Chapter 13 Blythe
BLYTHE
“Oh, Roo, you look so pretty,” I praise my daughter as she jumps down from the chair she’s been quietly sitting on while having her hair braided.
“It’s French!” she chirps, flipping the end with her wrist.
“It most certainly is,” I reply, sneaking a peek over at Sarah, who is desperately trying to hide a laugh. Maggi has been talking about her French braid for days. Ever since Sarah sent her a picture asking if she’d like her hair done in one.
I’ve been off getting ready, so I’m not sure if anyone had specific things to say about it being French, but my daughter is sure acting like it’s fancier because of the name.
“You look beautiful, Mommy,” Maggi gushes as her little hands brush down the front of the rose-print dress I picked. “I have flowers too.” She points down at her pale green dress with sprigs of white heather as if I hadn’t been there the day we found it.
She twirls and giggles as the dress flares away from her body.
The bridesmaids all “ooh” and “ahh,” only egging her on to the point I have to grab her shoulders to keep her upright.
“Should we go see Nana and Papa before it’s time for the ceremony?” I ask.
“Yes!” Maggi leaps into the air before running to the door.
“You all look beautiful,” I compliment the women, giving Sarah an approving nod as I follow Maggi from the room.
I was grateful to have a bit of time to myself this morning.
After Sarah came to collect Maggi, I took a long shower.
Had a bit of a cry over being here without Eric and read a couple of chapters of the copy of Emma I borrowed from the library.
Or rather, I tried to read it. My mind kept wandering back to sitting across from Sam, which was a weird experience, having recently cried over my dead husband.
Or maybe it’s not. I’ve never done any of this before.
We find Martha and Thomas in the conservatory drinking tea with Colin’s parents. Everyone looking relaxed and happy, the exact thing you hope to see on a day like this.
“Maggi MacTavish, you are the most bonnie lass at the wedding,” Thomas exclaims, picking her up and spinning, leaving Maggi lost in another fit of laughter.
Martha joins in on the praise before she leads a slightly wobbly Maggi away to a table with a puzzle they started yesterday.
Thomas comes to stand beside me and leans in. “How are you doing today, my dear?”
I take a deep breath, telling myself I’m fine over and over again before I manage to answer. I don’t know what it is about Eric’s father in particular, but any time he asks how I’m doing and it’s a situation like this, where we wish Eric was present, it hits ten times harder.
I nod and smile sadly at him. Not bothering to lie. “I’m okay. Not great but okay.”
He hums in agreement and gives my hand a quick squeeze. “You’re doing great.”
I know he isn’t contradicting me. He’s acknowledging that I’m here. That my daughter is thriving despite everything. That most days I feel nearly whole again. And he says it with confidence and joy because he wants me to be doing great in every possible way, and I love him endlessly for that.
“I’m doing well in large part because of how supportive you and Martha have been,” I admit.
“You’re family. Eric being gone doesn’t change that. And we’re still here and owe it to him to live.” He offers me a pointed look.
“I know.” I smile back as motion outside catches my attention.
The groomsmen walk by, laughing and shoving one another. They look great in their blue and green tartan kilts and button-ups under dark jackets. I haven’t seen a sight like this since my wedding and it has me quickly wiping away a rogue tear.
“He seems like a good lad.” I hear Thomas say, and I drag my gaze away from the groomsman.
“Sarah would only pick a good one. Your kids have excellent taste.” I nudge my father-in-law only to see him give a nearly imperceptible shake of his head.
He nods toward the window. “That’s true but in this case, I’m talking about that friend of Colin’s.”
I look back outside to see the man in question. Sam is standing with his hands on his hips, chatting easily with the guy from France. He laughs at something, and even though I can’t see it because of the angle, I know his dimples are on full display.
“Mags likes him.”
“Maggi likes everyone,” I say, making myself stop looking outside and choose to focus on where my people-loving daughter is making a funny face at Martha. “She’s got so much of Eric in her personality.”
Thomas grunts in agreement. “Have you thought more about our offer?”
Their offer.
Three months ago, after saying goodnight to Maggi, they asked if they could chat with me for a bit so I sent Maggi off to colour. They asked if I would ever consider moving to Scotland so that I’d have help with Maggi and they’d get to see us more.
I’ve never lived abroad. Eric and I talked about the possibility one day, but it never went anywhere.
Maggi could start school fresh here. I could find a new job. I haven’t gone back to work after Eric. I sold my flower store, and we live on that and the life insurance money.
“I’m still weighing my options.” Maggi’s squeal tugs at my heart.
I want her to have this all the time. I’m dragging my feet to leave the place where all the best things happened.
The worst thing too, though. The front door of the home I’d loved from the first time we saw it was tainted.
A knock always sends me into a near panic.
The flashbacks of opening the door and seeing two police officers standing there took over a year to stop haunting me.
Still, moving feels a bit like I’m running away. And maybe it’s selfish to stay in Canada because I’m afraid.
The groomsmen move on as guests begin to arrive, but not before Sam looks directly through the window at me. I get a little grin and a slight nod of his head and he may as well have run his hand down the back of my neck and kissed me judging by the full-body reaction I experience.
“Mommy, is it time?” Maggi asks, tugging my hand for my attention. I’m still looking out at the courtyard even though Sam and the guys are no longer there.
I need to stop acting like a schoolgirl with a crush and focus on getting Maggi down the aisle.
Looking around, I see the bridesmaids making their way down the main stairway in the foyer. Their dresses in shades of blue will look nice with the blue and green tartan. The bridal party portraits will be beautiful. Whoever ends up next to Sam will look stunning.
A twinge of jealousy pulls at my skin, and I try to shake it off by grabbing Maggi’s hand and leading her out to meet everyone else.
“Are you ready for your big walk, Mags?” Sarah asks, bending to look her in the eye.
“Yep!” Maggi sings. “Where are my petals?” she asks, her face pulled tight with concern.
“They’re waiting for you outside. Don’t worry, you’ll have them before you walk down.” Sarah stands and runs her hand down her dress. “Speaking of,” she nods toward the back door. “Looks like it’s time. Good luck, Mags,” she says, blowing my daughter a kiss.
Maggi beams back and reaches for my hand again, this time leading me toward the door.
I know something has changed the minute we’re outside.
Maggi’s grip keeps tightening, and her steps have become shorter.
It’s like she hears the volume of conversation, and her nerves kick in.
My child, who is never nervous, suddenly looks like she’d much rather run back into the house and hide than throw some flowers down the aisle.
I crouch, willing my balance to hold me up on the gravel and take both her hands in mine. “You’re going to do so well, Roo! I’m going to wait for you in our seat, and when you’re done, you can come sit on my lap, okay?”
She looks up at me with wide eyes, glistening with unshed tears, and I wonder if I’m about to walk down the aisle too as some oversized flower girl.
But she nods, and an “okay” squeaks free.
The planner hands her the basket, which is now overflowing with white rose petals, and after one last look and kisses exchanged, I’m hurrying down the aisle and trying not to make eye contact with Sam.
I fail, of course, because he’s looking at me. He’s always looking at me. We trade smiles before I take my seat, but my attention immediately goes to the back of the courtyard when I hear the first strands of the song everyone other than Sarah is coming down the aisle to.
Maggi takes a few steps, her hand dipping into the basket and then dropping a few petals to the side. But then the basket is falling to the ground, and she’s standing there staring at it. I see the signs of a breakdown, and I’m starting to stand when a large body races by.
The basket is picked up along with Maggi, and suddenly there is indeed an oversized flower girl… flower man leading the processional.
Sam dramatically tosses a handful of petals, and I watch in awe as Maggi copies him. Grinning like a little fool as she adds dramatic flourishes to her movements.
“I didn’t know Sam had a daughter.” “He’s such a great dad.” “I would reproduce with that man any minute of the day.” I try and fail to ignore the murmurs that make their way to me as Sam carries Maggi all the way to the end of the aisle before turning and handing her to me.
“Time to go to Mommy, princess.” For a brief moment I’m sure he does in fact look like her father as both our arms wrap around her, our bodies close together as he hands her off to me.
“Thank you,” I mouth before he’s striding back to the front, just in time for the first bridesmaid to make her way down.
Maggi’s eyes are glued to Sam, and she gives him a little wave. He winks back at her before his gaze slides to me. He doesn’t wink at me, which is a good thing. I’ve never liked a wink. But I get another nod and a slightly larger grin.
That look is like a tonic for my soul. On one hand it should leave me flustered because it seems to have so much power over me.
But it makes me feel good. I want to ask if I can take a picture of that grin so on the bad days I can look at it and immediately feel better.
Or maybe a video would be ideal since then I could get the nod in there too.
How the hell does one go about asking for such things?