The Right Wedding Gown

by Shirley Hailstock

“I’m relieved it belongs to you,” she said. “It’s a beautiful painting, and I was honored to work on it.”

  “Can we see it?” Deanna asked.

  “Sure,” Justin said. “Samara, would you help me?”

  Justin took her hand as the two of them left the room. They pulled the paper off the painting and removed the protective coverings on the ends. She began to lift her end of painting when Justin stopped her.

  “There’s something I want to tell them when we go back in there.”

  Samara stood up straight. “What?”

  Justin took her hand and pulled her close. He kissed her briefly on the mouth. “That there’s going to be wedding in the family. That you’ll marry me.”

  Samara pushed herself back as if she were escaping a fire. Surprised registered on Justin’s face.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to react so violently. But I can’t marry you.”

  “Why? You love me. I know you. I love you. Why shouldn’t we get married?”

  Samara had thought of marriage to Justin. It had been there, under the surface, for months. She knew it now. But she also knew the results of marriages. They didn’t last. Despite his parents only a room away, she couldn’t count on it lasting forever.

  “Samara, I love you. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

  “It tells me that I was right in the first place.”

  “Right about what?” Justin asked.

  “About not getting involved. About not letting things go past the point of no return. About life changing us in ways we have no control over.”

  “Is that what you think?” he asked. “That we’ll change? That you love me, but you’re not willing to take a chance, believe that the two of us can defy the odds?”

  “We can’t. Statistics tell us that.”

  “To hell with statistics,” he shouted. “I love you. I want to spend my life with you. I don’t care about how many people get married and divorced. Or how many times they remarry. I want you. And I’m willing to try to make life everything you want it to be. Aren’t you willing to do the same with me?”

  Samara stared at him, mutely.

  He looked at her, waiting for her to say something, for her to tell him that she loved him. Samara couldn’t do it. Shane’s confession was fresh in her mind. Shane had told her not to let her marriage color Samara’s choices. But she couldn’t. Shane’s divorce only reinforced Samara’s beliefs that she wouldn’t be happy in the long run.

  Justin stepped back. “I have my answer.”

  Chapter 13

  “To us,” Geri said raising her glass.

  “To us,” the others echoed, smiles all around. Glasses clinked and they drank the champagne.

  “I am so glad I have friends like you,” Shane said.

  “I’ll drink to that,” Geri agreed. “I’d never have gotten though the fashion show without all of you. And I am glad to report that sales are brisk. After my mom resigned, I had to find a replacement. The manager Carmen recommended is an absolute wizard and things in my life have never been better.”

  “She met a man,” Diana stated.

  Geri blushed and sipped from her glass.

  “Who is he?” Shane asked.

  “He’s someone I’ve known for years. He’s an architect. We met by accident while I was working on the fashion show. He came by the store one day to speak to his brother. We had a drink and from there things got…interesting.”

  “I am so happy for you,” Shane said. Samara noticed a brightness in her eyes.

  “Me, too,” the others echoed.

  “Samara, you’re rather quiet,” Shane said.

  “Oh, I don’t mean to be. Geri, I’m happy for you, too.”

  “What about you and Justin?” Carmen asked. “I thought you and Diana might be Geri’s first customers.”

  Tears sprang to Samara’s eyes before she could stop them. Only one spilled down her face. She wiped it away. The celebratory atmosphere at the table turned to that of a wake.

  “Samara,” Geri said, quietly. “What’s happened?”

  Samara took a deep breath. “Justin asked me to marry him.”

  “That’s great,” Shane shouted. Heads swiveled to stare at them. Shane’s smile faded.

  “Tell us what happened,” Carmen prompted.

  Samara explained. “He knew how I felt. How could he ask me to marry him?”

  “Because he’s in love with you,” Diana explained. “And you’re in love with him. Marriage is the natural next step.”

  “I’m not in love with him.”

  “Sorry to break this to you, sister, but yes, you are.”

  “What you have to do is let yourself believe it,” Shane joined Diana’s argument.

  “You really think I’m in love with him?”

  “It doesn’t matter what we think,” Carmen told her. “It’s what you believe.”

  “He said he thought I was in love with him.”

  “What does your heart say?” Carmen asked.

  Samara didn’t say anything for a long time. She looked at each of her friends. Then she nodded. “I do love him.”

  “But you don’t want to,” Geri explained as if she were a psychologist. “You’ve told yourself so often that you don’t want to join the ranks of being an ex-wife that you won’t be a wife in the first place.”

  “I just want to be sure.”

  “There’s no such thing,” Shane said. “Life doesn’t come with guarantees. The future is out of sight and always will be. If you love him, you should give him a chance.”

  “But, Shane, look what’s happened to you. How do I know that won’t happen to me?”

  “You don’t. And you never will. But you have to work at a relationship.”

  “You and Alex worked at yours, didn’t you?”

  “We tried—in the beginning. But as we grew, our paths moved in different directions. We’re ending our marriage, but we’re going to remain friends.”

  “Samara, you can’t base your relationship on Shane’s or Geri’s or anyone else’s,” Carmen told her. “Like fingerprints, every relationship is unique. There’s no blueprint, no guide, no rules. You make them up as you go along. You build your relationship and your love the way that it fits the two of you.”

  “All this sounds so logical.”

  “But it’s not. Love is not logical. It can be miserable,” Geri said. “But it can also be the most wonderful thing in the world to happen to two people.”

  Geri’s words echoed in Samara mind as she went to work Monday morning. Love is not logical. It can be miserable. That she was sure of. Since she’d practically run out of Justin’s house, she’d been nothing but miserable.

  She missed him. She wanted his strong arms holding her, the feel of his mouth on hers and the magical rapture that whisked them to their own private paradise when they made love.

  The doors to the main floor were open and the building was coming to life for another day. Samara entered this way instead of going to the employees’ entrance. She was late. She didn’t care. Sleep had eluded her for most of the night and she had no memory of the clock alarming. She opened her eyes and jumped out of bed when she saw the time.

  “Good morning,” Alan Stackhouse greeted her as she approached the elevator.

  Samara yawned, covering her mouth with her hand. “Good morning,” she said.

  “Hot date?” he teased, a knowing smile on his face.

  “Not even close,” she answered.

  The elevator doors opened, but Samara hesitated. She looked around, wondering, hoping that Alan was hiding a postcard for her. But his hands were empty. The doors began to close. At the last moment, he stuck his arm out and pushed them back.

  “Is something wrong?”

  Something was very wrong, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. “I thought you might have an envelope.”

  He shook is head. “Justin hasn’t been here in a while. I suppose his new job is keeping him pretty
busy.”

  “I’m sure it is,” she answered.

  “Don’t worry, when things settle down, he’ll be back. He likes looking at these old documents.” Alan glanced at the glass cases across the room.

  “That’s probably it. Justin is one to give all to his job.”

  Alan smiled. “You have a nice day now,” he said.

  “You, too, Alan.” Samara stepped into the small room and Alan released the doors. The moment they closed she slumped against the wall. She wanted a sign, something from Justin that said they could get back together, but not marry.

  But Justin wasn’t that kind of man. He wanted to marry her. He was from a large, loving family, and he wanted to replicate that life in his own right. Why had he chosen her? Samara couldn’t answer that. She’d told him time and again that she wasn’t ever marrying.

  Yet, were her actions speaking that language? She shook her head as if she’d voiced the question aloud. She’d run into his arms whenever he came. She sought him out and wanted to be with him, spend time, talk, get to know him. Why hadn’t she thought where that would lead? Why hadn’t she stopped it when she could?

  “And when was that?” she asked the air.

  Taking the job at EEOB was probably a lifesaver, Justin thought. At OEO, lives were in his hands. He had to be on point at all times. He couldn’t have his concentration broken for even a moment. And Samara did more than break his concentration.

  Like now, she was at the forefront of his mind. While he was supposed to be reading through the miles of litigation on his desk, working out the details and constitutional implications of the opposition, he was thinking of how beautiful her eyes looked when she smiled.

  He had to get out of the building. Maybe a walk along Pennsylvania Avenue would clear his mind. In the past he’d used the Archives building for that purpose. He wouldn’t go within a mile of it now.

  Few people ever walked through the front doors of the EEOB. They used the tunnels to get to the White House next door or headed through one of the entrances that led to the parking lot. Justin pushed the glass doors open and stepped onto the top flat stone. The entrance was like a giant picture frame.

  Heading past the White House and Treasury Department, he looked across the street at the park where he’d once waited for Samara to come along. She wasn’t there today and not likely to be. It was only past noon. She would be below ground, lost in her documents and books, not thinking of him or the bereft way she’d left him.

  Stopping at the light on the corner of Fifteenth Street where Pennsylvania and State Place NW intersected, he waited with the crowd to cross. It was a warm day and the tourists were out in force. But Justin’s eyes honed in on the one person standing across the street.

  Samara!

  She stood on the New York side while he was on Pennsylvania. What was she doing there? The Archives building was blocks away. In a moment, her eyes connected with his. He saw her body stiffen, saw her take a deep breath and hold it. The light turned green and everyone moved except them. She stayed on New York, he on Pennsylvania.

  He knew they had to run into each other sooner or later. The District had over a million people counting commuters in the sixty-eight-square-mile tract, but eventually they had to run into each other. Justin didn’t think it would be this soon. Bracing himself, he waited while she left New York Avenue and walked to Pennsylvania.

  “Hello,” she said with a smile.

  “You’re a long way from work,” he said without greeting.

  “It’s not that far,” she said, glancing over her shoulder.

  The crowd gathered as the light turned red. Justin and Samara moved back, near the gate of the Treasury Department, to get out of the flow of people.

  “I’m glad I ran into you,” she said.

  Justin thought her voice sounded very formal, as if they were two acquaintances who hadn’t met in a while, but had a secret to share. Yet they were former lovers, and the former was barely a day old. He could still imagine her imprinted on him and hear her howls as they both climaxed at the same time.

  “I wanted to apologize for the other day. I know it was rude of me to act so strangely when you asked me…” She stopped, swallowing and looking uncomfortable.

  She seemed to have a hard time saying the words. “When I asked you to marry me,” he supplied.

  She nodded, still refusing to utter the words.

  “I know my actions led you to think—”

  “Samara,” he interrupted. “I love you. But I’ll survive,” he said. He would survive, but he would never stop loving her. He’d learn to live with the pain. This feeling had happened to him before. Eventually it would dull, but not die. And the ordeal he had to go through to get past the learning process would be like scaling a glass mountain that had oil running down its sides.

  “Justin.” She reached up to touch his face. He jumped back as if she were about to deliver a blow to his head. Her hand fell to her side.

  He shouldn’t have done that. It was a reflexive action, one of self-preservation. He couldn’t let her touch him. He knew if she did he’d lose it. She looked so fresh and beautiful with the sun in her hair and the light on her face. He’d have swept her into his arms and let the spectators of the nation’s capital have a good look at a man in love.

  Samara had interpreted the action differently. Her words told him that. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I won’t bother you again.”

  He watched her walking away. It took every ounce of resolve he had not to run after her, fall on his knees and beg her to come back. But he couldn’t. He knew he couldn’t. He also knew she was in love with him. But she had to discover it. She had to be the one to believe that they could take the next step and all they believed in wouldn’t fall apart.

  He only hoped she would find out before time and distance separated them forever.

  Samara refused to cry. There was nothing to cry for. She’d chosen this direction. Why should she feel anything except satisfaction at achieving her goal? Yet she did. She knew she wanted Justin, but it was too late. When she saw him standing on the corner, her heart nearly jumped through her chest, but he’d moved on.

  She thought it would take a little longer than a few days. He’d said he loved her. That had to be a lie. If he loved her, how could he jump away from her hand like that? How could he tell her he was going to get over her, that he would survive without her?

  Wasn’t that what she wanted? She was confused. Justin said one thing and did another. Well, she could do it, too. She could get over him. Squaring her shoulders, she continued up Sixteenth Street, refusing to look over her shoulder, although the effort not to was greater than lifting a 747.

  “It’s not working,” Samara told Carmen as they looked through the items that would soon be up for auction.

  “See anything you want to bid on?” she asked.

  “I’m not talking about bidding, and you know it.”

  Carmen turned to her, looking her straight in the eye. It was her jury look. Samara recognized it.

  “Are you in love with him?” she asked.

  Feeling as if she were under oath, Samara answered truthfully. “Yes.” The single word rebounded in her mind. It was the first time she’d said it out loud. Suddenly the weight she hadn’t realized she was carrying lifted. She felt lighter. She was in love with him.

  “Then tell him. It will change your world. And it’ll put him out of the misery he’s in.”

  Samara stood looking down at a trunk. “I think it’s too late for that.” Carmen listened intently as Samara related the events that took place in front of the Treasury Department.

  “That was his method of protecting himself. We all do it, throw up walls around ourselves when we feel our emotions may be hurt or destroyed. Men are worse than women.”

  Samara wondered if that was true. Had what happened with Justin been his way of protecting himself?

  “Should I bid on the trunk again?” Carmen asked.

 
“What?” Samara asked.

  “The trunk?” She pointed to the beat-up trunk they were standing in front of. It looked as if it had been in someone’s attic for a hundred years.

  Samara remembered Justin’s trunk. It looked as if it had been around the world. “No,” she said. “Look at the luck I had the last time I bought a trunk.” Samara walked away from it. The signal sounded that the auction was about to begin.

  “Better take our seats,” Carmen said.

  Samara followed her friend. Samara sat down. She looked at the empty seat beside her. The last time she came to an auction, Justin had been in the seat next to hers. They weren’t at Shadow Walk and she didn’t expect to see him here this time. Moments later a young girl in her early twenties with bouncing blond hair slipped into the seat. Irrationally, Samara wanted to ask her to move, tell her that the seat was taken. But she turned around and focused her attention on the auctioneer.

  Samara’s mind wasn’t on the auction. Should she tell Justin how she felt? Could she? Could she even get close enough to him to speak? The last time had been a disaster.

  But the next time, she told herself. The next time would be different.

  Cinnamon had given Samara the idea, but it was Diana that worked out the details. She’d send him a postcard. It had worked for him. Why shouldn’t it work for her? For them?

  Samara held the card in her hand, looking down at the wonder of modern computer graphics and a creative mind. It was the scene from the painting, only this one had her as the bride and Justin as the groom.

  Anyone who was anyone in the District had a photo somewhere, on the Internet, in a newspaper morgue, uploaded to Facebook or one of the other personal web services. Diana had found several of Justin.

  Using the wedding gown from the now infamous trunk, the one item that had started her on this railroad to Justin, Samara had dressed in it and a photographer had taken several pictures. Using the magic of the computer, Diana had combined all the photos to compose a replica of them in the appropriate pose.

  For a moment Samara’s eyes misted, like a veil taking her back to three nights ago. Three sleepless nights. She’d admitted to herself that she was in love with Justin. But she hadn’t admitted that she wanted to do anything about it. Not take the lead and aggressively approach him. She thought the next time she ran into him she’d be more prepared for the onslaught of feelings that ripped through her. She would be able to control the memory of him and how they had been together. But in the dawning of the day, when the sun blushed the horizon like red wine spilling on a white carpet, she understood that she would never be the same again. That her life was linked to his with a bond that was strong. She could never be prepared to love someone and watch him walk away.