Speak Now

by Chautona Havig

  “Gramby scrubbed most of it off, but then she had to use sandpaper to get the rest off, and then she had to use the oil again. Riley had to watch and help the whole time. I don’t think she’ll color on the counters again.”

  “I should think not!” She forced her voice into a conspiratorial tone. “Did you color on the counters when you were little?”

  “No, but I colored in a book once. The drawings were black and white, so I thought it was a coloring book. Gramby was very mad.”

  “So, did you have to erase it all?” Cara didn’t know what to do with a child who colored in a book.

  “No, but I had to bring every book on my shelf to her and ask if I could color in it or not for practice.”

  “Oh, dear! I guess that would help you remember which ones you could and couldn’t color in.” The idea seemed harsh to Cara.

  “Gramby said it was to help me remember to ask before I did something. It worked though. I remember to ask now, and I remember which books I can color in and which I can’t.”

  “And how is Gramby this evening?” Cara didn’t know much about Jonathan’s housekeeper/nanny except that she wasn’t home on weekends.

  “She went to Athens tonight. She’s not coming home until Monday afternoon, so we’re going to work with Daddy on Monday!”

  While waiting for Jonathan to return, Bryson regaled her with stories of how he stomped a spider for Riley, how well his little flowers he’d planted were growing, and how he wanted to see a movie another child at the park had told him about. Before she could ask the name of the strange sounding movie, she heard Jonathan call the boy’s name. A moment later, he asked who Bryson was talking to.

  “Miss Cara. Is it my turn for a bath?”

  “Um…yes. How long has Miss Cara been on the phone?”

  Bryson immediately asked Cara for the requested information. “She says ‘awhile.’ I think she needs to learn to be a little more spasmodic. Awhile doesn’t say much, does it?”

  Cara’s laughter erupted at the exact moment his own snicker escaped. “I think you mean specific. Spasmodic is when your body jerks around. Gramby uses that word for when people are dancing on TV.”

  “Does pacific mean that you say exactly what it is instead of just sort of what it is?”

  “Pacific is an ocean, Bry. Specific means more detailed. That’s the word you want, yes.” She heard Jonathan take the phone from his son. “I agree with Bryson. You need to be more specific. Just how long have you been on the phone with him?”

  “Oh, about half an hour. You were giving Riley a bath because she got hair in her syrup. Oh, and I want that recipe for waffles. Then I heard all about some weird movie that a kid at the park told Bryson about, I discovered that he’s my little hero because he stomps spiders and grows flowers, and I learned that when children color in books, you can’t make them erase it but you can make them practice asking which books are okay to color in. I had a very illuminating conversation with your son.”

  Jonathan’s groan revealed his mortification before he said, “I have to give Bry a bath. Can I call you back when he’s in bed?”

  “Sure. I need to order my dinner anyway. My fridge is empty except for Slim-Fast and I—”

  “I’ll order for you and make it a surprise. I know the best place to get—anyway; it’ll be there by the time I call you back.”

  While Cara waited for her dinner, she dimmed the lights, lit candles, grabbed her favorite summer weight robe, and dug her new can of pepper spray from the bottom of her purse. The leather loop on her purse looked ready to break at any moment. Tomorrow, she’d spend the day in several of her favorite stores doing a search for a new favorite purse.

  The phone rang simultaneously with the doorbell. Still feeling jittery at answering the door after dark, Cara answered the phone first, telling Jonathan to wait until she’d finished with the delivery person. One peek into the dinner box and Cara salivated like a basset hound. “Oh, boy! Stuffed mushrooms, filet mignon, grilled veggies, and…” she bit her lip trying to open the container. “Cheesecake. Oh, man that looks good.”

  “I make a great dinner, don’t I?”

  “Mmm hmmm…” Cara’s mouth was already stuffed with the mushroom. “This is so good.”

  “Did today get any better?”

  “Uh huh. About five minutes ago.” Cara chewed her steak slowly, savoring every bite. She glanced around her for a drink and then hurried back into the kitchen, pulling out her favorite sparkling water flavor and pouring a glass. “Thanks.”

  “I’m glad.”

  Sensing that Jonathan just wanted to hear about her day, and unwilling to eat cold food, she turned up her CD and ate with the phone on speaker, making occasional comments but not really discussing anything. Jonathan picked up her cue and changed the conversation. “I cannot believe you are a shabby chic freak and a lover of Celtic Woman. Could our tastes be more opposite?”

  “You don’t like Celtic Woman?” Had she considered it, Cara wouldn’t have been surprised. Most of her friends and family didn’t like the all-female group. Only she and Carly enjoyed their current addiction.

  “They sound like they’re in pain.”

  Cara laughed, thankful that he couldn’t see her mouthful of food. “Oh, they do not.” At that moment, the woman hit a particularly high note. “How can you call that painful?”

  “How can you not?” His chuckle kept his words from sounding critical.

  Cara finished her last bite of steak and vegetables and pushed her plate away. “I think I’ll save my dessert for later. I’m stuffed.”

  “Must be the mushrooms.”

  “Very funny.” Cara curled back into her favorite corner of the couch and closed her eyes. It had been an amazing meal.

  “So, what kept today from being a better day than the rest of the week?” He sighed. “Yes, I just want to hear you talk. I’ve waited all day for this moment.”

  “That’s not flattering or totally endearing,” Cara murmured, closing her eyes. At his chuckle, she decided to cooperate. “Well, Locksley created a mess of epic proportions, Tina’s husband was sent to the hospital, and when I got home, a man was lurking in the shadows of my doorway. I almost had a heart attack.”

  “What!”

  “Oh, yes. You’ve got to hear this. So I’m walking to my door, already feeling squiffy about it—”

  “Squiffy?”

  “Shush. I’m telling the story. And I see this guy standing there. I guess he was leaning against the corner waiting, but it looked to me like he was hiding, so I kicked off my shoes—Again, she wondered how she’d managed to retrieve them without realizing it. “Anyway,” with every detail imaginable, Cara told the story of running from Jacob, nearly running Jacob over, and then his subsequent apology.

  “Well, that was unexpected.” Jonathan sounded like he didn’t know what to say.

  “Awkward too. He acts like we’ll just pick up where we left off, as if nothing ever happened. I’ve changed but he hasn’t.” She paused, thinking. “Or hasn’t from what I can tell.”

  “Okay, that sounds strange. Why is that a problem?”

  “Oh, Jonathan, it’s so embarrassing. I can tell he’s exactly the same man he used to be, but he’s so… um… shallow!”

  “So, I take it you won’t be calling him tomorrow morning for coffee?”

  “I didn’t get his number, thankfully, so I guess I’ll have to forgo that pleasure.” Cara winced. “Jonathan, why am I so,” she fumbled for the right word, “unconcerned about his feelings. I don’t want to be that person.”

  “It sounds to me like he’s either one of those men who mistake sympathy and kindness for interest, or you don’t trust yourself with him.”

  “You nailed it with the first one.” She shook her head at the idea she didn’t trust herself with him. “I didn’t know he was that way, but he is. I literally had to throw him out of here. He just didn’t get it.” She thought for a moment. “You’ve met Chuck Majors, right? Didn
’t you say something to Vince?”

  “I’ve met Chuck.” Jonathan couldn’t imagine another Chuck.

  “Well, Jacob doesn’t have the social awkwardness of Chuck—he’s not rude or anything. However, the self-centeredness… yeah. That’s Jacob. How did I not see it? And,” she continued before he could answer, “how did I not understand when my friends weren’t sorry to see him go. I just thought they were trying to be cheerful for me. I think they were cheering for me.”

  “Sounds like it.”

  Cara remembered Jacob’s intrusion of her space and said, “Um, Jonathan?”

  “Yeah?” The dread in his voice caused strange and delightful flip-flops in her heart.

  “I just want to thank you.”

  “Am I allowed to know what for?”

  She smiled at the decided flirtation in his tone. “For respecting me and my property—even if you don’t like it. Jacob walked through here, poking this and flipping that. The way he treated my possessions reminded me of a snob at a flea market—but worse. I felt violated just watching him.”

  “I’m the one who ticked you off about your clocks.”

  “Very punny,” she retorted with a snort. “No, but you didn’t disrespect me in doing it. At the time I didn’t get that. I do now. You cared about not offending me. He was just rude and insulting and he didn’t even say anything about it.”

  “So, I don’t need to order new contacts?”

  “You wear contacts?”

  “Yep. I wore glasses until I had the kids, but after the third broken pair, I got contacts. Do I need to put an order in for green ones?”

  “Not on my account. Mom and I are buying fabric tomorrow for my dress, and I wouldn’t go through that for just anyone.”

  “Go through what?”

  “Shopping for fabric with my mom is probably as exciting for me as…” Her mind whizzed for a good analogy. “Um… shoe shopping would be for you—if you went with me, anyway.”

  “Are you buying heels? Wearing a nice skirt…”

  “Oh, stop it! Okay, shopping for fabric with my mom for me is like you going to a Celtic Woman concert would be for you.” A hint of smugness entered her voice as she spoke. That analogy couldn’t be any more perfect.

  “I’ll pray for you.”

  She yawned. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight, Jonafan.”

  “Night, Cara mia.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “This green is perfect though!”

  “Mom, we don’t even know what you’re making yet. How can we know if this green is perfect?” Cara’s exhaustion screamed for her to just buy the fabric and leave the store, but she knew the odds of her mother having six yards of unusable fabric were high if they couldn’t find a dress option.

  “I’m getting it. We’ll go down to the Row and see what some of the boutiques have for ideas.”

  A worse idea, she couldn’t imagine. Hours of torture lay ahead of her. Not good. While her mother took the bolt of shimmering silk charmeuse to the cutting table, Cara slid open her phone and sent a text message to Jonathan. *WHISPERS* SAVE ME FROM THE MADNESS

  Before her mother paid for the fabric, Jonathan’s reply chimed on her phone. WILL I LIKE IT?

  Giggling, she snapped a picture of the fabric and sent back a stinging retort. IT IS JUST A PUDDLE OF GREEN FABRIC. YOU TELL ME

  He sent back one word almost immediately. TOGA?

  Diane glanced sharply at Cara’s titter. Cara shrugged and passed the phone to her mother. Blinking twice, Diane figured out how to manipulate the keys on Cara’s new phone and sent back her own message. NOT WHEN I AM DONE WITH IT

  The phone rang almost instantly. Diane answered it, sending Cara into a new fit of giggles. “I thought at least you might have some confidence in my ability to appropriately dress my daughter. Although she seems blind to my one and only talent, I was sure you had eyes, anyway.”

  “Mrs. Laas, I have every confidence in your ability to create the perfect gown. Cara will be stunning if she goes in a grocery sack, but you’ll ensure she knocks the whole room dead.”

  “That’s one way to get her for yourself.”

  Cara smiled at Jonathan’s laughter. Whatever he’d said, he had definitely scored points with her mother. All the way out the door, to the car, and halfway to the Row, Diane talked to Jonathan, while Cara listened, wondering at the strange things her mother said. What did mulch, concerts, and hamburgers have to do with anything?

  She retrieved her phone as she parked. “Sorry, no more talking to my mother. She has stories I am not prepared to have you hear. We’re shopping now. Pray.” His laughter filled the air until the phone disconnected him.

  After the third store, Cara called him back. “Send me five pictures of dresses you would expect to see at this thing. Mom and I have opposing ideas of what we’re looking for, and I am tired of trying on the equivalent of wedding gowns in bright colors.”

  “I thought bridal shopping was every woman’s favorite pastime.”

  “That depends on if you are getting married or not and if things actually fit you.”

  “You don’t make sense, Cara.” Jonathan’s voice strained at his attempt to hide his frustration. “What do you mean things don’t fit?”

  “I told you. I’m short. I’m short waisted—”

  “What does that mean again? I recognize the term, but…” Jonathan apologized. “Just don’t remember.”

  “Okay, find your bottom rib… the last one. Feel it? Now, find your hip. How many inches between them?”

  “A full span from my little finger to my index fully extended.”

  “On me that’s like six inches, but I bet it’s around nine or so for you. I thought you were longer waisted. I have an inch and a half. If I’m standing up very straight.”

  The airspace lay silent for a few seconds. “How do most women average?”

  “Around four is average, I think.”

  Again, a hint of silence. “And that means?”

  “It means that there are an extra two and a half or three inches in length… at least, in every dress I try on. They bunch at the waist, or they’re really tight across the hip because where the waist should be hitting, my hips are mocking me.”

  “Now that makes sense. Maybe you should just shop in petite?”

  Exasperated, Cara tried explaining once more. “Petite is for shorter people who are proportioned normally. I am short everywhere but my legs. I have ridiculously long legs for the rest of my body.”

  “I li—”

  Cara sighed. “Don’t even go there. Just get me the stupid pictures.” Without waiting for a reply, she hung up the phone, lifted another dozen yards of fabric from the floor, and walked out to show her mother how ridiculous she looked—again.

  “Mom, this is all wrong. I need something more like an evening gown. This is too poofy.”

  “It’s a ball gown! The clerk—”

  “Fashion assistant, Mom,” Cara corrected quickly before the woman’s insulted expression transformed into uncooperativeness.

  “Right. Anyway, she said that people were shopping for these gowns, for the ball. Surely she should know!” Diane tried to keep her voice low but frustration sent it into a stage whisper that the entire store could hear.

  “I look like a fairy godmother!”

  “You look like a princess.”

  “If it was white, I’d need a veil!” Cara’s voice rose ever so slightly.

  “Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Cara.” Diane poked at the waist, trying to adjust it to see how it would look designed for a different body type. “You’ll want a different waist for that. Something to give the illusion of a torso.”

  “I think I’ll just go with Regency and look pregnant,” Cara muttered as she swished back into the dressing room where an attendant appeared at just the right moment to unzip her and then disappeared for privacy. Lord, I love these attendants. Can we make an agreement that someday I’ll be able to afford shopping—nah. It won’t work.
I just won’t fit into what I like.

  Several pictures flew through the phone in rapid succession. The first three looked like the kinds of gowns Cara had been searching for, the fourth was almost an exact match for the dress she’d just tried on, the fifth was a formal floor length skirt and beaded wrap top affair, and the last was a picture of Jonathan and his children smiling into the camera. A quick text message read, ARE WE WORTH IT?

  YOU’D BETTER BE, was the only retort she could manufacture with a brain fried from too much taffeta and silk dupioni.

  “Look, Mom,” Cara thrust the phone at her mother as she wandered to another section of the store. “Four out of the five dresses Jonathan sent are all what I’ve been describing. I’m not going for Scarlett O’Hara’s drapes when I can have something like this!”

  As she spoke, her voice lilted with interest. A gown hanging on a mannequin arrested her interest and held her captive. An asymmetrical bodice gave the illusion of extra torso length—exactly what Cara needed. The fabric Diane had purchased would be perfect for the style, and the one-shouldered strap would ensure she wouldn’t feel like her dress was slipping off all evening. “This is it.”

  “I’m not sure that’ll fit your body type…” The fashion assistant sounded dubious.

  “I’ll try it on. Perhaps it can be altered. Come on, Mom!”

  Cara hadn’t felt so excited since she’d heard about the ball. They stood in the fitting room snapping pictures, playing with the drape, and finally stepped out to ask the assistant if she thought raising the strap would destroy the look of the gown. Immediately, the woman nodded. “You’d have the under-bust line cutting you across the middle of it.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of,” Cara admitted, forcing herself to keep a rueful tone in her voice. “I’ll have to have something similar made. I have to have this dress.”

  When Cara reappeared from the dressing rooms, she marched directly to the display of handbags, picked up a leather straw-colored purse with half rings and pockets, glanced at the price to ensure she’d stay out of debt for it, and handed it to the fashion assistant. “Thanks for all of your help. With a body like mine, I know better than to hope I can find something ‘on the rack,’ but one of these days, I’m going to. Meanwhile, I’d like this.”