“I wish you’d written to let me know you were coming,” I said. “Where are you staying?”
“I’ll find someplace. Take it easy, I’ll be out of your hair soon enough. Tomorrow, probably. Why are you doing this, Boy? Don’t you understand that I just want to take care of you any way I can? Or do you think I don’t know what I’m saying when I say things like that?”
“I love you,” I said, then sat there, appalled at what had just come out of my mouth.
He moved forward in his chair, rested his forehead against mine. “I know. So, please, Boy. I’m asking you, please. Don’t marry him.”
“I don’t want to be taken care of, Charlie. That’s not what I want.”
“How dare you write me a letter like that? You wanted me to come here and say this. Don’t marry him.”
Just one kiss, I thought. But then I couldn’t pull away.
Out in the hallway, Mia bawled: “Anyone seen Boy Novak? That girl owes me a pastrami sandwich.” That might have been her way of making a tactful entrance. We’d let go of each other by the time she tried the door handle. I introduced them, praying Mia wouldn’t say “That Charlie?” She didn’t.
Instead she said: “Come to lunch with us,” and looked up at him with a smile that made me want to stick a No Trespassing sign on him. Charlie excused himself on the grounds of having to find a room, but once Mia and I found a quiet booth at the diner, I had words with her about that smile she’d given him. Not straightforward words; I just asked a few questions about her love life, whether she was seeing anyone she liked, etc.
“No, not really — I’m just snacking right now.”
“Snacking, Mia?”
“That’s the only way I can think of to put it to you, my dear, innocent Boy. But about that Charlie… why did he say ‘Good-bye’ when he left? I mean, ‘Good-bye,’ not ‘See you later.’ Isn’t he in town to see you? Did you just break his heart? Don’t you know how to let ’em down easy?”
—
webster was all aglow at her wedding, and Ted was in awe.
(“I get to grow old with this woman? This woman right here?”
Arturo slung an arm around his neck and told him it was clearly a charity case.)
There was hardly a dry eye in the house. The miniature Ted and miniature Webster stood on top of the cake looking resigned, if not content. They realized that nobody was even going to think about rescuing them. We filled the reception room with paper flowers that each of us seven bridesmaids had spent a total of twenty-one hours folding — three hours a day for a week. It was gratifying that Webster sobbed over the flowers. She seemed to understand that we were trying to say good luck and trying to say that we were there just in case. Her official name might be Mrs. Ted Murray now, and she might have forsaken the Mamie Eisenhower haircut for long romantic waves that she flung to and fro like some kind of cape, but to me she was just the usual Veronica Webster.
Webster and Ted were on honeymoon when I married Arturo at Worcester City Hall. Olivia, Gerald, and Vivian were there. Mia too, and Snow. I hadn’t asked Mrs. Fletcher because she’d made it clear that she disapproved. I hadn’t asked Agnes because being Julia’s mother would have made the ceremony difficult for her. Mia gave me away, and I think Olivia was scandalized by that, but managed not to comment. I wore a plain dress that was somewhere between white and gray; its skirt was long and straight, and Snow said that when I stood still, I looked like a statue. Arturo wore a red bow tie and his hair slicked back. And his power doubled, maybe even tripled — that power he had of making me feel certain. The black of his hair, the red of his tie, the gold band I slipped onto his finger. Outside it snowed lightly, lifelessly, thousands of white butterflies falling to earth. Becoming Mrs. Whitman was a quiet affair that I didn’t have to diet for.
11
i remember Vivian Whitman said something a little odd at the wedding, as we were walking down the steps of city hall in the snow. She said: “You know, you’ve made my mother happy today. I think she only ever wanted one daughter, and nature never did give her the one that fit the bill.” I said: “What? Last time I looked I wasn’t a law student—” And she said: “Oh, come on. Look at you!” I’d thought she was just getting emotional because she thought Arturo and I should have made our wedding more of an occasion, but when the hothouse calla lily arrived, her remark was the first thing I thought of. The little card that came with the lily said: Congrats, Boy, and welcome to the family! Sorry this is late; I only just heard. Always wanted a sister, and never did see eye to eye with my biological one — Clara.
Snow wandered over, eyeing the purple blooms, assessing their potential for wearing in her hair. I told her to forget it.
“The calla lilies ah in bloom again,” she announced, in a surprisingly decent imitation of Katharine Hepburn’s voice.
“That’s right.”
“Where’d it come from?”
I watched her face as I said: “Your aunt Clara sent it,” but there was no flicker of recognition. She lost interest, said “Mmm hmmm,” and wandered away. It’s true that kids are inquisitive, but sometimes you forget that they pick and choose their projects.
I took the plant pot to Arturo’s workroom and knocked. He didn’t answer, so I kept knocking, switching hands when my knuckles got sore. Eventually he came to the door wearing goggles that covered half his face and asked: “What’s the big idea?”
I held up the lily. “It’s from Clara.”
He removed his goggles, read the card she’d written, and laughed.
“Any particular reason why you’ve never said anything about her? Snow doesn’t seem to know who she is, either.”
“She’s estranged from our parents. From our mother, really.”
“What did she do?”
“Oh, God. A lot of stuff, Boy. Too much to talk about.”
“So she’s estranged from you too?”
“No. She’s my big sis. It was her, then me, then Viv. Matter of fact it was Clara who put a roof over my head for a year. When Julia died. Snow was too young to remember. Don’t mention the roof over my head part to my mother, she’d have a heart attack.”
He kissed me and ducked back into his workroom.
—
mia said she’d never heard of a Clara Whitman, and Webster broke her Vow of Silence against me (punishment for getting married while she was away) to say the same thing. Mrs. Fletcher breathed out when I said Clara’s name. She breathed out and held on to the nearest bookshelf and said: “So you know. All this time I’ve been thinking how wrong it was of Olivia Whitman to send that girl away and act as if she only had two children.”
“What did she do?”
Mrs. Fletcher shook her head. “Nothing out of the way, Boy. Was just herself and fell in love. I must say, I’m glad you find it so humorous.”