She's All That (24 page)

Poppy comes up behind us and stares at the suitcase. “Well, you won't be working this weekend after all, I guess. Good thing we've got the papaya mask scheduled, don't you think?”

We all three look at one another and just start to laugh. “It's not funny,” I say through my laughter and tears.

Morgan shrugs. “It's sort of funny.”

“It's not a good sign, energy-wise,” Poppy says, shaking her head. “Maybe God is trying to tell you something, Morgan. At the very least, you shouldn't be rushing this.”

“Come on, let's get our rooms.” Morgan leads us into the travertine entry, and the great rock wall provides the focal point behind the massive granite countertop.

“Welcome to Laurwood, Miss Malliard. It's an honor to have you with us.” Then the uniformed girl lowers her tone. “I've heard on the radio there was an incident in the parkway. If you'll be so kind as to write your roommate's size down, we'll have a personal shopper attend to her needs right away. Will she be needing a new suitcase as well?”

“You're a four?” Morgan twists around and asks.

“Two,” I say sheepishly. “You have to have hips to be a four.”

“She's a two. She'll need something for bed, and then just a couple of casual sweatsuits for the rest of the weekend.” Morgan looks me over and faces the clerk again. “She's a winter. Don't worry about the suitcase. I think we can replace that on our own.”

The clerk writes everything down, and I feel like a child having someone go shopping for me. Me, a fashion designer, with no clothes and no income. Just when I think I've hit bottom, the floor gives way and I sink to new depths.

“Oh, I nearly forgot!” Morgan announces, and it seems like the entire foyer turns to gaze at us, like Alan Greenspan himself is talking. “She'll need something for a date on Sunday night. Not too sexy, but sexy enough. Maybe something in black.”

“Morgan!” I protest.

She leans in closer to the clerk. “It's with Max Schwartz, the hotel chain heir.”

The clerk gives me the once-over, probably wondering what Max Schwartz could possibly see in me. I'm sure if she knew the dinner was to give my Nana peace so she'd leave Max alone and be convinced that there's hope for me to avoid spinsterhood—or that Max is just the ploy for my surprise “I'm happy for you, Lilly” party—the clerk wouldn't be nearly so impressed. I know I'm not.

“Let's go.” I yank on Morgan's arm, she gets the key, and we hike up to our cabin. The grounds are perfection. Green vegetation hangs sloppily over the pathway leading up to the Winecar Cabin.

“This is nice, Morgan. You outdid yourself,” Poppy says.

“It's great, isn't it? The owner lives in Nob Hill. He comes in to buy gifts for his wife once in a while. My dad gives them to him just above wholesale, and we stay here for nearly nothing. We have to pay for meals and our treatments. The lodging is on the house, so I try not to take advantage and use it too often.”

Poppy and I both nod, not wanting to mention how completely out of our element we are. Once the path ends, I see the Winecar Cabin is no more a cabin than my loft is luxurious San Francisco living!

The cabin is at the top of the trees and has a huge balcony. “Open the door!” I say excitedly.

The room is luxurious with a fluffy, white
duvet
on the magnificent bed and hardwood floors covered by a natural-weave rug. There's white wainscoting around the perimeter of the living room and windows everywhere overlooking the luscious gardens. It feels like we're actually living in the tree. I run into the bathroom and see a modernized, claw-foot tub with old-fashioned-looking Victorian plumbing. “Absolute perfection,” I say.

“It is lovely, isn't it?” Morgan asks. “Mrs. Kapsan has a lot of style, and I think it shows.”

“Mrs. Kapsan?” I question, swallowing hard at the familiar name.

“That's right. You met their daughter Caitlyn. She's the one dating Stuart, Lilly,” Morgan says, implying
money-grubbing
creep
when she says his name.

Things just went from momentarily glorious to down the drain again, and all in the midst of such fine, luxury appointments. So wrong.

We all come out of the bathroom after sniffing the soaps and shower gels and see the message light is blinking. I plop down on the huge king-sized bed at the back of the room and rest my head on my hands. “The message light is on. I tell you,” I say, putting the back of my hand on my forehead, “my fans give me no rest.” Knowing full well that this call is no more for me than it is Johnny Depp calling.

I reach into the bedside table and grab a Bible. I open it to Acts and just start reading. It soothes my soul to think of the power of God, and it reminds me that though I tend to live day-to-day, He has a plan for me.

Morgan walks over, ever-so-elegantly, and calls down for messages with the touch of a button. “It's probably your clothes, Lilly. Maybe there's a problem. Who knows where they'll find size two in this one-horse town.” She laughs her light, tinkling laugh.

Her words serve to remind me that I've not only ruined her wedding fabric but also my only paying design work. My heart falls as the reality of what I've done sinks in. Morgan would never say so, but this has to be hard on her. I know she searched long and hard for that fabric, and it's not easily replaceable. At least not in this country. It will dry out, but it will never be the same.

A finance job is sounding more and more reasonable.
Regardless of what happens
, I vow,
I'm going to design Morgan the
most beautiful, lusted-after gown San Francisco has ever seen.
Scratch that. That Paris has ever seen!

Morgan listens to the message, and her smile dissipates. I watch her eyelids flutter, then close slowly, and Poppy looks at me worriedly. Morgan lowers herself to the floor, leaning against the bed.

“Morgan?” Poppy says. But Morgan just waves at us to be quiet.

We wait for what seems an eternity, and Morgan finally drops the phone onto the floor with a clunk and lowers her face into her hands. Soft, muffled sobs emanate from behind the French-manicured fingers.

“Morgan? What is it?”

She lets out a deep breath and finally meets our agonized expressions. Then she straightens, and the businesslike Morgan, reserved for her father's charity events, returns. “There's no wedding,” she says, matter-of-factly. “You were right, Poppy. The suitcase was an omen.”

Morgan can't keep up the appearance, though, and crumbles into more tears, burying her face into her hands again.

“I don't believe in omens, really. That was a bad choice of words,” Poppy says. “What do you
mean
—there's no wedding? Did your dad get to the groom? Because if he did—”

“No, nothing like that.” Morgan sniffles. Her face is moist and pink, with mascara outlining her eyes like a raccoon.

I've never seen Morgan's makeup in disarray. It's unsettling. Now I'm thinking I wish I'd been more supportive of her. She actually looks truly crushed. I thought she didn't know what she was doing, but now, seeing her pain, I feel like a complete heel who didn't listen when her best friend needed her.

Lord, forgive me for not supporting her, for judging her instead.

“I will make you the most beautiful gown, Morgan. There will be a wedding,” I say, determined. “Whatever it is, we can fix it.”

She shakes her head, and smiles sadly. “Bless you, Lilly, but there really is no wedding. Marcus passed away this morning.”

Both Poppy and I gasp. Right.
We can't fix that.
I'm embarrassed.
He was old, but he wasn't that old.
I'd only been joking.

Morgan grabs our hands. “Marcus had a bad liver, girls. He was awaiting a transplant. That's why he was here. I thought with a quick wedding, we'd beat the deadline.”

“I'm sorry.” I hug her, and she just clutches Poppy and me for a good, long time.

“He was a great man. I'm just sorry you didn't get to meet him. He wasn't feeling well that night at the restaurant, Lilly, or I would have introduced you. I didn't think he was up to it, and he would have pretended and made it worse.”

“I don't understand,” Poppy says.

Morgan smiles. “Marcus thought he'd have a better chance on the transplant list if he was married to an American citizen. There's always an uproar when foreigners get transplants, but we thought…anyway…I wanted to help him. We owed him, and he deserved it.”

“You were going to marry him to get him a liver?” Poppy asks incredulously.

“I thought you only had one liver.”

“Not
my
liver!” Morgan says, as though I'm stupid. “I was going to marry him because it would have given him peace to be on the donor list.” Morgan looks at me. “The list where the donor has to be
dead
to donate, Lilly. A partial liver wouldn't have sufficed in his case. Marcus saved my dad from rotting in a Russian prison—or worse. If anyone deserved to have the favor returned, it was Marcus.”

“Back up,” I say. My head is now thoroughly swimming. I always knew that Morgan had a big heart. I didn't know she was completely sacrificial.

Morgan's jaw tightens. “My dad went to Russia, even though all his colleagues advised against it, and he bought some black market diamonds—diamonds that come from mines that are illegal because there are no safety checks in place. They basically come illegally from a war zone, and often people die to get them to market.”

“Did your dad know they were illegal?”

“No, but had he done his homework he would have known. He was only ignorant because he chose to be.”

“Did Marcus sell the diamonds to your dad?” I ask, knowing that Marcus was also in the business, according to the church group.

“Heavens, no. Marcus was a godly man. He found out that my dad had been suckered by some bad men in Russia, and he broke up the ring with the help of police and got my father released from prison.”

“Your dad was in prison?” Poppy gasps.

Morgan nods. “My dad was too proud to ever thank Marcus, to ever admit he deserved to be in that prison. But I know who saved my father from himself. It was Marcus Agav.” Morgan looks down again and cries some more. “The very least I could have done for him is save his life. I really am sorry we didn't make it.”

“I know you are, sweetie.” I put my arm around Morgan.

“Marcus wouldn't let me announce the wedding in the end. I think he knew he was getting worse.”

There's a knock at the door, and I jump up while Poppy continues to comfort Morgan. There's a valet holding Morgan's shantung silk, drenched and dripping. “Take it away,” I say quietly as I exit the cabin, shutting the door behind me. “Throw it away. Everything in that suitcase. Throw it out. We don't want to see it again.”

“Right away,” the young man says and scampers away leaving a trail of water behind him.

“Oh, Morgan, I'm so very sorry,” I murmur as I watch the man disappear down the path.
I'm the bad omen, Lord. Help me.

chapter 21

M
organ spends the entire afternoon crying, weeping that she should have done more for Marcus or married him sooner. I listen for as long as I can, and while I'm truly sorry for Marcus, I'm glad that Morgan will now have the opportunity to someday know true love in marriage. At least I hope she will. She has such a gentle heart, and I pray that the Lord will bring her someone to thoroughly adore her quiet spirit. Another artist—although this one might be employed. Not like Andy, who was more heart than ambition.

Outside, the sky darkens and dumps an uncharacteristic September downpour. The treehouse rooms feel more like a damp cave than an elegant Winecar Cabin, and I feel smothered by the anguish within these walls.

“I'm going for a walk,” I say suddenly. “Before the sun goes down.” The girls just nod, and Morgan gives a little hiccup.

“We'll watch
Benny and Joon
when you get back.” Poppy takes a VHS tape out of her bag. “Or
Don Juan DeMarco
?”

Morgan starts to laugh and sniffle. “You didn't bring those movies, did you? Haven't we matured at all?”

“No, not really, and they will cheer you up, Morgan. Besides, Lilly loves them, and we'll make popcorn and make her forget there's no Lysol to inhale. Don't you love Johnny Depp, Lilly?”

“Isn't that blasphemy to watch our cult favorites in this place?” I ask, looking around me at the elegant surroundings and burning mint candles. “We should be watching a Shakespearian play or something.”

“Perhaps, but when have
you
ever been one to mind the rules? People who mind the rules major in finance, and then get themselves a good job in finance. They don't leave a perfectly good career to be a fashion designer.” Poppy smiles, and Morgan giggles through her tears.

“
Touché
,” I say. Poppy left the life of medical school to be a chiropractor, so she knows all about not taking the beaten path. She and I are birds-of-a-feather in snubbing logical choices for a lesser-paying life of adventure. “I'll be back. I just need a bit of fresh air.” I close the door behind me and look up to the gray sky, feeling the droplets pour down my face. It's not cold, and the wet weather feels more refreshing than bothersome. I
deserve
the rain.

I start down the paved path, not bothering with an umbrella, just allowing the rain to beat down on me. Water.
Living water.
As I feel the drops pelting me, this verse comes to me:
You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose
waters never fail. Oh Lord, where are You now?
I feel my feet beneath me start to run down the path, and I hold my arms out to embrace the rain. I'm glad to leave the cabin behind, and I don't imagine I'll covet an elegant spa experience again anytime soon. While I know it's important to share in Morgan's pain, I just needed a break from that cabin filled with grief. I needed to remind myself that all is not lost, and that God still provides the rainbow of promise somewhere in this storm.