I stuck my hands into my pockets. “Sorry. I got so excited. The seamstress really cut it close.”
“No, we were cutting it close. She went above and beyond. My mother would suggest that we send her something nice in appreciation.”
“Yes, of course. Let’s do that.”
My mother. I suddenly felt grubby and uncouth. Of course Rebekah would suggest that. Dani gently punched the puffy bag into the closet, then almost shut the door on Maggie. She was batting around a dried rose petal fallen from the bouquet Max had bought for her, now resting stems-up in her garbage pail.
I brought up Claire in hopes she might talk to me about her recent troubles.
“So . . . what time is Claire coming tomorrow?”
“She’s not.”
“But wasn’t she going to help you with hair and makeup?”
“We had a fight or whatever. It doesn’t matter. Tomorrow’s not my special day.”
“I thought maybe you’d enjoy yourself more if you could bring someone. Are there other friends you can ask?”
She turned to me, her eyes liquid with sadness. “Haven’t you figured it out by now? He doesn’t want me to have any friends. Not Claire, not Maggie, not Gus, not even you.”
I took a step back. “Who are you talking about?”
“Who do you think? My beloved father, Senator Winter.”
Her voice was laden with conviction, her face set for battle, lips pursed, chin quivering, a statue of lovely defiance. Were my hands not so dirty I would have grabbed her face to drive home my full-throated rebuttal.
“Dani. Dani. What are you talking about? I don’t know a father on earth who loves his daughter as much as Max loves you. And I . . . I feel quite a lot of love for you, too,” I said, choking up, because it felt true. I might just love this torturous and tortured little brat.
“That’s nice to hear,” she said. “I wish I believed it.”
“Oh, Dani. You can believe it. I know this wedding has been hard for you—”
“He fired Gus.”
“He didn’t fire him. It’s more like a transfer. And you’ll still get to see him when you visit the horses.”
“Ha! You’ll believe anything he tells you. He fired him because of me. Daddy said he didn’t like how Gus acted around me, but I told him Gus never did anything wrong. He was my friend. He protected me. He taught me horses. He taught me to shoot and fish. He was teaching me how to drive. He was my only friend here.”
“I’m your friend here, too.”
She studied my face for a moment. “Can you please leave me alone right now?”
I looked over at the closet door. “Dani, I’m quite worried about you. I think I know what’s been—”
“Please go. I’ll be all right. I’m just tired all of a sudden.”
I stood there.
“I mean it. I’m all right. I say crazy things sometimes. Just go.”
“Okay. But I want you to know that I’m here for you. I care about you. Your father cares about you. We care very much.”
She gave me the slightest of smiles. When I stole one more look as I shut the door behind me, she seemed so small. Dani wasn’t “coming around.” She was descending a well of dark thoughts that threatened to consume her, and us.
I looked for Max. I searched all over Asherley, going from room to room. Each was a locus of activity. Florists all around the house were positioning small sprays of tulips, daisies, lilacs on the side tables, country flowers, no roses. Caterers swarmed the kitchen and the outdoor barbecue area. In the great hall, Katya was shooing the cleaning staff into the corners of the house, charging them to leave no spot undusted, no window smudged. I found Louisa in the greenhouse, the place unrecognizable now with dozens of stands of white gladiolas, peonies, and lilies all around the perimeter, the round tables skirted with white tablecloths, silver place settings sparkling in the afternoon sun. She crossed the room towards me, her steps echoing on the raised floor.
“There you are. I know it’s very hot in here but don’t worry, we’re going to crank open those—”
“Have you seen Max?”
“Yes, they’re putting up the smoking canopy near the garage. What’s the matter?”
Without replying, I headed out the back door, ran across the gray-green lawn. Damp heat rose up from the grass; tomorrow called for rain, but it would be warm for April.
From a distance I could see Elias awkwardly manning the portable backhoe, Max hovering over the hole, two men doing a job Gus could have done alone. Max’s dark T-shirt was sticky with sweat, his jeans covered in dirt. I don’t know that I had ever seen him look as attractive.
“Hello!” he yelled over the motor.
“How’s it going?”
“Not well. At the fourth stake we hit a root, I think.”
Elias shut the machine off. “Try again.”
Max took his shovel and stabbed the earth. There was a great clang, a sound that reverberated through my chest.
“Pipe,” Max yelled, scanning the ground as though he could see through the dirt. “The drain for the troughs, I bet. Should we relocate?”
Elias threw his head back in frustration.
Max noticed my filthy hands. “How’s that going? Almost done?”
“Yes. Top coat’s drying. Max, I need to talk to you about Dani.”
“Can it wait?”
“I don’t think so. I—”
Max looked over my shoulder and gave an enthusiastic wave. It was Jonah, carrying a shovel and wearing big black boots.
“There he is, the second person I call when I’m knee-deep in my own shit. I’m sorry, sweetie, what were you saying about Dani?”
“Max, I’m worried—”
Jonah gave me a sturdy pat on my back as he passed. “Excited about tomorrow?”
“Yes. Very much,” I said.
Max swept Jonah into a complicated discussion about where the old plumbing crossed the new, and whether the fourth stake could be sunk farther away or whether that would compromise the tent or whether they’d need to up and move the whole contraption. I saw no way to draw him away from what was clearly an important job they were all intent on tackling.
“Max, I’ll just go,” I said. I turned back to the house.
“Hold on, guys, I’m sorry,” he said, and jogged to catch up to me. “What’s going on?”
“It’s Dani.” Max rolled his eyes. “No, listen. She’s very emotional. She told me she doesn’t think you love her. That you don’t want her to have any friends.”
His shoulders caved forward. “Okay, right now, I don’t love her,” he said, sounding weary rather than angry. “I mean, I love her. Of course I love her. I’d jump in front of a goddamn train for her because she’s my daughter. I’ve sent her flowers. I’ve texted her. I told her she could keep the kitten! But I’m tired of our whole life revolving around her every fucking mood. Besides, teenagers all think their parents hate them. They all feel unloved. I did—though I actually was unloved,” he added with a chuckle.
“But, Max, this is different from her regular poutiness. There’s something really off about her. And she’s really sad about Gus. Maybe we shouldn’t have let him go.”
“I didn’t have a choice.” He lowered his voice. “I’ve been meaning to tell you. In his quarters I found a picture of Dani pinned to the wall next to his bed.”
“What kind of picture?”
“Not a bad picture. One from when she was a toddler. But it gave me pause. So, yeah, I did have to fire him, because I love her and I don’t want Gus around my fifteen-year-old daughter. And I can’t tell her about the photo because it’d make her even more upset.”
He took me by the wrists. “Sweetheart, I’m grateful that you’re concerned about Dani. I really am. It might be the single most important reason why I am marryin
g you. You understand how troubled she is, and why I’ve kept so much from her, especially”—he looked over his shoulder—“about her mother. But Dani Winter does not suffer from a shortage of love. Quite the opposite. I love her too much. I’ve let her get away with a lot of things that have made your life here miserable. And she’s done this before, retreated from family life, lashed out. I promise you she knows exactly how much I love her. So she’s not testing me with this. She’s testing you. And the way to pass this test is to try to enjoy your big day. Okay?” He glanced over at Eli and Jonah trying to maneuver the tent rope and pole. “I really have to—”
“Yes. Go.”
“You know I love that brat,” he said. “I mean, I love her more than you. But you’re catching up really fucking fast!”
I gave him a half-hearted laugh, and he ran back to join the men.
It was a slow walk up the hill to Asherley. The rentals truck, now emptied of its chairs and tables, beeped a warning and backed out of the side drive. I could see the workers testing candles in the greenhouse, their long shadows dancing across the now-sparkling glass. How different the greenhouse looked spruced up and populated, like a breathing organ that felt vital to the house, not a useless, decorative appendage. I cursed the chill that dusk brought, soothing my anxiety by running through a litany of the good fortune that was hurtling towards me. In twenty-four hours, I would marry inside Rebekah’s greenhouse, making Asherley my home, then one day my children’s home. When I was old, I’d rest on that porch chair and put my feet up on that wicker ottoman. Max would grumble about the ancient ivy threatening to blot out our view of the bay, while I pulled my shawl tighter around my shoulders. I would traipse every acre of this island with my children in their little red raincoats. We’d drift down inlets in a boat, spying on nesting ospreys and the swans raising their cygnets in the rushes. While we ate on the warm rocks, I’d tell them about their ancestors from the paintings, the bad ones who owned people and sheltered pirates and the good ones who fought for the Union and worked to protect one of the largest stands of white oak on the entire Atlantic Seaboard. These things were finally at hand, but not if my happiness remained inversely proportionate to Dani’s sadness.
I looked up, aware she was watching me before my eyes confirmed it: Dani, in the turret, defiant as ever. No lock could keep her out of there. We looked at each other. When she did not return my wave, I took Max’s advice and left her alone, heading to the boathouse to scrub my dirty hands clean.
TWENTY-FOUR
Over these past few months, I’ve come to understand more about what trauma, both emotional and physical, does to the brain. It’s remarkable how the mind’s censors can work over a conveyor belt of madness, discarding the rotten bits so we consume only the parts that are acceptable. I don’t recall waking up next to Max on the morning of our wedding, or whether we had breakfast together. I do remember being in the boathouse that morning, in my bathrobe, where Dani found me checking to see if the stencil was finally dry. It wasn’t how I had planned to unveil her gift. I’d hoped to wait until after the ceremony. But when Dani poked her head inside the door, my heart leapt at the sight of her scrubbed face, her hair wet down her back.
“Dani, I’m so glad to see you. I have—”
She walked over to me and gently clasped my wrist. “Come with me,” she said, tugging. “Right now.”
“What is it?”
“Just . . . come,” she said. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
There was no anger in her voice, or worry, just instruction.
“Wait. I have something I want to show you.”
“I know. You refinished Grandpa’s boat. Nice job.”
I freed my hand from her grip and pulled the tarp back. “Look at the back.”
After her eyes scanned the hull, she walked around the boat, stopping to read the words across the transom. “Dani’s . . . luck.”
“For Daneluk,” I said.
A slight smile cracked her stern expression. She looked at me then at the boat. “Why did you do this?”
“I wanted to give you something of your own on our wedding day.”
She kept looking at the name. She seemed sad.
“We can take it for a spin around the lake later if you—”
“Daddy let you do this for me?”
“What do you mean? Of course he let me,” I said, skipping the part where he strictly said not to get the spoiled girl who has everything a wedding gift.
Before I knew what was happening, she made a tiny leap into my arms, and I wished for Max to see this, our détente turning into what I hoped was a lasting peace. He was so wrong about this and I was so right and I couldn’t wait to tell him.
“Thank you,” she said. “You’re not very cool, but you’re a nice person. Now it’s my turn to show you something. But you’re not going to like it at all. Please promise me you won’t freak out.”
“Okay, but . . .”
She grabbed my hand and dragged me across the lawn, past Louisa ordering florists around in the greenhouse, past a frantic Katya shooing caterers to the second fridge down the hall, then across the foyer where we could hear Max and Jonah laughing in the den, and all the way up to her room, the whole way me repeating, “Where are we going? You’re worrying me, Dani. What’s going on?” and her saying, “I don’t want you to worry, everything’s going to be okay,” our roles strangely reversed.
She flung me into her room and shut the door behind her, marched over to her closet, pulled out the garment bag, and threw it across her bed. “Okay. It’s a problem, for sure. But I don’t think it’s a total disaster.”
She bent to unzip it, freed the wedding dress from its plastic cocoon, and carefully laid it on her bed.
We both looked at it, fists on waists.
“That is . . . not my dress.”
“I know.”
I repeated my observation while the room seemed to take a loopy turn. This dress was nothing like the simple one we’d chosen. This one was lacy, sexy, with a Spanish cut to the square bodice, its three-quarter-length sleeves flaring out at the elbow. The waist was cinched with a deep red sash, and its lace, layer upon layer of it, was a mesmerizing circular design, like a million mandalas sewn together, the material hanging a bit longer in the back than the front. It was strikingly beautiful, but it was not my dress.
“I already called the store. They’re closed. Good fucking Friday.”
Heat spread up my neck to my face. When I finally spoke, it sounded like I was being strangled.
“You said this is not a disaster. How is this not a disaster? Not just for me but for the woman who’s got my dress?”
“Oh my God,” Dani replied, nearly laughing. “That never occurred to me.”
Tears sprang from my eyes.
“No, no, no,” Dani said, tugging my hand. “No. Don’t cry. Listen to me. Here is why this is not a disaster. A disaster would be if they sent us an ugly dress. But this dress is not ugly. It’s actually pretty, and I bet, I just bet, it’ll fit you and that you’ll look very pretty in it and no one will know the difference and it’ll just be a funny story we’ll tell everyone after the ceremony. No one knows you didn’t pick out this dress, right? See? It’s okay. Try it on.”
How could I say no to her, to this version of Dani, my crisis manager, my expert soother? Here she was, the object of my worry, being sane, supportive, tossing out her troubles and making mine hers. She slid off my bathrobe and helped me step into the center of the lacy circle she made out of this stranger’s lovely dress. She inched it up my skin, to let my body acclimate slowly to this new shape and material. And Dani was right. It not only fit me, it was pretty—stunning, even—far more stylish than the one I’d chosen for myself.
“So not a disaster,” she said, smiling at me in her mirror.
“No. Not a disaster,” I said. “Except for t
he fact that your father won’t recognize me in this.”
“Why not?”
“It’s too beautiful for me. It wears me.”
Dani rolled her eyes. “When are you going to drop that shit? Look at me, I’m such a nobody. Why is Max Winter marrying little old me?” she whined. “I want you to walk down those stairs like you meant to wear this dress. That’s what my mother would do. That’s what she’d tell you to do.”
How odd, to be getting secondhand advice from Rebekah Winter through her daughter on the day of my marriage to Max. The dissonance was vertigo-inducing, but once it passed, I stepped out of the dress and laid it carefully across her bed.
“And anyway, we don’t have time for disasters,” Dani said, handing me my bathrobe. “Right?”
“Right. Thank you, Dani.”
I pulled her in for our second hug, one to which I committed slightly more effort than she. It was all I could have asked for that morning.
* * *
• • •
The final hours flew by. The smell of pork roasting outside permeated the halls, mingling with the sickly sweet lilies and Katya’s hot cross buns. She was meant to be a guest, but there was no keeping her out of her kitchen. Louisa, God bless, brought a bottle of champagne to my room and offered to be my benevolent greeter. I watched from our window as she sweetly chatted with each arrival, opening an arm to usher them inside. There was no groom’s and bride’s side of the aisle; they were all Max’s guests, a fact that bothered me less and less as the hour ticked closer. To amuse myself I imagined Laureen Ennis holding court at the back of the greenhouse, her face turning as I entered, her smug expression melting into deep admiration as I walked down the aisle wearing a dress that probably cost more than her smallest yacht.
Dani wore a short black baby-doll dress with a white Peter Pan collar, made of a delicate satin that shimmered when she moved, and patent leather kitten heels with big silver buckles. Her hair was up in a tight bun. She looked lovely. But when she insisted on doing my makeup, I balked.
“The last time I let you near me with a lipstick, we both ended up in tears.”
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