Secrets of a (Somewhat) Sunny Girl

by Karen Booth

  Eamon appeared, wearing a towel. “Shower?” he mouthed with a sexy bounce of his eyebrows.

  “Amy. I can be there in less than an hour, okay? I'm bringing Eamon with me since we both need to be there for the rehearsal. You can tell me everything then. Is that okay?”

  Eamon looked truly disappointed, which was its own kind of adorable. Even better when he unwrapped the towel, shot me a pointed glance, and walked away, downtrodden and naked.

  Amy sniffled. “I’m sorry, Katherine. I'm a terrible person.” The crying started again.

  “It's okay. Have a glass of wine and I'll get there as soon as I can.”

  Eamon reappeared in his boxers, regrettably no longer naked. “Guess I’m postponing my shower. I can see why you get so annoyed when everything revolves around this damn wedding.”

  I kissed him on the mouth, slow and soft. “Maybe we can take a shower tonight.”

  “What's wrong with you? You seem so happy.”

  Huh. I was happy. “She needs me. Finally.”

  Less than thirty minutes later, for the third time in as many months, I found myself in a car on the way to Luke's parents' house. My mind was racing, not knowing what had happened, but certain it was bad. It took a lot to upset Amy.

  “What do you think Bill could've said to her?” I asked Eamon.

  “No idea. The whole thing is too bizarre to begin with.”

  “I know. It is.”

  When we arrived at Tom and Cindy’s, Luke practically sprinted out of the house and up to the car. “Thank God you're here. Amy's beside herself and my mother drank a bottle of Chardonnay this afternoon and will not leave her alone.”

  “Can't we get your dad to distract her?” I asked, rushing into the house with Luke and Eamon.

  “He went to go pick up my Aunt Jan at her hotel. I think he got stuck in traffic.”

  A whiff of familial trouble was in the air, but I couldn't dwell on that now. I had a sister to save. “Where is she?”

  “My room. Upstairs. Take the hall to the left. It's the last door on the right.”

  “Got it.” I took a few steps and turned back. “You guys are okay, right?”

  Eamon and Luke looked at each other and shrugged. “Well, yeah. We're going to listen to music and start drinking.”

  “Sounds like you two.”

  I rushed up the stairs, wondering how in the heck they kept the white carpet runner so impeccably clean. When I reached the top landing, I was huffing and puffing. This house was way too big. There were actually three halls to choose from, but luckily, it was fairly obvious which way I should go. When I reached the door, I knocked quietly.

  Amy opened it only a crack at first, peering at me with red-ringed eyes. “Thank you for coming.” She opened the door, seeming calmer than she'd been on the phone, so that was good. Luke's bedroom was like something you see in movies or TV shows about the private quarters at the White House. Fancy with a capital F.

  Amy plopped down on the edge of the bed and plucked a tissue from the box on the bedside table, which was of course covered in some sort of enamel facial tissue cozy.

  “Can I sit next to you?” I didn't want to assume anything at this point. I still wasn't convinced she didn't want to kill me.

  She sniffled and wiped her nose. “Yes, of course, Katherine. Don't be obtuse.”

  Obtuse? I reminded myself that she was getting married in fewer than twenty-four hours. All sense of sanity could very well be out the window for the duration. I took a spot right next to her. “I brought you a present.”

  “You didn't have to get me anything. You showing up and still wanting to be my sister is enough for me.” She peered at me with her sweet blue eyes, which in many ways looked more broken down today than they had the day she got the letter. “Assuming you still want to be my sister.”

  “Always.” I handed her the clamshell box covered in cream velour. “This is my gift to the bride. Eamon and I still got you guys a separate wedding gift.”

  Amy started crying before she even opened it. When she lifted the lid and saw those pearls inside, she let out a gasp, her shoulders shuddering. “I can't believe you got it.”

  “Eamon and I went back to Connecticut yesterday. We actually saw Grandma Price. We talked to her and everything.”

  She closed her eyes and tilted her head back. “I am the worst piece of shit person on the planet, aren't I?”

  I grabbed her hands and pulled them into my lap. “No. You are not. It's okay that you got mad at me. I would've gotten mad at me, too. But I hope you see now that I was in an impossible situation. I was damned if I did and damned if I didn’t.”

  Her eyes opened slowly and she dropped her chin to its normal height. “I know. I know that now.”

  “What happened when you talked to Bill?”

  “He said that his brother lost all touch with reality when he got sick and that the letter was the…let me see if I can get this right…he said it was ‘the pathetic ramblings of an unwell man’.” She made air quotes and everything.

  “Wow.”

  “I know. And then he said that he didn't see any resemblance between his family and me, and that he'd already contacted his lawyer about contesting the will. He hadn’t sent me the letter. Someone in Gordon’s lawyer’s office did. He also told me that he threw out Mom's things, which he called a bunch of old junk.”

  For as much ill will as I'd harbored for Gordon Stewart over the years, his brother was eclipsing that. “What a jerk.”

  She crossed her legs and looked down at the floor, sighing heavily. “I don't know what I expected. I never should've contacted him.”

  “I’ll tell you exactly what you wanted. You wanted closure. You wanted some sense that things in the world had finally been set straight. That's what you and I have been looking for since the moment we first saw Mom kissing Gordon in the back room at Taylor & Daughters.”

  She nodded, staring off, deep in despair. “I guess.”

  All of the bullshit of our childhood threatened to roll in on me, the way a storm comes in to the shore, like it doesn't give a goddamn care for anyone else in the world. The infidelity, the unsteadiness, that sense that we couldn't trust our own mother—all of it was still haunting my sister and me. I wanted so desperately for it to just be gone. Once and for all, as Dad would say.

  “Ames, I think we have to give each other closure. It's the only way. Nobody else is going to give it to us. Mom is dead. Gordon is dead. Dad is…” My voice faltered. Our dad was the most unwitting man in the history of victimhood.

  “He's never going to know. I love him, but he will never know what it was like for us. We can tell him what happened that day in the car, but it won't change that he wasn't there.” Amy said exactly what I was thinking.

  “Which also isn't his fault.”

  “None of this is anybody's fault. But that doesn't make it much easier, does it? It just makes it this giant clusterfuck of pain.”

  Amy opened the clamshell box again and ran her fingers over the pearls. “She sometimes seems like even less than a ghost. Every day forward is a step away from her and her memory. And this stupid wedding has brought it all into focus.”

  “I know,” I croaked, my throat dry.

  “I mean, Cindy is making me insane, and she's making Luke feel the same way. We both just want it to be over. And all I can think is that if Mom were here and none of that stuff had ever happened, I would be arguing with her like I am with Cindy. Or she'd be making you crazy or making me feel guilty. So what exactly is it that I'm missing so much?”

  I knew precisely what she was getting at. “It's the whole stupid myth of the picket fence and the happy ending. It doesn't exist. People hurt each other. We make mistakes. And then we do it all over again. We take each other for granted. We take this moment for granted.” Was that our blessing? Out of the rubble, was that the takeaway? That we didn’t take things for granted? “All the more reason to get married tomorrow, Ames. You love Luke and he loves
you, too. And even if you're only happy for a while, that's better than most people get.” I sucked in a deep breath. “I know that sounds horribly pessimistic. I think you two will make it for the long haul. I really do.”

  “You hated the idea at first.”

  “I didn't want to let you go. And I was worried you were going to get hurt.”

  “You can't protect me forever.”

  An invisible weight tugged at the corners of my mouth. “But I promised to. After the accident. When you were unconscious and I already knew that Mom was dead.”

  Amy turned to me and cocked her head to one side, like one of those adorable dogs with incredibly expressive ears. “Promised who?”

  “I promised God that if he let you live, I would keep you safe for my entire life.” We'd never been particularly religious, but at the time, it was the only thing I could think to do. Amy was out cold, head hanging at an ugly angle against the back of the seat. Her eyelids were closed, colored with the palest lavender you have ever seen. She wasn't moving. The cold seeped into the car like a monster, but at least it told me one thing—Mom was gone. And Amy was still alive. The puffs of air that came out of her nose and mouth were wispy little things. Fragile baby breaths. Not like mine. “I couldn't wake you up no matter how hard I tried. My seatbelt had locked up and I couldn’t reach you. To keep us warm. I was pretty sure we were both going to die, so I made a deal with God that if he let us live, I would always keep you safe, no matter what.” Tears ran down my cheeks, but I wiped them away.

  “You never told me that.”

  “I know. It’s so silly, but I always held onto it. I always felt like I had to abide by that promise or something bad would happen. I swear that's the very last secret. You know everything now. Everything.”

  She collapsed into my arms and we both let go. Of everything. The years of pain and torment, of asking a million little questions that started with “what if” and “why”. With buckets of tears, we said goodbye to the quiet moments when we'd doubted the world could ever be a good place for us. We buried the twists of fate that had been haunting us both for too long.

  “I love you so much,” Amy said.

  “I love you, too.”

  “I don't want to have the wedding tomorrow.”

  “Did something happen with Luke?”

  “No. I still want to get married. I just don't want to have this stupid wedding. It feels like it's all about making other people happy.” Amy pulled a hunk of tissues out of the box and handed me half. She had so much mascara smudged around her eyes that she looked like a raccoon. Surely I was worse.

  “Ames. Come on. You have that beautiful dress. Don't you want that moment when you start walking up the aisle and everyone turns and starts saying how beautiful you are?”

  She twisted her lips. “Yeah. That'll be fun.”

  “The flowers are going to be incredible. Dad and Julia will be here. Fiona. It's going to be amazing. I promise.”

  “Will you dance with me at the reception?”

  “Try and stop me.”

  She smiled sweetly. “Okay then. We get through the rehearsal tonight, then we have a wedding.”

  “Tomorrow is going to be perfect. I promise.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The morning of the wedding, I woke to a scream.

  You cheating bastard!

  I grumbled and sat up in bed, dry-eyed and cotton-mouthed, feeling more than a little rough. Amy and I got plowed at the rehearsal dinner. The specifics were fuzzy at best, but I am positive there was Bon Jovi karaoke in the family room when we got home from the country club. I don’t remember much more than Eamon and Luke begging me and Amy to stop. But when your sister has been hating you for weeks, the appeal of “Livin’ on a Prayer”, one more time, is too great to ignore.

  More yelling came. Get the hell out of this house! I can't even look at you!

  “Who was that?” I asked.

  Eamon stirred. “Not sure, but it doesn't sound good.”

  The voice was definitely female, but I was fairly certain it wasn't Amy. “Should we see what's going on?”

  Eamon pried open one eye. “Or we stay out of it.”

  A door slammed so hard the house shook. A car started. Our room was on the front of the house, so I climbed out of bed and sifted through the layers of draperies until I found the window. Tom's big black SUV was pulling out of the gate.

  “Tom is leaving.”

  “Probably running some wedding errand.”

  I glanced at the clock. “It's seven A.M. Seems early for that.”

  Eamon propped himself up on one elbow. “If we're lucky, he's gone to get donuts.”

  A tentative knock came at our door. “You guys awake?” Amy whispered.

  I quickly opened up, finding both her and Luke out in the hall, still wearing their pajamas. “What's going on?”

  Luke looked like he was about to be sick. “Can we come in?”

  “Yes. Of course,” I answered.

  Eamon climbed out of bed and grabbed a sweatshirt. “Did something happen?”

  “I don't even know where to start.” Luke had lost his happy veneer. He was visibly upset.

  “Cindy kicked Tom out of the house. He and Aunt Jan have been having an affair,” Amy said.

  I clasped my hand over my mouth, but inside I was saying I knew it. There's always dirt. Always. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I always thought my parents had an amazing marriage. I just…” Luke ran both hands through his hair. “I don't even know what to think anymore.”

  "I think we should cancel the wedding. Luke and I can get married on Monday morning at the county clerk's office."

  None of us said anything in response to that. Even my arguments yesterday for forging ahead as planned seemed to fall flat. The groom's parents were in the middle of a marital crisis. Having a wedding hardly seemed like a good idea.

  “No.” Luke sat a little straighter. “Fuck that. I don't want to wait, we've already sunk a bunch of money into this, and I want to see you walk down the aisle. If my parents are having problems, that's just too bad. If they can't deal with it, that's their problem. So they don't sit together. Or they fake their way through it. It's not about them, anyway.”

  Amy shook her head. “I don't know. It feels like the universe is trying to tell us something.”

  “Maybe it's trying to tell you that if you can get through this, you can get through anything.” I didn't want to sound like Pollyanna, but Luke clearly wanted to move forward as planned, and I wanted him to know I had his back. Plus, I didn't want Aunt Jan to ruin anything for anyone. Knowing her, she'd find a way to brag about it.

  “Eamon, what do you think?” Luke asked.

  “I’m Irish. We tend to use even the worst of excuses to throw a party.”

  Luke took Amy's hands in his. “I love you too much to put off our future any more. I say we move forward and see what happens.”

  Amy dropped her chin and her lower lip popped out. “I love you, too. I do. And if you're okay with today, then I am, too.”

  “So we're doing this?” The excitement in Luke's voice made a triumphant return in four words. Now that there was a happy plan ahead, he looked so much more like himself.

  Amy nodded eagerly. “Yes. Let's do it.”

  “Looks like there's going to be a wedding today.” I stood and gave Luke a hug. “I’m really sorry about your parents, but I'm so glad you're going to be my brother-in-law.”

  He squeezed me extra hard. “I’m glad, too.”

  “Okay, then.” Amy clapped her hands and I knew she was about to dole out our marching orders. “Eamon, you're heading over to the country club with Luke in an hour. The bridesmaids are all getting ready here and we head over in the limo an hour after that so I can get dressed. Any questions?”

  The three of us shook our heads in unison.

  “Let's get this show on the road." Amy and Luke made a swift exit.

  “I guess I'd better hop in
the shower,” Eamon said.

  “I’d join you if I didn't think we'd get distracted and you'd end up being late.”

  “For once, I have to agree that sex is not the proper course.”

  I kissed him on the cheek, his stubble scratching my lips. “There’s always tonight.”

  Eamon swatted me on the butt, then disappeared into the bathroom. I pulled his tux and my dress out of the closet and was inspecting for wrinkles when my phone rang. “Hello?” I pinned the phone between my ear and shoulder and started packing up my jewelry and makeup.

  “Yeah. Hi. This is, uh, Max with Maggie's Floral. You're listed as the contact for the Fuller-Mayhew wedding.”

  “Yes. Hi. Are you at the country club already? I know it says no deliveries at the front entrance, but they assured me it’s okay for flowers.”

  “No, ma’am. There's been an accident.”

  “An accident?” It felt like the bottom of my stomach dropped out. Eamon was out of the shower and had stopped scrubbing his hair with the towel when that word came out of my mouth. “It’s the florist,” I whispered to him. I didn’t want him to worry it might be Fiona.

  “The delivery truck got sideswiped by a pickup,” Max said.

  “Oh no. Was anyone hurt?”

  “I’m a little roughed up, but that’s not why I’m calling. I’m very sorry, but your flowers are toast.”

  “Toast?”

  “Ruined.”

  An apocalyptic vision of my sister’s bridal flowers popped into my head. I saw those beautiful dark purple calla lilies and deep red roses strewn all over the Saw Mill River turnpike, motorists unwittingly crushing them with their car tires. “I know what ‘toast’ means. Nothing can be saved?”

  “Afraid not. The truck is on its side in the middle of an intersection about two miles from the wedding venue. I'm waiting for the police.”

  Two miles from the club wasn’t far. “Can you send me your location?”

  “For what?”

  “I’m coming to get whatever flowers I can salvage. Is that okay?”

  “I’m sure Maggie will give you a refund. Insurance will probably cover it.”

  “It's not about the money. My sister is getting married in a little more than two hours and we have to have flowers. We have to.”