“He didn’t say. O … kay. You weren’t curious to know why?” Despite her calm tone, Victoria could hear her mother’s pain, once she’d processed the information.
“Sorry, he wouldn’t say. But whatever. I already know. What’s the point in him skirting the issue? And … I was overwhelmed. I mean, he couldn’t have told me before? Someplace a little less public? I was right there, Mom! Right fucking there, fifteen minutes away from being married. In front of everyone, like the worst kind of movie. You’d just given me to him. G … given me.” She swallowed against nausea, pretending the loss wasn’t real. Better she found out ahead of time, right?
“I’d like to kill him. Slowly.” Her mom was always in her corner.
“I’m not talking about him anymore. Okay? I need to get past this and move on.”
“Tori, you can’t shove your relationship with Logan into some tidy little sack and tuck it away, like … like you’ve done with upsetting things all your life. It’s too big. You love him. He’s your life. There has to be an explanation.”
Maybe her mom could find a really sharp knife and open her up with it too. Check her entrails and forecast the future. Sucking in a draught of air between her teeth, she formulated a reply. “All true, Mom. All of it. And look where it got me. I’ve got such fantastic judgment, despite what I know about men, huh?”
“Not all men,” her mother responded. “But you could sue him. Breach of promise. Hit him where it hurts, right in the wallet.” Her mother was now dissolving into chaos too.
She’d win any such lawsuit. She’d seen it in Logan’s eyes. He felt bad for leaving her at the altar, because he was a good man at heart, even if she wasn’t in it any longer. He’d throw money at the problem. This time, the nausea was intolerable and she gagged. Her mother shoved a wad of tissues at her.
“We’re soon home.”
True to her word, they pulled into her mother’s driveway and right up to the house. The sight of her childhood home broke that something deep within Victoria, and she sobbed into the tissues. It should have been a refuge, but only served to remind her of another man, another rejection.
Tears welled, too numerous to hold back, and poured down her cheeks. The tissues couldn’t contain it all. Ducking her head, she watched as her makeup swirled and mixed with the moisture to drip free and soil the pristine white of her wedding finery. Murky gray mascara, tinted with foundation, was the final shade of her life.
She might have sat inside Frank’s car for an eternity, sinking into that awful muddle of color, but her mom came around to yank open the door and urge her out.
“C’mon. Let’s get you inside and out of … that.” That was probably an apt descriptor of the dress she’d chosen with such care and attention to detail. Not too sexy, not too poufy, not too prom-like. Just right. To marry the wrong guy. Correction. To be thrown over by the right guy.
She couldn’t see past her tears, despite swiping at them to clear her vision. Careless of dragging her bridal gown across the greasy door mechanism, she clambered out, one heel tangling and tearing the hem. The tattered bride. Oops, the tattered bride-to-be. Not. Maybe it was something she could think on for the magazine, kind of a play on marriage, complete with pictures and personal experience.
Laughter bubbled up and she choked on it, staggering behind her mother’s diminutive form. The heel caught in the hem gave her a curious gait, reminiscent of that strange little man in the western movies her dad favored years ago. The additional memory of her father drove her to her knees, and she wavered there, swathed in pain and bridal white. Wrenching off her heels, she waved away her mother’s help.
“I’m okay. Just off balance.” The understatement called up the laughter again.
“C’mon. Get up. Leave the shoes.” Her mom’s face was so creased with worry it added a decade to her appearance.
The neighborhood was silent. They were probably all at the church. She clambered to her feet and tossed the heels at the recycling bin, laughing harder. Getting through the doorway into the back vestibule felt surreal, and her impromptu merriment ran down like a depleted battery.
With help, she divested herself of the gown, leaving it in a crumpled mass on the kitchen floor. She stood, in her corset and tap pants, in her thigh highs with their wide band of sexy lace, and shivered. Here she was, half naked in her mother’s kitchen, instead of basking in the lustful gaze of her husband on her wedding night.
There would be some of her old things in a closet. Her mom wasn’t a hoarder, but she unerringly kept things her daughters needed. “I’ll go change into something.”
“There’s some items that’ll fit in the dresser in the spare room. Closet too, I think. I’ll make tea?”
“Okay.” She was vastly fatigued and that one word took incredible effort.
The short trek to the spare room—Juliana’s old room, the oldest girl—took forever, as though she was relearning how to walk. She wobbled and banged into the walls. Once inside, she doffed the corset and stockings, consigning them to the trash. Unearthing a light sweater in the dresser and a pair of leggings she was sure had been around since the nineties, she pulled them on. They mostly fit, and were as comfortable as an old shoe. Shoes. She refused to give in to the hysteria bubbling through her chest.
Logan’s ring winked up at her as she smoothed the leggings over her thighs and she froze, staring at the beautiful canary diamond set with green tourmalines. Large enough to be noticed, but not ostentatious. He knew her well and understood she’d balk at an ice cube. He knew her well. She was close enough to the narrow bed to catch her weight on the edge of the mattress as she sagged.
Logan had come to know her so well he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life with her. Clever man. She was hardly Logan Doherty wife material, after all. Oh, she was pretty enough, some might even say beautiful when she made the effort, with her thick, dark hair and pale skin with contrasting dark-blue eyes. She was tall and had a good body. She’d heard it all her life. The prettiest Sparrow girl, built like a brick shithouse. Not that it meant much in the end.
And not that she traded on it. If anything, good looks got in the way of someone in the cutthroat advertising business. At twenty-eight, she’d been accused of sleeping her way to the top over the years, and people tended to get stuck looking at her instead of seeing who was behind the façade. Logan had looked behind it and said he loved the whole package.
Indicated he was in awe of her drive while appreciating her ability to see the bigger picture and care for the little guy. She’d felt worshipped, special, like she’d finally moved past the crippling misery of her childhood and arrived in the company of a wonderful, trustworthy man.
He’d said a lot of things, all of them now suspect, and she blessed the fact she hadn’t quit her job and joined his firm when he’d asked her to, so many times.
“Tori?” Her mom stood in the doorway, watching her warily.
She caught sight of herself in the mirror on the dresser and realized her mom had reason to be a tad cautious. Tangled hair and smeared makeup aside, it was the look on her face… With an effort, she wiped the desolate expression away. “Tea ready?”
Her mom held out the phone. “You should take this.”
“Who is it?”
“Logan’s mother. Delores.”
Air whooshed out of her chest and she nearly doubled over. Her voice squeaked as she replied. “Uh, no.”
“She wants to explain something.”
“Logan’s a big boy, Mom. His mommy doesn’t need to hold his hand.”
“Maybe she’s trying to hold yours.”
“I have a mother.” Victoria liked Delores a great deal, and a shred of remorse lingered, but surely she was entitled to establishing boundaries, at least while she recovered. There. She’d already decided there was the potential for recovery.
With a nod, her mom turned and went down the hall, murmuring into the phone, while Victoria choked back a sob. How did one recover from having
one’s heart ripped, live and beating, from one’s chest and sliced into irreparable pieces in front of one’s eyes?
Tired of the drama, she tugged off her engagement ring and tossed it at the garbage can. It clipped the rim and ricocheted off, plinking against the wall before hitting the floor someplace. She fingered the lovely earrings her future mother-in-law had given her, and removed them, setting them on the nightstand. No doubt her mom would get them back to Delores. If not, she’d have then couriered, but the two older women had really hit it off, despite their very different social spheres. So, in all likelihood, they’d get together if only to discuss the almost marriage.
Leaving the fine chain with the perfect pearl around her neck—a gift from her own mother, and one that had probably broken the bank—she shoved to her feet and shuffled into the bathroom.
Scrubbing her face clean with a handy cloth, she then ran her fingers through her hair and bundled it at the nape of her neck, wrapping the long strands around to secure it, all the while avoiding the mirror. She made her way back to the kitchen, where her mom was still on the phone. There was no sign of her dress and she experienced not one iota of interest in its whereabouts.
“I’ll tell her, Delores. I’m sure she’ll call once she’s had a little time.” Her mom locked stares with her before concluding the conversation and laying the phone down. “Come sit.”
Victoria snagged the phone before taking her place at the small bistro table that saved the kitchen from being overcrowded. Her purse was—someplace else. Probably one of her bridesmaids would have it. She ignored the hope on her mom’s face and dialed a number from memory. As she predicted, Jonathon was already back at his desk. He’d probably left the church right after her announcement and driven straight there. He worked more hours than even her and Logan, and would find his job a way to deal with his worry until he saw her next.
“Jon?”
Her mother stiffened and the tea she was pouring slopped into the saucer.
“Victoria! What the fuck? Are you okay? I’ve been trying to call you.”
“I’m fine.” Probably a lot of people were trying to call her, so not having her phone was a good thing. She sucked in a deep breath. Time to practice. “Logan decided he couldn’t go through with the marriage.” There, that didn’t hurt at all. The truth didn’t hurt. It flayed and tortured.
“I can’t believe that.”
“Believe it. He blew me off.”
“Jesus. I’m sorry, sweetie. That bastard.” Her boss thought Logan Doherty was one of the hottest slices of manhood on the face of the planet, but his loyalty was to her and it was a tiny balm on the painful pandemonium in her chest.
“Gave me an idea for an advert, Jon. It’ll appeal to a wide variety of users. We might as well capitalize on the publicity.”
Silence. Jonathon King was never silent. She waited and wondered if maybe she’d lost her mind, but then he cleared his throat. “You never cease to amaze me. Would it be therapeutic maybe, Tori? Help you out a bit?”
“Definitely.”
“Then get your ass in here. We’ll get started.”
“An hour,” she promised, glad he understood her need. When the going got tough, Victoria Sparrow immersed herself in her work. But first, she had to get to her house and change clothes after having a cup of tea with her mom.
She powered down the phone and nodded her thanks for the beverage. One sugar flavored the deep amber of the orange pekoe, a favorite of her Gran’s. The teacups had belonged to her grandmother too, and the nostalgia couldn’t hurt. A sip, followed by another, eased her aching throat and soothed her belly, if not doing a thing for that vast hole in her heart. Her Gran said a good cup of tea could fix anything. Maybe she should make a bathtub full and drown herself in it.
“You’re going to stuff it down, after all. You won’t talk about it and it’ll mark you. You’ll carry it the way you did your father’s rejection until it impacts the rest of your life.” Her mother’s voice reminded her of reality.
“Mom, I’m gutted. I won’t pretend to you. And I’m pretty sure I’m aware of how this will impact my life because I’m destroyed. Devastated. Okay? I’m not hiding from it. But please don’t play therapist and compare Logan to Daddy.” She gulped some tea. “Sadly, a small part of me isn’t surprised. He cut a swathe amongst the ladies for a decade or more, and why would he settle for me?” For the likes of me. “But I’m not going to hide and dwell on it. What’s the point?”
And she wasn’t going to let it slip to her mom that she accepted there was no real reason for Logan to change for her when he wasn’t damaged. Because then her loving parent would adopt that therapist persona again and be tortured with guilt.
Her mother rested a hand over hers, and the warmth was comforting. “He loves you, Tori. There’s an explanation. I know it. Delores really wants you to call her. Please.”
“Look. I just went through one of a woman’s worst nightmares. I don’t want to hear her try to comfort me. Make excuses for her son’s behavior.” Delores had lucked out, losing Victoria as a daughter-in-law.
“You think I don’t know how that feels, Victoria? That I don’t remember?”
“Sorry, Mom. Really.” She knew her dad walking out had gutted her mom too. Hadn’t he told her she should have given him a son? Like it was her fault? And then Victoria had lived with the culpability of not being a boy child for more years than she could count, the shame staining her psyche. No matter how her mother tried to reassure her differently. It had shaped her. Wrecked her as a person. She’d never felt good enough, and hid that lack behind blind ambition and hard work. Relationships with men—even boys—always ended the same way. On their terms, because she was so afraid to commit. Until Logan.
“I know, lamb. I know you are. But I know why your father left—no matter how stupid the reason—and it helps. Because it was about him and not us.”
She didn’t want to hear trumped-up excuses. Not when she knew the truth. She tried to deflect. “What could anyone say that would explain that last-minute dumping? All those guests…”
She would have to think about the logistics, and it would be her cleaning things up because she no longer trusted her ex. Ex. Her thoughts jumbled again.
“Delores said they were all invited to attend the reception—well, not the reception exactly, but the food was there and…” Her mom trailed off and hid her face in her cup.
Was there additional mortification to heap on a person? Maybe so. Victoria savagely hoped Logan choked on the meal they’d chosen so carefully and decided she no longer cared who returned the gifts. Maybe those attending the “reception” could receive an invitation to his condo to pick them up. He could assign them time frames to avoid overcrowding and make them produce a sales slip to ensure they took the item they’d purchased. But, for her mother, she was pragmatic. “Well, his father insisted on the damn thing being so huge. All-inclusive, I believe he said, like we’d leave out someone important to his view of the world. I suppose there’s no point in wasting all that money.”
The old man had picked up the tab because she couldn’t, and her mother certainly couldn’t, and Logan’s parents insisted. The pseudo-reception would now give everyone a chance to mingle and speculate and gossip about the called-off wedding, and maybe solve the crisis of the fucking environment and the world’s other problems too.
Drawing on the anger, which was a welcome singular emotion to focus on, she drained her cup. “Thanks, Mom. I’m heading back to my place.” And thank God she’d kept her house, despite Logan’s pressuring her to move in with him before the wedding.
She had her job and her own space. No husband, but hey, a person couldn’t have everything. Her mom was giving her that wary look again, so she forced a smile. “Did you want to drop me off and return Frank’s car? Maybe he’s at the reception.”
“Victoria. Stop. Your family won’t have gone there. Nor will your true friends.”
Shame lanced through the anger.
Frank wasn’t exactly family, but he was her mom’s kinda significant other, on and off, since her dad left, and she hoped he caught a ride with someone. Maybe one of her sisters.
“Sorry. Of course, they wouldn’t. Too bad, though, what with all the party favors. The kids would have loved them.” She wasn’t tracking so well now but knew getting to the office would help a lot.
“I’ll drive you to your place, though I think a bottle of whiskey and my company would be a better bet.” Her mom’s voice was a little chilly.
“I’d be asleep after two shots, Mom.” Which was likely her mother’s plan, but she couldn’t sleep her life away. She had decades and decades ahead of her, and the next few weeks would be the absolute worst, dealing with both kind and not-so-kind comments. That was why this burgeoning tattered bride advertising project was becoming so important. It would build on her personal tragedy while putting a different spin on it.
The phone buzzed and a familiar number danced across the screen. The desperate lie she’d been weaving unraveled and spots and lines wavered in front of her eyes. She shoved the device toward her mother who clearly debated answering before tapping the answer button.
“I have no idea where my daughter is, Logan. She’s not here and I know she’s not at her house.” Victoria could hear his deep voice, though refused to try and decipher the words. “I’ll let her know you called.” She pressed the off button and set her lips.
Victoria breathed a sigh of relief. “You used to cover for me with my less reputable friends, Mom. Give me a way out when I couldn’t seem to stand up to them. Thank you for this.”
“I didn’t lie, Tori. I really don’t have any idea where my daughter is. But I hope she finds herself soon. I’ll be here when she needs me.”
Left to ponder that cryptic statement, she followed her mom out to Frank’s car in a pair of gardening clogs, and they drove in silence to her place. She could sense her mom’s … not exactly disapproval, maybe disappointed acceptance, but she couldn’t drum up anything to assuage her. If she had to focus on the enormity of what had happened as if it had actually happened to her personally, Victoria figured she’d probably fade into nothing. Better she created a fantasy and distanced it. Like you told everyone your dad had joined the space program and couldn’t live at home. And then surpassed yourself in your studies to graduate ahead of everyone else, the better to avoid them.
The Tattered Bride Page 2