Damaged (12 page)

Mary clapped again, in delight. “Isn't it pretty?”

“Very pretty. I like very much this dress.” Natalia held the hanger and slid the garment bag off expertly, then unzipped the back of the dress while Mary tried to contain her excitement.

“I can't even believe it, it's so beautiful!”

“Very beautiful.” Natalia's accent made it sound like
byutiful
, which to Mary's ear sounded even more
byutiful
than
beautiful
.

“I love it! It is
classic
!”

“Very classic. Arms up.”

Mary reached up as Natalia guided the dress over her hands, down her arms, and onto her shoulders. “This is so exciting, isn't it?”

“Yes,” Natalia answered, though she didn't sound excited.

Mary's head popped through the top of the dress like a baby being born, then she whirled around to face the mirror, the voluminous skirt swirling around her like vanilla softserve. She practically gasped in delight. “It looks so beautiful, I couldn't be happier! Thank you so much, Natalia, for all of your help!”

“Stand still, and I zip.” Natalia went around the back of the dress and zipped it up.

Mary obeyed, surveying her reflection, her heart soaring. She could never have imagined that it would feel this wonderful to be in her wedding dress, though she had been happily married before. But her life was beginning anew, starting over again with Anthony, and she knew that they would be happy together, forever. They would be perfect, just like this dress. They were
classic
.

“Hmmm,” Natalia said, without elaboration.

“Are you going to zip it up?” Mary asked, glancing behind her.

“Is zipped.” Natalia stepped aside, eyeing Mary's reflection in the mirror.

“It can't be.” Mary looked down, confused. She was swimming in the dress. She peeked inside the top and she could see her bra, her nipple, and all the way down to the elastic waistband of her Hanes. She looked like a small child standing in a sparkly white barrel.

“You have los' much weight.”

“Not
that
much.”

“Yes. Dress is too big.”

“That can't be!”

“Is true.”

“What?” Mary deflated, crestfallen and bewildered, then she heard the door open in the hallway and giggling outside the fitting room.

“Mare, what's taking so long?” Judy asked, knocking on the louvered door.

“We don't wanna wait anymore!” Anne chimed in.

“Guys!” Mary reached for the doorknob and flung open the door. “Look!”

“Oh no!” Anne said, horrified. Her glossy mouth dropped open.

“Yikes!” Judy grimaced. “It's way too big.”

“I lost weight!” Mary wailed. “It doesn't fit!”

Anne stepped into the fitting room, her lovely green eyes scrutinizing the dress like a garment surgeon. “Nobody freak out. I'm excellent in a fashion emergency.”

“What am I gonna do?” Mary wailed again.

“Eat something?” Judy offered. “Like, a pizza? Or two?”

“Hush, Judy.” Anne grabbed the clip from her hair, stepped around the back of the dress, and used it to gather up the fabric. “See, this is no problem. This is nothing. Natalia, you can have the tailor take it in, back here. You just hide the seam in the zipper and move the darts in the front, on the bust.”

“I lost my boobs,” Mary said, trying not to whine. “Only my nipples are left.”

Natalia shook her head in disapproval. “Ladies. Problem is, time.”

Anne scoffed. “The wedding is two weeks away, that's enough time.”

“Tailoring, so much as that, take time.”

“How much will it cost to rush it?” Anne shot back.

Natalia folded her meaty arms. “Many dresses before this. Is busy now. We make no promises.”

“How
much
?” Anne repeated, her eyes glittering.

Mary sighed inwardly. She hadn't known she was a sad drunk, until now. Maybe the horrible day was catching up with her. “Natalia, can I get more champagne?”

 

CHAPTER TWELVE

It was dark by the time Mary got home, because they'd gone out drinking to celebrate the fact that the bridesmaids' dresses fit Judy and Anne perfectly. It was going to cost Mary $500 in rush charges to get her dress tailored in time for the wedding, with no guarantees from Natalia, who'd been harder to negotiate with than Vladimir Putin.

Mary juggled her purse and messenger bag to unlock the front door to her townhouse. The door swung open into the dark hallway, and she shut the door behind her. She didn't turn on the light or bother to pick up the mail that lay scattered all over the floor, because it got delivered through the mail slot in the door. She was in no mood for dealing with bills or anything else tonight.

She dropped her purse and messenger bag on the floor, twisted the deadbolt locked, and walked down the hallway, her heels clacking on the hardwood floor until she kicked them off and sent them skidding into the darkened living room. The house was cool, thanks to central air, though it felt large and vaguely hollow without Anthony. Still, it wasn't the worst thing, to have it all to herself. The place was large by Center City standards, a full-sized three-bedroom, two-and-a-half-bath townhome that she had bought after she made partner, and that had been a struggle, with Anthony feeling terrible that he hadn't been able to pay half of the mortgage payment, much less the down payment. Finally, they had resolved the problem, and he paid what he could, which was fine with her.

She walked upstairs in the darkness, sliding her phone from her jacket pocket to see if Anthony had called. She checked the glowing home screen for a text or call alert, but there were none. He was on the West Coast, three hours behind her, so it would be about dinnertime in Los Angeles, now. They usually spoke once or twice a day, but it was for the best that he hadn't called, since she'd had her hands full with Edward and Patrick.

She reached the top of the stairs, using the phone screen to light her way, and turned on the hall light, then headed into the bedroom. She didn't bother going into the bathroom, she didn't need to use the toilet and she wasn't even going to bother to wash her face. She trundled into the bedroom, fighting off low-level depression that she knew had nothing to do with her wedding dress issues, as aggravating as those were. She kept thinking about Patrick and Edward, and the sadness of their situation was settling into her bones, making all of her personal problems trivial by comparison.

Mary leaned over and turned on the lamp on the nightstand, then she wandered over to the chair, shedding her jacket, taking her blouse off over her head, and snapping off her bra, which shot in the air like a slingshot. She didn't know where it landed and she didn't care. She shimmied out of her skirt, dumped it on the chair, and went to bed in her good old Hanes, taking off her glasses and slipping under the covers holding the phone.

Mary took a moment to exhale, looking around the cozy bedroom, a sight that usually gave her so much comfort, but not now. Tonight she was acutely aware of how very lucky she was to have the house she had, the life she had, and the neighborhood where she lived, having been given all of the advantages as a child. Not money certainly, but two remarkable parents, Vita and Mariano DiNunzio, who loved her to the very marrow. When she was a child, they hovered over her and her twin sister Angie, cheered them on, and defended them from anyone. Her mother made novenas so they would do well on their SATs and cast colorful folkloric curses on anyone who even thought about doing them wrong. Mary didn't want to judge Edward, but she knew her father would have cut off his right arm before he'd let her take a punch.

She shifted onto her right side, her head full of Edward's family and her family, then the Machiavellis. The DiNunzios had always disliked them for their phoniness, and her mother called them
spacone
, or “show off.” Mary shuddered to think what they would say if they knew that Machiavelli was defending a man capable not only of abusing a child, but of trying to profit from his disgusting crime.

Mary sighed and tried to quiet her mind. She checked the phone, but Anthony still hadn't called. She felt drowsy and tired, so she set the phone on his pillow on his side of the bed, which was farther from the bathroom, only fair because he was the guy. He and Mary had shared equally in decorating their bedroom, making all the decisions together, and it had turned out beautiful.

Byutiful.

Moonlight poured through the window, making a shimmering shaft on the foot of her bed and illuminating the entire bedroom. She could see all of the familiar shapes in the moonshine; the pine dressers on the other side of the room, his and hers, which they bought from an antique store in Lambertville, and an almost-matching pine armoire on the right side of the room, since the house was of colonial vintage, a time when nobody was prioritizing closet space.

Mary shifted onto her back and above her was a lovely dotted Swiss canopy, another find when they were scouring for antique bedding; the canopy looked so fitting on their canopy bed, which was made of tiger maple, a wood that Anthony had fallen in love with. They were both homebodies, with him developing an interest in woodworking, and Mary surprised to find that she loved making an herb garden in their kitchen and the tiny patch of yard, in the back of the house.

All of these thoughts made Mary miss him, so she reached for the phone, scrolled to
FAVORITES
, and pressed the first name. When the call connected, she said, “Hey, honey—”

“Babe! I was just about to call you!” Anthony sounded alert, happy, and loud, owing to some background chatter, so Mary held the phone away from her ear.

“I figured, but I'm going to bed early. I'm so beat. I've had the day from hell—”

“Things are great here! I'm about to go out to dinner with a bunch of my colleagues from the department.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, they're great! I'm helping them with some research, too. They might even credit me on their paper.”

“Wow.” Mary felt happy for him. He was an academic, and he was at UCLA doing research for his book on Carlo Tresca and American anarchism in the 1920s. He'd gotten a book contract from an academic press, which was wonderful. “Right up your alley.”

“I know, right? And you're not going to believe this, but I went to the beach today.”

Mary chuckled. “UCLA is near a beach?”

“Everywhere in California is near a beach. The whole damn state is a beach! It's unreal! I might learn how to surf!”

“Really?”

“Why not, huh? I tried it and it was awesome! We had a great time!”

“We?” Mary couldn't help but wonder if there were women in the group, but she wasn't the jealous type, and Anthony would never cheat on her.

“You know, the grad students and the faculty.”

“That sounds great. You know, I tried on my dress—”

“Babe, I have to go. They're waiting for me, for dinner.”

“Okay, sure. Great. Have fun. Love you,” Mary said, but Anthony had already hung up.

Mary set the phone down, stewing. The final draft of Anthony's manuscript was due in a month, and she didn't know how he'd get his book done if he was surfing. But that was his look-out. Still she thought of him at a beach with a balmy sea breeze, but with no humidity. California was a mythical place, and she'd never been, though Anthony kept telling her it was beautiful.

Byutiful.

Mary realized she hadn't gotten a chance to tell him about the crabmeat appetizer, which she wanted to run by him. She'd also wanted to tell him about the dress, too, but mostly she wanted to vent about Patrick's case, how awful it was, how emotional. He would have understood that, and she'd wanted to hear his voice. It wasn't like him to practically hang up on her.

And he'd forgotten to say, I love you.

 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Every Friday morning, the lawyers of Rosato & DiNunzio held a staff meeting to update each other on their cases, and though Mary usually enjoyed going, she didn't today. She felt completely preoccupied when she entered conference room C, where everybody was making small talk, grabbing fresh coffee and muffins. She went to the credenza, where the cityscape outside the window looked sunny, bright, and metallic.

Last night she had lost sleep worrying about Patrick, and Lou Jacobs, their firm investigator, had emailed her Robertson's address, which was only three miles from Edward's house in Juniata. Lou had learned that the only car registered to Robertson was a 2006 red VW Passat, not a brown sedan, but Mary figured he could have borrowed the sedan, in case he was spotted.

She placed a blueberry muffin on a paper plate, although now that she could afford the calories, she wasn't hungry. She felt unusually separate from everyone around her, a half-step behind. Maybe it was because she'd been late to the office again, because she'd worked on Patrick's case.

“Let's sit down and get started,” Bennie Rosato said, clutching a coffee and taking her seat at the head of the conference table, as founding partner of the firm. The fact that Mary had made partner didn't mean that the firm's seating order would reshuffle, and Mary was fine with that, disliking change in general. Bennie was the same way, never changing anything, not even her look; she was a six-foot tall, athletic blonde, and she always wore her hair in a messy topknot and dressed in a white oxford shirt and plain khaki suit, like a legal uniform.

Mary sat down catty-corner to Bennie, and Judy sat down next to Mary, shooting her a quick smile. Across the table sat Anne Murphy and John Foxman, their new associate, and the only male lawyer in the firm. John was good-looking in a preppy way, with a congenitally serious expression, pale blue eyes, costly rimless glasses, and precisely layered red hair. John worked for Judy on her asbestos cases, which was fine with Mary because he reminded her of the white-shoe litigators at her old law firm, Grun & Stalling. To her mind, there was nothing a snob deserved more than the flaming hell of asbestos cases.