Save the Date

Chapter 37

37

Bert swiveled around in his chair to face her. “The Colonel really wants his money, huh?”

“He wants me to throw in the towel and admit that I’m a failure,” Cara said. She shook her head, as if by shaking it she could shake loose the image of her mother, and her real or imagined disappointments.

From a file folder on her desk Cara picked up her notes about tomorrow’s bride, Lindsay Crawford.

She studied the photo of Lindsay’s gown. It was the look of choice this season, strapless, of course, with a heavily beaded bodice, asymmetrical shirring at the waist, and a long fishtail train.

Cara held up the photo of the dress for Bert to see. “This dress? I know for a fact Lindsay paid six thousand dollars for it. Six thousand dollars! For a dress she’ll wear for what? Four hours, tops? I’ve had at least five other brides this year with this dress. That’s thirty thousand dollars. Do you know what I could do with that kind of money?”

“Tell me about it,” Bert said. “And I don’t even like their chances that much. She hates his mother, and the word on the street is that he’s got a wandering eye. I’m thinking less than a fifty percent chance for those two.”

“You’re probably right,” Cara said. She went to the cooler and gathered the flowers she needed for Lindsay’s bouquet: orange tulips, red and yellow roses, and yellow stocks.

Cara gathered all the flowers in her left hand, held them up, then snipped all the stems to the same length.

“Sounds like things got a little tense back there when you were on the phone with your dad,” Bert said.

Cara shot him a look. She found a length of the white satin ribbon Lindsay had chosen, measured off three yards, and cut it.

“Yeah. He as much as told me it’s a good thing my mom is dead, since I’m such a big disappointment and all.”

Cara began stripping the soft, velvety leaves of the stocks. “He never mentions my mom. Well, hardly ever. So today he brought out the big guilt guns. That’s how the Colonel plays the game. Pile on the guilt. Your mother’s dead, and I’m all alone. You’re a failure. At marriage and at business. You’re a bad daughter. And a lousy credit risk.”

Cara picked up her scissors and carefully trimmed the bright orange stamens from the Stargazer lilies, sweeping them off the tabletop and into the trash can at her feet. She selected four stems of glossy green lemon leaves, arranging them around the perimeter of the bouquet, like a ruff.

Blinking back tears, she picked up the ribbon. Twirling the bouquet with her left hand, she began wrapping the ribbon around the flowers. She felt a sharp stab on her right thumb and looked down to see a single huge droplet of crimson blood drip down onto the flawless white satin of Lindsay Crawford’s bouquet.

Cara tossed the ruined bouquet onto the worktable. She’d forgotten to trim the rose thorns. The Colonel was right. She was a hopeless fuckup.

***

Bert busied himself with the altar flowers, stuffing long stems of gladiolus, ferns, roses, and lilies into the trumpet-shaped vases provided by Lindsay’s church.

He glanced over at Cara.

“What are you going to do about the damned epergne? I mean, Lillian can’t prove anything. Maybe she lost it herself.”

Cara shrugged. “The problem is, it was my responsibility. And I can’t prove we didn’t lose it.”

“In other words, you’re saying it’s my fault.”

Cara stood up from her chair. Her head was throbbing, her back hurt, and she was about sick of her assistant’s attitude.

“For the last time, I do not think that you’re a thief. Okay? But something is going on with you, and it’s affecting your work. You won’t tell me what it is, so what am I supposed to think?”

“It’s just some personal stuff I’m dealing with.”

“You’ve got personal stuff? Seriously? Look around you, Bert. This shop? I’m about to lose it. Literally. Yeah. Sylvia Bradley sold the building right out from under me. And the new owner is already breathing down my neck to get me out. So I don’t give a hairy rat’s ass about your personal stuff. Just do your job, okay?”

He got up, shaking his head. He put the altar arrangement on the bottom shelf of the cooler and slammed the door.

“I’m taking lunch. Back in an hour.”

“You just got here.”

“Dock my pay. I’m gone.”

Cara watched through the front window as Bert strode quickly down the sidewalk. She wished she could run away, too. Instead, she picked up Lindsay’s bouquet and began cutting away the blood-spattered ribbon.