14. Heather
There is a steady hum coming from the front of the church, and Heather sits nervously in the chair under Marigold”s capable hands. Marigold keeps up a steady chatter that distracts Heather from her own fears, for the most part.
”And then when Cobb got on stage,” she says, reliving the entire pre-Christmas trip she”d taken to New York City, ”I felt this immense wave of pride, you know?” Marigold sets the hot curling iron on the table next to her and fluffs Heather”s hair carefully as she talks. ”There”s something about seeing your man do the one thing he does well that just kind of makes you fall in love all over again, isn”t there?”
Heather nods absently, trying to focus on her own reflection in the mirror, but failing. She”s gotten herself to stop crying, and the ice seems to have de-puffed her eyes somewhat, but she”s still having a hard time quelling the nerves that have turned her stomach into a butter churn.
”What does Dave do that you love?” Marigold asks her, using the end of a comb to separate a curl and fluff it into place. ”Is he really good at something?”
As Heather ponders this, she can feel herself relax just a bit; her neck and shoulders soften, and she pictures Dave”s handsome face in her mind”s eye. ”I like it when he does little things for me,” Heather says, a blush creeping up her neck and onto her cheeks as she looks at herself in the mirror. ”Like, sometimes I ask him to move my bigger canvases around and he does that, and I love it when I can”t get a lid off a jar or lift up a box and he does it for me. There”s something so manly about a man just stepping in and helping you out without being asked.”
”That”s true,” Marigold agrees mildly. ”There most definitely is.”
Heather is getting warmed up. ”And Dave is really good at things like carrying on a theoretical discussion while he makes spaghetti.” Heather chuckles at this image, which is something that happened not long ago. ”He can stand in the middle of the kitchen cooking and adding a splash of olive oil or garlic to a pan while talking about social justice and the way a city needs to re-think its stance on the homeless population. It fascinates me, because I feel like I get all frowny-faced when I’m focused on something,” she says, simulating a frown, ”and I can only really do one thing well at a time. If I”m painting, the most I can do at the same time is listen to music and daydream. That”s it. No conversation--nothing.”
”I feel that,” Marigold says. ”But honey, no frowning. We want this face to look smooth as glass when you walk out there.” Marigold picks up the can of hair spray that”s sitting on the counter. ”Close your whole face for a sec,” she instructs, waiting for Heather to do just that before she engulfs her in a cloud of hairspray. ”There. You look glorious,” Marigold says, stepping back to admire her creation. ”Now let me just touch up your face and then we”ll have you step into your dress. We”ve got about thirty minutes until show time.”
At this, Heather”s nerves kick back up. She”s still afraid he might not show, but Marigold has been so kind, so solicitous, that she doesn”t want to open her mouth and spew her crazy fears all over her friend.
”Hi, gorgeous bride!” Vanessa says, appearing in the doorway to the little dressing room. She”s run home to change, as have all the other women, and she’s now wearing a pretty, soft pink dress with a flounce around the hem. Vanessa, thirty and single, has always been the one in their book club group who is most in love with love, and it hurts Heather”s heart to see her sweet, hopeful face every time they read a romance novel and talk about it, because she knows that finding love on Shipwreck Key has to be next to impossible for a young person.
”Hey,” Heather says, an idea forming in her head. ”Vanessa, my nephew is supposed to be out there helping to seat people, but I think it would be nice if we had two people doing that. Would you mind going and seeing if you two can split up the job? His name is James. Tall,” she says, holding up a hand to indicate someone maybe a head taller than she is, ”wearing a blue suit, brown hair, goatee. He”s about your age.”
Vanessa smiles brightly. ”Sure, Heather. Anything for the bride.”
”Smooth,” Marigold says when Vanessa is gone. ”Very slick.”
”The thought just came to me: how often do you have two young, single people on Shipwreck Key who might actually be a good match? Not often enough.”
”No,” Marigold agrees. ”That”s true. I think it”s part of the reason Elijah and Athena hit it off so well. Not that they both aren”t great kids who might like each other regardless,” she adds. Her son Elijah and Ruby”s daughter Athena have spent quite a bit of time together since meeting on the island, though they”ve given no indication that it”s a love match--yet. Still, Marigold would be thrilled if her only child and Ruby”s older daughter ended up together. But it”s not a mother”s place to meddle. It is, however, an aunt”s place, so she admires Heather”s move of getting James and Vanessa to work side by side on seating the guests.
She sweeps a few brushes over Heather”s face, spritzes her with some makeup finishing spray, and then helps Heather slip out of her satin robe and step into the off-white dress with the gathered waist that she”s chosen for her big day. It”s lovely, and made of a thick brocaded fabric with one vintage rhinestone button that gathers at the decolletage. The dress hits her just below the knee, flaring out slightly in a flattering 1950s silhouette. With her hair up and curled off of her face, and her makeup simple and focused on groomed brows, a swoop of black liner, and a bold red lip, Heather has a stunningly simple Grace Kelly air, and Marigold stands back to admire her own handiwork.
”Looooveeeee,” she says, clapping her hands together three times. ”We”ve got you runway-ready, darling. It”s time for your close-up!”
Heather bats away this compliment with a laugh. ”Thank you for all your hard work, Marigold. I feel as beautiful as I ever have.” Heather reaches out to her friend and they embrace.
”Ooh, I don”t want to mess you up,” Marigold says, stepping back from her. ”You look like a vision.”
There’s an audible uptick in activity from the front of the church, and Heather’s eyes widen. “Wait. How do I get out there without everyone seeing me so that I can walk down the aisle?” It’s a logistic that hasn’t even occurred to her until now, and they are tucked away behind the altar.
“Side door,” Marigold says, pointing to the east side of the church. “Once everyone is seated, we’ll slip out that door and around the church, where you’ll enter from the front. Who is walking you down the aisle?”
A hard lump forms in Heather’s throat. For her first two weddings, her father had walked her down the aisle, his eyes proud, but growing more wary with each wedding. By the time he died, Heather was certain he thought of her as a joke, but the last thing her father had said to her as she sat next to him at the hospital, holding his hand amidst all the tubes and wires, was “You’re a lucky girl to have so much love in your life.”
And Heather likes to think that this is true: she’s had a few husbands, sure, but each one of them has brought an abundance of love, laughter, and joy to her life, and she feels like Dave could do the same…if he doesn’t change his mind.
“I’m just going to—“ Marigold is packing up her beauty supplies into a quilted makeup bag when there’s a knock at the door. Both women turn to see who’s standing there.
“Excuse me, ladies.”
It’s Dave. Heather jumps back in surprise, putting her arms across her body and squinting her eyes shut tightly like this will somehow make her invisible.
“No! No! No!” she shouts, shaking her head. “Dave, you can’t see me! It’s bad luck.”
Dave turns his back to her, and when she opens her eyes, he’s standing there, staring out at the empty hallway.
“I need to talk to you,” he says.
Marigold zips her bag loudly and tucks it under one arm. “I’ll just step out,” she says, slipping past Dave. “Text me if you need anything else,” she whispers to Heather. “You look gorgeous.”
Dave keeps his back to Heather, but glances at Marigold as she walks away, giving her a close-mouthed smile and a nod.
“Heather.” Dave puts a hand int the pocket of his suit. “I need to talk to you.”
“I think this is bad luck,” she says. “I don’t think we’re supposed to be anywhere near each other before the wedding.”
“Honey, we’re both old enough to put aside superstition, don’t you think?”
Heather exhales loudly and reaches for the satin robe she’d been wearing before changing into her wedding dress. Just for good measure, she wraps it around herself like a backwards cape, the green satin covering most of the front of her dress.
“I guess,” she says. “But I’d still prefer it if you didn’t look at me.”
“I won’t,” Dave says mildly. “But listen. I had a visit from Ruby. And I understand that, while I know her intentions were good, my darling Celia might have inadvertently given you the message that she somehow disapproves of our union.”
Heather is quiet. She isn’t sure what to say that won’t sound slanderous towards Dave’s daughter, but she takes issue with the word “inadvertently.”
“I want you to know,” Dave goes on, “that adult children—though fully grown—don’t always act that way. And when it comes to their parents, maybe they never do. Celia understands that her mother is gone and that I loved Lila deeply, even still, but that I have the right to go on and find happiness for myself. We all have the right to love and be loved, don’t we?”
Heather stands there, holding the robe over her wedding dress and staring at the broad shoulders and back of the man she loves. She nods, though he can’t hear her.
“And as far as any sort of financial considerations, I really don’t think it’s any of her business,” Dave says. His warm, deep voice fills the room as jazz plays in the church. People’s hushed voices and light laughter are audible in the high-ceilinged chapel. “You and I have talked about our lives, our money, our properties, and our future, and I’m comfortable that we’re both coming into this marriage with what we have, and that our intentions are to not…is it bad luck to say this just minutes before our wedding?” Dave chuckles. “Okay, I’ll say it anyway: our intentions are never to dissolve our union. At least mine aren’t. And I trust that yours aren’t, either.”
Heather is blinking her eyes rapidly and staring up at the bright light coming through the window in hopes that it will stun her tear ducts and keep her eyes dry. There’s no way she’s going to run Marigold’s expert makeup and walk down the aisle of the church looking like a red-eyed, puffy frog.
“Of course my intentions are pure, Dave. I love you with all my heart. I want to be Mrs. Hutchens, and I want to make you happy for the rest of our lives.”
Dave laughs softly. “Or the rest of mine.”
“Stop,” Heather says. The tears really might fall if she’s not careful. “No jokes right now, okay?”
Dave turns slightly at the sound of a sniffle in her voice. ”Can I just look you in the eye, Heather?” he asks softly. ”I don”t believe in bad luck when I”ve found such a good woman, and I want nothing more than for you to look me in the eye and know my intentions before we meet at the altar.”
”Okay,” Heather says. ”You can turn around.”
Dave twists around from the waist up first, glancing at her with one eye as if to be sure, and then turns his whole body around so that he”s facing her. Heather lets the green robe fall.
”Wow,” he whispers, looking her up and down. ”You are stunning. I can”t believe I”m about to marry a woman like you.”
Heather gives a happy laugh as she steps over the fallen robe and into his arms. ”I don”t want to let you out of my sight,” she says, squeezing him with all her strength. ”Can”t we just escape out the back door and go jump on a boat and get married in a courthouse in Destin? Send our apologies to everyone who showed up?” Heather pulls back from him and looks up into his face.
”I think there”d be a few people who were a bit disappointed,” Dave says, smiling down at his bride. ”But how about if we go in there together?”
Heather frowns. ”You mean just walk right out and up to the altar?”
”No. Let”s go out the side door like you were going to do, and around the church. We”ll walk down the aisle together.”
Heather is stunned by this suggestion; she”d been so sure that she”d be standing in that doorway alone, chin held high, no father or brother or son or anyone to walk her down the aisle in the traditional fashion. But now she reimagines the scene with her arm looped through Dave”s, goofy smiles on both of their faces.
”You mean buck tradition?” Heather wrinkles her nose.
”Absolutely. And in fact, my dear, I”d be willing to venture that you”ve already bucked most traditions. So how about if you let me walk my lady down the aisle rather than standing at the altar and waiting for her to arrive? It would be my honor to escort you.”
Dave holds out his arm and Heather takes it, her smile as wide as it”s ever been. ”Let”s do this,” she says.
They step out the side door of the church into the bright December sun, and the air is cold—it’s crisp and clean and new. Gone is the snow, and in its place is a fresh and bracing sense of promise.
At the front of the church, they step up the three painted steps together. Ruby opens the door, handing Heather a gorgeous tropical bouquet of winter flowers. ”Ready?” she whispers, seemingly unshocked by Heather and Dave appearing together. With a glance and a wave at the front of the church to indicate that both bride and groom are indeed at the door, Ruby cues the pianist, who begins to play Pachelbel”s Canon in D.
And without further ado, Heather Charleton-Bicks becomes Heather Hutchens, and every single one of her friends heaves a sigh of pleasure at the sight of her beaming smile, shining eyes, and at the look of love she gives to Dave.