it last night,” Kathy said. “I’m afraid he’ll want to take it to school.”
“Is Sister Philomena still teaching?” Helen asked. “She might think it’s a long-lost relative.”
“Helen!” Kathy said, and collapsed into more giggles.
When she finally quit, Kathy said, “Listen, Helen, I don’t want to spoil the mood, but Mom is getting strange.”
“She’s always been strange,” Helen said.
“No, I mean seriously off the rails. She’s more religious than ever—the way old-school Catholics were fifty years ago. She picketed the church fundraiser movie because she said it was obscene.”
“What was the movie?” Helen said.
“Gone With the Wind. The Legion of Decency banned it decades ago as morally objectionable.”
“I thought the Legion was disbanded in the 1980s.”
“It was,” Kathy said. “But Mom said moral standards last forever. She also stood up in church and screamed that Bethesda Miller was a sinner who should not take Communion because she was an unmarried mother. Father Martin tried to talk to her about charity, but Mom called him a corrupt compromiser.”
“She’s married to Lawn Boy Larry,” Helen said. “This should be his problem.”
“Mom moved out of Larry’s house and went back to hers. She says sex without procreation is condemned by the pope. She wants to get some special dispensation to renounce her marriage vows and become a sister.”
“Oh, Lord,” Helen said. “Can she do that?”
“I don’t think any religious order would take Mom. Sisters are different today. They have to love people as well as God. They have to be forgiving and kind. They’re not like the horrors in Sister Mary Ignatius Explains It All for You anymore. Mom would never pass the psychological tests. Tom and I think we might have to put her away in a home. She’s very disruptive at church.”
“That’s awful,” Helen said.
“It’s getting worse,” Kathy said. “Mom is taking off without telling us. She’ll disappear for three days to a week.”
