Chapter Thirteen
C HAPTER THIRTEEN
C LAIRE KNEW HER LIPS WERE DRAWN IN A TIGHT, unyielding line that communicated displeasure. She’d honed that skill; the ability to convey anger without having to form the words that would make her feel regret afterward. Her dad often remarked on this talent of hers . Lordy, Claire , he’d say , no one else can yell at me without saying a word. Someday all that silent anger of yours is gonna back up in your throat and choke you.
She glanced sideways at her sister, who was behind the wheel, driving too fast, her black hair flapping behind her like some celebrity starlet’s. Sunglasses that probably cost more than Claire’s net worth covered her eyes. “Where are we going?” she asked for the fourth time.
“You’ll see.” Always the same answer. Clipped and unadorned. As if Meghann were afraid to say more.
She’d fallen asleep.
It wasn’t as if Claire asked much of her sister. Hell, nothing was farther from the truth. She hadn’t expected her sister to join in the fun of buying a wedding gown. God, no. Meghann enjoy a day with girlfriends? Hardly.
What galled most was that Claire had asked Meg’s opinion first, even with Gina and Charlotte right there. Claire had put her neediness on the table: What do you think, Meghann?
She’d asked her twice . After the second time, she rectified her mistake and ignored Meghann completely.
Then she’d heard the snores.
That was when she’d felt the sting of tears.
It hadn’t helped, of course, that all of the dresses had been wrong, or that even ugly dresses were expensive these days, or that, by the end of the afternoon, she’d actually begun to think that a white sundress might be more practical. That had only brought the tears closer. But now Claire was just plain mad. Meghann would ruin this wedding; there was no doubt about it. Her sister was like an airborne virus. Ten seconds in the room with her and you began to feel sick.
“I need to get back to Ali,” Claire said, also for the fourth time.
“You will.”
Claire took a deep breath. Enough was enough. “Look, Meg, about planning my wedding. Honestly, you—”
“We’re here.” Meg tucked the silver Porsche into an empty parking spot on the street. Before Claire could respond, Meghann was out of the car and standing by the meter. “Come on.”
They were in downtown Seattle now. Her sister’s territory. Meg probably wanted to show off her hugely expensive condo.
Claire frowned. They were parked at the base of a long, slowly rising hill. Up ahead—maybe six blocks away—she could see the Public Market. Behind them, also several blocks away, was the ferry terminal. A street musician played a sad tune on a saxophone; the music floated above the traffic noises. To their left, a waterfall of concrete steps spilled down the courtyard of a condo complex. Across the street was a Diamond Parking lot, the stalls mostly empty on this non-game day.
“Do you live here?” Claire asked as she grabbed her bag and climbed out of the sports car. “I always pictured you in some sleek high-rise.”
“I invited you to my place a ton of times.”
“Twice. You invited me over once that day Mama was in town for the el creepo convention and once for Christmas dinner. You canceled the Christmas dinner because you got the flu, and Mama took us out for dinner at Canlis instead.”
Meghann looked surprised by that. “Really? I thought I was always asking you to see my place.”
“You were. You just never set up a day and time. I was always supposed to stop by when I was in town. News flash: I’m never in town.”
“You seem a little hostile today.”
“Do I? I can’t imagine why.” Claire slung her purse strap over her shoulder and fell into step beside Meghann, who was marching uphill like Patton. “We need to talk about the wedding. Your performance this morning—”
“Here,” Meghann said, stopping suddenly in front of a narrow white door flanked by windows on either side. A small iron-scrolled sign read: By Design. A man in a severe black suit was busily undressing a mannequin behind the glass. He saw Meghann and waved her in.
“What is this place?”
“You said I could plan your wedding, right?”
“Actually, that’s what I’ve been trying to discuss with you. Unfortunately, your listening skills are seriously underdeveloped.”
Meg opened the door and went inside.
Claire hesitated.
“Come on.” Meghann waited for her in front of an elevator.
Claire followed.
A second later, the elevator pinged and the doors slid open. They went in; the doors closed.
Finally, Meghann said, “I’m sorry about this morning. I know I screwed up.”
“Sleeping is one thing. Snoring is another.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Claire sighed. “It’s the story of our lives, Meg. Don’t you get tired of it? One of us is always sorry about something, but we never—”
The elevator doors opened.
Claire gasped.
Meg had to lay a hand on her shoulder and gently shove her forward. She stumbled over the off-kilter threshold and into the store.
Only it wasn’t a store. That was like calling Disneyland a carnival.
There were mannequins everywhere, poised perfectly, and dressed in the most beautiful wedding dresses Claire had ever seen. “Oh, my God,” she breathed, stepping forward. The gown in front of her was an off-the-shoulder creation, nipped at the waist. Ivory silk charmeuse fell in folds to the floor. Claire felt the fabric—softer than anything she’d ever touched—and peeked at the price tag. It read: Escada $4,200.
She let go of it suddenly and turned to Meghann. “Let’s go.” Her throat felt tight. She was a little girl again, standing in the hallway of a friend’s house, watching a family have dinner together.
Meg grabbed her wrist, wouldn’t let her go. “I want you to try on dresses here .”
“I can’t. I know you’re just being you, Meg. But this … hurts a little. I work at a campground.”
“I don’t want to say this twice, Claire, so please listen and believe me. I work eighty-five hours a week, and my clients pay almost four hundred dollars an hour. I’m not showing off. It’s a fact: Money is something I have. It would mean a lot to me to buy you this wedding gown. You don’t belong in the dresses we saw this morning. I’m sorry if you think I’m a bitch and a snob, but that’s how I feel. Please. Let me do this for you.”
Before Claire had come up with her answer, a woman cried out, “Meghann Dontess. In a wedding shop. Who would ever believe it?”
A tall, rail-thin woman in a navy blue sheath dress strode forward, her impossibly high heels clacking on the marble floor. Her hair, a perfect combination of white-blond and silver, stood out from her face in a Meg Ryan–type cut.
“Hello, Risa,” Meg said, extending her hand. The women shook hands, then Risa looked at Claire.
“This is the great one’s baby sister, yes?”
Claire heard the barest hint of an Eastern European accent. Maybe even Russian. “I’m Claire.”
“And Meghann is letting you marry.”
“She’s advised against it, actually.”
Risa threw back her head and laughed. “Of course she advised against it. I have heard such advice from her twice. Both times I should have listened, yes, but love will have its way.” She took a step back, studying Claire from head to toe.
Claire fisted her left hand, hiding the tinfoil ring.
Risa tapped a long, dark fingernail against her front teeth. “This is not what I expected,” she said, glancing pointedly at Meghann. “You said your sister was a country girl. Getting married in the middle of nowhere.”
Claire didn’t know whether to smile or smack Meghann in the head. “I am a small-town girl. Meghann used to be.”
“Ah. That must be where she left her heart, yes?” Risa tapped her teeth again. “You are beautiful,” she said at last. “Size ten or twelve, I expect. We won’t need to pad your bra.” She turned to Meghann. “Can she get an appointment with Renaldo? The hair …”
“I can try.”
“We must accentuate those beautiful eyes. So blue. It makes me think of Brad Pitt’s wife. The nervous one from Friends . Yes. This is who your sister looks like. For her, I think the classics. Prada. Valentino. Armani. Wang. Maybe a vintage Azzaro. Come.” She turned and began marching away. Her hand snaked out now and then to grab a dress.
Claire looked at Meghann. “Armani? Vera Wang?” She shook her head, unable to say, You can’t do this . They were the right words, the thing she should say, but the denial of this moment caught in her throat. What little girl hadn’t dreamed of this? Especially a girl who had believed in love even after so many broken promises.
“We can always leave without buying anything,” Meghann said. “Try them on. Just for fun.”
“Just for fun.”
“Hurry up, you two! I haven’t the whole day.” Risa’s voice rang out, startling Claire, who hurried forward.
Meghann hung back as Risa went from rack to rack, piling one dress after another into her arms.
A few minutes later, Claire stepped into a dressing area that was bigger than her bedroom. Three floor-to-ceiling mirrors fanned out in front of her. A small wooden platform stood in the center.
“Go on. The dresses are in there. Try one on,” Risa gave her a gentle shove.
Claire went into the dressing room, where several gowns hung waiting. The first one was a stunning white silk Ralph Lauren with an intricate lace-and-beadwork patterned bodice. Another was a romantic peach-tinged ivory Prada with ruffled, capped sleeves and a slightly asymmetrical hemline. There was a white silk Armani sheath: simplicity itself with a plunging V neck and a draped, sexy back.
Claire didn’t allow herself to look at the prices. This was her make-believe moment. She could afford anything. She peeled out of her wrinkled jeans and work T-shirt and tossed them on the floor. (She did not look at her faded, overwashed JCPenney bra and Jockey-for-Her underwear.)
The Ralph Lauren gown floated over her shoulders like a cloud and fell down her nearly naked body. From the neck down, she looked like Kim Basinger in L.A. Confidential.
“Come on, honey. Let’s see,” Risa said.
She opened the door and stepped into the dressing area.
There was a gasp at her entrance. Then Risa shouted, “Shoes!” and ran off.
Meg stood there, holding an armful of dresses. Her lips parted in a soft sigh.
Claire couldn’t help smiling. At the same time, she had the oddest urge to cry. “That Ralph Lauren is no slouch. Of course, my car cost less than this dress.” She stepped up onto the platform and looked at herself in the mirror. No wonder Meghann had hated the gowns this morning.
Risa came back, brandishing a pair of strappy high-heeled sandals.
Claire laughed. “Who do you think I am—Carrie Bradshaw? My nose would bleed if I wore heels that high. Not to mention the fact that I’d break a hip when I fell.”
“Hush. Put them on.”
Claire did as she was told, then stood very still. Every breath threatened to send her toppling off the block.
“ Aagh . Your mother, she did not teach you to stand in heels. A crime. I get you pumps.” Her mouth twisted slightly at the last word.
When Risa disappeared, Meghann laughed. “The only thing Mama taught us was how to walk in shoes you’d outgrown.”
“She always had a new pair.”
“Funny thing.”
A look passed between them, a moment of perfect understanding; when it passed, and they were back in ordinary time, Claire felt a tug of regret.
“I think the fabric is too flimsy, don’t you?” Claire said. Her job was to find a flaw in each dress, a reason her sister shouldn’t spend this much money.
Meghann frowned. “Too flimsy? You look gorgeous.”
“It hangs on every bulge. I’d have to wear undergarments made by Boeing.”
“Claire. It’s a size ten. One more comment like that and you’ll qualify for the Hollywood Wives Eating Disorder League.”
After that, Claire tried on a succession of dresses, each one more beautiful than the last. She felt like a princess, and it didn’t ruin the day at all that she had to decline each one. She could always find one tiny thing that made the dress less than perfect. The sleeves are too short, too wide, too ruffled… . The neckline is too sweet, too sexy, too traditional… . The feel of this one isn’t right.
She could tell that Meghann was getting frustrated. She kept delivering armfuls of gowns. “Here, try these,” she said every time. Meg and patience had never known each other well.
Risa had long ago gone on to other customers.
Finally, Claire came to the last dress of the day. Meghann had chosen it. An elegant white gown with a heavily beaded tank bodice and a flowing taffeta silk skirt.
Claire unhooked her bra and stepped into the dress. She was still fastening the back as she stepped out of the dressing room.
Meghann was completely silent.
Claire frowned. She heard Risa in another part of the store, chattering loudly to another customer.
Claire looked at her sister. “You’re uncharacteristically quiet. Should I begin the Heimlich?”
“Look.”
Claire lifted the heavy skirt off the ground and stepped up onto the platform. Slowly, she faced the trifold mirror.
The woman who stared back at her wasn’t Claire Cavenaugh. No. This woman hadn’t partied her way out of a state college and decided that cosmetology was a viable career choice, only to quit attending those classes as well … she hadn’t borne a child out of wedlock because her lover refused to marry her … and she certainly didn’t manage a campground that pretended it was a resort.
This woman arrived in limousines and drank champagne from fluted glasses. She slept on high-thread-count sheets and always had a current passport.
This was the woman she could have been, if she’d gone to college in New York and done graduate work in Paris. Maybe it was the woman she could still become.
How could a dress highlight everything that had gone wrong with your life and subtly promise a different future? She imagined the look on Bobby’s face when she walked down the aisle. Bobby, who’d knelt on one knee when he asked her to please, please be his wife. If he saw her in this dress …
Meghann came up behind her, stood on the platform.
There they were, side by side. Mama’s girls, who’d once been closer than sisters and were now so far apart.
Meghann touched Claire’s bare shoulder. “Don’t even try to find something wrong with this dress.”
“I didn’t look at the price tag, but—”
Meghann ripped the tag in half. “And you won’t.” She turned, raised a hand. “Risa. Get over here.”
Claire looked at her sister. “You knew, didn’t you? You handpicked it.”
Meg tried not to smile. “It’s Vera Wang, honey. Of course I knew. I also knew your defenses were a bit high at the outset. You don’t want me to buy your dress.”
“It’s not that I don’t want you to.”
“It’s okay, Claire. It means a lot to me that you’ve included me in your wedding.”
“We’re family,” Claire answered after a long pause. It felt awkward, this conversation, and vaguely dangerous. As if they were skating on a frozen pond that couldn’t possibly hold their weight. “Thank you for the dress. It’s what …” Her voice cracked a little. “I always dreamed of.”
Meg finally smiled. “Just because I don’t believe in marriage doesn’t mean I can’t plan a kick-ass wedding, you know.”
Risa stepped into the dressing room, her face flushed, her arms full of gowns. “The Wang,” she said softly, looking at Meg. “You said this would be her choice.”
“A good guess.”
“She is the picture of love, yes?” Risa hung up the unnecessary gowns and went to Claire. “We’ll need to take in the bust a little—just to there, don’t you think?—and let out the waist. We’ll also need to choose a veil. Something elegant, yes? Not too ornate. What shoes will you wear?” She began pinning and pulling.
“These pumps are fine.”
Risa knelt down to pin the hemline. “I’ll keep the skirt long. In case you change your mind, which you must do. It’ll be ready in time,” she promised when she was finished, then hurried off.
After she’d been gone for a moment, Claire said, “How did you know I’d choose this dress?”
“At my wedding, I overheard you talking to Elizabeth. You said a wedding dress should be simple. You were right. Mine looked like something a circus performer would wear.” Meghann seemed determined to smile. “Maybe that’s why Eric left me.”
Claire heard the hurt in her sister’s voice. It was thin and quiet, a thread fluttering. It surprised her. Claire always imagined her sister’s defenses to be solid granite. “He hurt you, didn’t he?”
“Of course he hurt me. He broke my heart and then wanted my money. It would have been a lot easier if I’d had a prenuptial agreement. Or better yet, if I’d lived with him instead of marrying him.”
Claire couldn’t help smiling at the not-so-subtle reminder. This time it made sense. “If marrying Bobby is a mistake, it’s one I want to make.”
“Yeah. That’s the thing about love. It’s inherently optimistic. No wonder I stick to sex instead. Now, how about if we pick up some takeout from the Wild Ginger and eat at my place?”
“Alison—”
“—is having dinner at Zeke’s Drive-In and joining Sam and Bobby for date night at the Big Bowl. I called Gina from Everett.”
Claire smiled. “Bobby is going to date night at the bowling alley? And you don’t believe in true love. Now, help me out of this dress.” Claire hiked up the falling dress and picked her way carefully to the dressing room. She was just about to shut the door when she remembered to say, “Your wedding dress was beautiful, Meghann, and you were beautiful. I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings when I said that to Elizabeth. We’d had a few drinks by then.”
“My sleeves looked like open umbrellas. God knows why I picked it. No, that’s not true. Sadly, I inherited Mama’s style sense. As soon as I started making money, I hired a personal shopper. Anyway, thanks for the apology.”
Claire closed the dressing-room door and changed back into her clothes. They spent another hour trying on veils and then shoes. When they had chosen everything, Meghann took Claire by the arm and led her out of the boutique.
In front of the Wild Ginger, Meghann double-parked, ran into the restaurant, and came out three minutes later with a paper sack. She tossed it into Claire’s lap, jumped into the driver’s seat, and stomped on the gas.
They turned down Pike Street and veered left hard, into an underground parking lot.
Claire followed her sister into the elevator, up to the penthouse floor, and into the condo.
The view was breathtaking. An amethyst almost-night sky filled every picture window. To the north, the sleepy community of Queen Anne sparkled with multicolored light. The Space Needle, decked out in summertime colors, filled one window. Everywhere else, it was the midnight-blue Sound, its dark surface broken only by the streamers of city lights along the shore.
“Wow,” Claire said.
“Yeah. It’s some view,” Meghann said, plopping the paper sack on the kitchen’s black granite countertop.
Everywhere Claire looked, she saw perfection. Not a painting was askew on the silk-covered walls, not a piece of paper cluttered a table. Of course there was no dust.
She walked over to a small Biedermeier desk in the corner. On its shiny surface stood a single framed photograph. It was the only one in the room, as far as she could tell.
It was a photograph of Claire and Meghann, taken long ago. In it, they were kids—maybe seven and fourteen—sitting at the end of a dock with their arms looped around each other. In the corner, a glowing cigarette tip identified Mama as the photographer.
Surprisingly, Claire found that it hurt to see them this way. She glanced over at Meg, who was busily dividing up the food.
She put the photograph back and kept moving through her sister’s condo. She saw the white-on-white bedroom that only a woman without pets or children would possibly choose and the bathroom that contained more beauty products than the cosmetics counter at Rite Aid. All the while, Claire found herself thinking that something was wrong.
She made her way back to the kitchen.
Meg handed her a margarita in a frosted glass. “On the rocks. No salt. Is that okay?”
“Perfect. Your home is gorgeous.”
“Home.” Meg laughed. “That’s funny. I never think of it that way, but it is, of course. Thanks.”
That was it. This wasn’t a home. It was a really nice hotel suite. Definitely four-star, but cold. Impersonal. “Did you decorate it yourself?”
“You’re kidding, right? The last thing I chose for myself was the wedding gown with parachute sleeves. I hired a decorator. German woman who didn’t speak English.” She set out the plates. “Here. Let’s eat out on the deck.” She carried her plate and drink outside. “We’ll have to sit on the floor. The decorator chose the most uncomfortable outdoor furniture in the world. I returned it all and haven’t found the time to buy new stuff.”
“How long have you lived here?”
“Seven years.”
Claire followed her sister outside. It was a beautiful night. Stars everywhere.
As they ate, silence fell between them. Meg said a few odd, awkward things, clearly designed to break the quiet, but like seawater in a rising tide, the silence always returned.
“Did I thank you for the gown?”
“Yes. And you’re welcome.” Meg put her empty plate down on the deck and leaned back.
“It’s funny,” Claire said. “It’s loud out here at night—between the traffic and the ferry horns and the railroad, but it still feels … empty. Kind of lonely.”
“The city can be that way.”
Claire looked at Meghann and, for once, she didn’t see the harsh, judgmental older sister who was always right. Neither did she see the older sister who’d once loved her so completely. Now, she saw a pale, rarely smiling woman who seemed to have no life apart from work. A lonely woman who’d had her heart broken long ago and now wouldn’t allow herself to believe in love.
She couldn’t help remembering the old days, when they’d been best friends. For the first time in years, she wondered if that could happen again. If so, one of them would have to make the first move.
Claire took a chance. “Maybe you’d like to come stay at my house for a few nights, while you’re planning the wedding.”
“Really?” Meghann looked up, obviously surprised.
“You’re probably too busy.”
“No, actually. I’m … between cases right now. And I do need to spend some time in Hayden. Getting stuff ready, you know. I have a meeting there tomorrow, in fact. With the wedding consultant. But I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
Big mistake, Claire. Incredible Hulk big . “It’s settled, then. You’ll spend a few nights at my house.”