The Secret Wedding Dress (17 page)

She sighed. “I’ll probably have to take one of those spaniel pups. I shouldn’t confess that I talk to a dog, but Oscar’s been great company. The house doesn’t feel half so lonely when he’s around.”

Joel didn’t want to picture Sylvie feeling lonely. He knew what she meant, though. When Lynn walked out, Rianne had been a baby, but he talked to her as if she understood. He told her about his work. Sometimes he’d just needed to hear his own voice. Yes, Joel was familiar with the loneliness Sylvie mentioned.

“Uh, Sylvie, I hate to cut you off, but I need to get some work time in. I’d just booted up my computer when you phoned.”

“Oh. It is late. I have a row of seed pearls and some faux diamonds to sew on a dress. Sorry I disturbed you. Bye.”

The phone clicked in the middle of his farewell. Man, he hoped he hadn’t hurt her feelings. What dress? He didn’t know much about it, but weren’t those seed things used to trim wedding gowns? Joel’s fertile mind immediately conjured up the secret dress. But just because Sylvie planned to sew on pearls and phony diamonds, didn’t mean it was
that
dress.

What
if it was, though? What if she worked on it whenever she felt sad and lonely? That would be perfect for Magnolia. Joel had first thought he’d give her a finished gown to drag around. But maybe one in progress would touch readers more. Hell, it touched him as he imagined Sylvie feeling lonely.
Maybe he shouldn’t use her as a model.

Sylvie wasn’t exactly the way he envisioned his character. With her charm and energy, Sylvie was a focus of attention, and she knew everyone in Briarwood. Yet, Joel had picked up on a certain nuance in her voice tonight. What if a different woman lurked below the surface of all that vitality? A sensitive, more tentative woman?

Damn, he didn’t want to think about that, either. And Magnolia wasn’t really Sylvie. She was a composite of any number of single women, as were Rose and Poppy.

He told himself it was coincidence that Sylvie came to mind as he sketched situations involving Magnolia’s arrival in the big city. Sylvie’s parents were fixtures in Briarwood. Maybe he’d give Magnolia’s parents a summer cottage on the outskirts of Atlanta—they’d be in a good position to stir the pot occasionally. Unhappy with their meddling in her life, Magnolia moves bag and baggage in with her cousins.
Perfect.
The secret dress consumes half of her dinky closet. Joel sketched a frame in which Magnolia feverishly sewed on the dress one night while her cousins slept.

An hour or so before dawn, he e-mailed six weeks’ worth of strips.

When his machine confirmed that the last one had safely arrived, Joel stretched and yawned. He needed to find out more about Sylvie’s dress. Not that Magnolia’s would be like Sylvie’s mysterious gown, of course.

Anyway, Sylvie had her head screwed on straight. She didn’t need a man. Joel pictured Magnolia as more…vulnerable. The dialogue he chose for her would let readers know her protests were pure defense.

Joel
wanted readers to see that deep down, Magnolia, like her cousins, dreamed of having a house in the burbs, a white picket fence and two-point-five children. Unlike Sylvie Shea, his characters all longed to be married. Magnolia, especially, ached for a husband.

Well, maybe “ached” was too melodramatic.

He was pleased with his night’s work. However, he needed to get some information from the gossips in town about how
the
dress had come into existence, even though all the stories would be exaggerated out of all proportion. Somebody had probably fabricated the tale about a guy in New York dumping Sylvie. Who’d be such an idiot? In fact, hadn’t Sylvie said she came back home when her Grandmother Shea died?

He was pretty sure she had.

Joel set his alarm for eight, then fell into bed. Better get some sleep. He dared not let Sylvie and Dory leave without Rianne. If he did, he’d never hear the end of it. Nor would he deserve to….

In the
morning, Joel made the mistake of telling his daughter he’d confirmed her baby-gift shopping expedition with Sylvie, Dory and Kendra. Rianne shrieked with excitement. The girl was even more ecstatic to hear her trip wasn’t just a matter of going to downtown Briarwood, but all the way to Asheville. Joel had difficulty getting her to sit down and eat breakfast. “Eat,” he directed for the hundredth time, “or I’ll change my mind.”

She began to stuff her cheeks with pancake, all the while wiggling and kicking her feet. “Maybe I’ll see school clothes to buy, too. Will you give Sylvie ’nuff money in case I do?” “Snooks, I think Sylvie’s got plenty to do. If you see something you really like, maybe Sylvie or Dory will jot down the name of the store. You and I can go back-to-school shopping another day.”

“But we’ll already be there. And some other girl might buy the dress before you take me back. ’Sides, Sylvie knows more about what little girls wear to school than you do, Daddy.”

She had him there. “I’m sure that’s true. However, school-shopping is a job for parents.”

“Why?”

“Rianne, eat!”

“Ashleigh said moms hafta buy dresses for girls. ’Cause dads don’t care if stuff looks nice or colors match. Like hair bows and socks and sweaters and—”

“All
right,” he broke in. “Who walked around the store the other day until we found a hair ribbon the exact shade of the dress you wore to the wedding? Not you, little miss. Your dad pointed out that the blue you first found clashed with the dress.”

“Mommy looks nice on TV. Her colors always match. Do you think she might come and take me school-shopping?”

Joel almost dropped the spatula and the pancake he’d just lifted to flip. He’d shown Rianne plenty of pictures of Lynn. This was a new wrinkle. To his knowledge, it was the first time she’d ever asked to do anything with her mother. Awash in sudden panic, Joel floundered for a suitable response. Lynn hadn’t returned his call when he left a message to let her know they’d arrived in Briarwood. She had his cell number, and he’d left their home number, too, specifically saying it was in case she wanted to contact Rianne.

If ever anyone was saved by a bell, Joel was. By the front doorbell. His watch said eight forty-five. He still needed to comb Rianne’s hair and send her in to brush her teeth.

She ran to the door and returned with Sylvie in tow.

“Is my kitchen clock slow?” he asked. “I show we have fifteen minutes to spare.”

“We do. Uh, I needed to catch you before Dory arrives.”

Joel could see that Sylvie’s thoughts were turned inward. “Rianne, scoot upstairs and brush your teeth. And do a good job, because I’m planning to check them. Bring your comb down, okay? And the yellow barrettes that go with the shirt you have on.” Maybe he made that point to show he did have color sense.

“What’s up?” he asked, collecting the dirty dishes from the table. “Is taking Rianne going to be a problem?”

“Oh, heavens, nothing of the sort.” She bit her lip, then blurted, “Mother phoned this morning. She said Dad’s calling a committee meeting for the Labor Day Festival. It’s this evening. Hot dogs and chips at their house at five o’clock. Mom
suggested Dory and I come straight there from shopping. She also suggested you meet us there, so Rianne and I can switch from Dory’s car to yours to ride home afterward.”

“Sounds fine. What’s the problem?”

“It’s started, Joel. The finagling to throw us together. Did you mean it last night when you said you have a built-in immunity to being hustled toward the altar?”

She looked so genuinely upset, Joel tried to take her seriously. Really, he thought her folks were probably just being nice in including him. “Sylvie, did you ever stop to think that if you resisted less, they might give up faster? Sometimes the fun for matchmakers is more about the challenge. If you play along, suddenly their challenge is gone, and they move on to someone who provides a greater test of their ability.”

He read total disbelief in her eyes. “Trust me,” he said.

“I don’t know. I haven’t put up a lot of resistance in the past. I can’t seem to tell them no, so I go out with the guys they dredge up.”

“Have you dated one of these guys more than once?”

“Sometimes. Until it’s obvious we’re both miserable.”

“But I heard you arguing with Dory. I’m telling you, don’t do that.”

Rianne thundered down the stairs, Fluffy slinking along behind her. “Daddy, does Fluffy have water in her bowl? She was in the bathroom sink.”

Sylvie laughed. “The porcelain in the sink is cool. That’s a common thing cats do when the humidity gets this high.”

“You’re smart,” Rianne said happily. “Sylvie, will you put my hair in braids? The way you fixed yours that day at the lake?”

Sylvie took the brush and asked Rianne to sit in the chair. She made such short work of fashioning two braids, Joel watched in silent admiration.

“Daddy, did you ask Sylvie if she minded helping me pick out some school clothes today?”

“No, Rianne. I thought we settled that issue. If you see
something you like, I said maybe Sylvie will write down the name of the store. I’ll take you back another day.”

“But, Dadd…eee!” Rianne’s lower lip protruded a mile, and she flounced out of her chair.

“It wouldn’t be any trouble, Joel,” Sylvie remarked when Rianne was making the journey back up to her room to return the comb and pick up a sweater in case it got chilly later at the committee hot dog fest. “We’ll be in the baby departments of clothing stores and they’re adjacent to departments carrying her size. Dory may want to buy some stuff for Kendra. She goes to kindergarten this year.”

Joel dug out his wallet. “I’m not going to object if do you run across something. One of the hardest things to do when you’re a single dad is buying clothes. I can’t go into her dressing room if she needs help. And yet, when I see some of today’s teens at the malls, I’m sure I’ll do a better job of helping her choose stuff that’s appropriate.”

Sylvie glanced at the ceiling and hummed.

“What? I see skepticism written all over you.”

“Well, fortunately you have six years or so until she’s a teen. I suppose you can burn candles and pray in the interim that the fads change.” She smiled. “Briarwood is conservative compared to New York. I lived and worked in the garment district, and I can tell you that designers sit in coffee houses and dream up wild, outlandish fads to set the fashion world on its ear. Who’s most susceptible to buying the rage of the age? Pre-teens and teens, that’s who. Believe it or not, they have the most discretionary money to spend, at least according to surveys.”

“It’s a parent’s job to set limits.”

“Make that
try
to set limits. Show me a parent who doesn’t want his or her kid to fit in. I remember my mom complaining about the gross things Carline’s crowd all had to have. In the end Mom said a few items of silly clothing were the lesser battles.”

“You’re
the third person in the last few days to give me a reality check about the teen years—the school secretary, the librarian and your sister, Dory.” Joel turned as Rianne skipped into the room. She looked so sweet and wholesome in her blue shorts, yellow T-shirt and twin pigtails. A car horn honked outside, and Sylvie said it was her sister.

Joel hugged Rianne. He issued the standard lecture about being good and minding her manners. Part of him wanted to scoop her up and lock all doors and windows against the inevitable growing-up process.

“Catch you again at five o’clock. Before I forget, here are the addresses you wanted. Shoot, I forgot to write down my parents’ address, Joel. Oh, it’s in the phone book. In two places. Under Rob Shea and again under Briarwood’s mayor.”

“I’ll find it. Have a good time. I did list my phone numbers. I gave it to you along with the cash.”

“Right. And Joel,” Sylvie said with a mischievous smile. “Take heart. We won’t be bringing home any leather or Goth outfits.”

That promise sounded so ridiculous it restored his good mood. Joel stepped out on the porch and waved to Dory. Kendra and Rianne had already met at the entry to his lane, skipping and chattering excitedly.

Joel was slow to close his door, choosing to linger in the opening until Dory’s car disappeared. It crossed his mind that Lynn’s career couldn’t hold a match to everything she was missing in not seeing these milestones in her daughter’s life.

D
ORY HAD BARELY
driven off when she nudged Sylvie in the ribs. “I’m surprised to see you coming out of Joel’s house instead of yours, big sister. What gives?”

“As if you don’t know about Mother’s trumped-up festival committee meeting this evening. I went over to deliver the invitation in person. Anyway, I knew he’d probably want me to carry Rianne’s money today.”

“Is
he going to the meeting? What is it he actually does for a living, Sylvie?”

Sylvie knew she’d have a hard time revising her opposition to her family’s unabashed probing, as Joel had suggested. “He’s going to the meeting. I haven’t the foggiest idea what his job is, Dory. He works nights. Maybe he makes book, for all I know.”

“Is he paying a lot of alimony?”

“Dory, for pity’s sake!” Sylvie darted a glance over her shoulder at the girls talking and giggling in the back seat.

“Words like alimony go right over their sweet little heads, Syl. Maybe Dad will find out today. He’s going to run over to Joel’s to see if he wants to fish for a while this afternoon.”

Sylvie sank back in the seat. From experience she recognized that there was no putting brakes on the Shea machine once it got rolling. Maybe she should sit back and see if R-to-infinity insulation was as powerful as Joel claimed.

“No comment to that?” Dory inquired.

“What’s to say? Who’d listen if I objected? Besides, Joel’s a big boy. I trust he’s not going to get drawn into anything he doesn’t want to do.”

“Oh-ho, do I detect a difference in your attitude, big sister?” Dory half snickered. “Does that mean you’re the tiniest bit interested in him, Sylvie?”

“What were you planning to buy Carline’s baby?”

“Quit trying to change the subject. You always argue when anyone in the family messes with your love life. When you stop, it means something’s up.”

“That’s rich. I have no love life, Dory. And you know what’s funny? He’s the first guy you’ve shoved in my path who has a built-in obstacle. A kid,” she said, lowering her voice. “You’re the one who’s forever saying that kids have a way of putting the skids on your love life.”

Her sister remained quiet for so long, Sylvie decided she’d scored a point. “Baby gift,” she prodded, satisfied with her
success. “Jeff hasn’t left much for us to buy, has he? Outside of a cradle—which Dad’s carving for them like he did for you and Grant—there’s not a whole lot they need other than clothes. And even that’s iffy.”

“I thought a nice handmade quilt. The craft shops in Asheville ought to have some beauties.”

“Oh. So, you’re not planning to shop in the big department stores?”

“I’d want a gift that’s one of a kind. We can go to a mall if there’s something you need. We have all day. Or most of it, anyway.”

“Rianne asked if I’d help her find a few outfits for school. Joel forked over enough money to buy her a whole wardrobe.”

“He did? Wow. That’s significant.”

“How, Dory? His child expressed interest in looking for school clothes. We’re going to a town where there’s more choice. He’s not. And guys dislike shopping, while women love to poke around. Don’t make more of it than that.”

“Okay, okay. But it goes to show how much he needs a wife.” Sylvie nearly took a chunk out of her tongue, she bit it so hard to keep from exploding at her sister with the one-track mind. Sylvie decided not to ask Dory for any game suggestions for Rianne’s birthday party. Imagine what a mountain she’d make out of
that
molehill.

J
OEL CLEANED UP
the kitchen after the women and kids had departed. He drove into town and bought the few toys he knew Rianne wanted. A kind clerk took pity on him and wrapped the gifts. That was a bonus. He didn’t wrap gifts any better than he tied hair ribbons.

From the store he headed for coffee at the café. This time, instead of going to a booth, he sat at the counter. These were folks who’d worked with Sylvie when she went to high school. And after she’d returned from New York. If anyone had the lowdown on
the
dress, he figured they might.

Three
coffees later, he left in disappointment. The conversation was easy to work around to Sylvie and her incredible talent with needle and thread. An iron-haired waitress, the most talkative, said flatly, “If anybody knows how Sylvie came to have one dress left from an entire collection we all know she spent years dreaming up, I don’t know who it’d be. No one in her family. Or if they do, they haven’t spilled the beans in five years.”

“Are you saying she’s worked on one dress that long?” Joel assumed he looked as stunned as he felt.

The woman scowled and scrubbed the counter until it shone. “You seem like a smart fella to me. Ask yourself why a sweet girl with Sylvie’s talent would suddenly up and leave the hub of her industry, and come back to bury her light under a bushel in her hometown?”

“A man, I suppose,” he said, hoping to coax out more details.

“Yes, we all think she got her heart broke.”

“Personally or professionally?” Joel murmured, then experienced jab of guilt for prying.

“If you knew our Sylvie, it’s pretty much one and the same thing.” The waitress clammed up then as the lunch crowd began to file in.

Joel dropped his money on the counter and went to buy party invitations and paint. Then he ordered Rianne’s cake. All the way home, he considered other possible reasons for Sylvie’s actions. He had a good imagination, so he decided it’d probably be better if he didn’t know the truth; his own version might well be more interesting. Not that there was a snowball’s chance in hell anyone in Briarwood would ever see his comic strip. And if they did, he doubted they could connect him to the scrawled
J. Mercer
near the bottom of the last frame. He’d worried about being found out when he’d first begun collecting data in Atlanta’s nightspots. He’d been afraid that people who saw him hanging around singles bars might accuse him of exploiting them. No one ever did. Readers never seemed to link cartoons to real-life situations.