Even with other choir members still milling about, chatting, he broke into the warmest of smiles. "Hey." While it could've been the lighting, or the late hour, his eyes looked…well, sparkly. Either that, or his fever was coming back.
Not sure whether to laugh or cry, Sara just lifted her chin toward him in acknowledgment and said, "Ciao."
Commence evasive maneuvers.
Wanting to get in her car, beat him home, and get into bed before he even walked through the door, she waved good night to the other choir members she rushed past on her way out. The cold, crisp night air was just what she needed. Walking through the parking lot, she tried clearing her head and telling herself that what she just witnessed wasn't about her.
Just one more week.
Then what?
Wishing she had prioritized a pedicure over going to some lame church gala, she brushed a layer of newly fallen snow off of her trusty little Honda's windshield.
There was only one person who could help her sort through what was going on in her head and heart. The only question was would she still be up at that hour.
As soon as she was buckled in and flipped her defroster on full blast, she heard the opening chords of Robert Palmer's "Bad Case of Lovin' You" coming from her purse.
Retrieving it before she pulled out of the parking lot, she checked to see who was calling.
Claire?
"Holy crap, it's like you're psychic or something. I was just about to call you."
With a laugh, Claire replied, "Hey you, is everything all right?"
"Yeah. Well, no. Can you talk?"
"I have a better idea. Can you come over? My sister is about your height and has a closet full of gowns. She dropped some off today, and I thought you might want to come take a look. I'll be up for a while yet. Somebody, and I'm not mentioning any names," she heard Claire call out into the distance, "forgot to tell me he volunteered me to bring cupcakes to the school's bake sale tomorrow."
"Oh. Do you want me to pick some up on the way over?"
"Awww, thanks, but I've already got them started. How soon can you get here?"
Ten minutes later, Sara sat in Claire's spacious but warm cupcake-scented kitchen, assuring her that all of her boys, husband included, were otherwise occupied upstairs.
"Here." Handing a stack of garment bags her sister had left hanging on a hook in their mudroom, Claire directed Sara to the powder room where she could try them on.
Getting Claire's opinion on the ones she really liked, Sara finally settled on a sleek silver satin strapless gown with tiny rhinestones embellishing the fitted bodice and the edging of the almost-sheer matching wrap.
"Please thank Kate for me."
"Absolutely."
"I'll be sure to send her flowers or a bottle of wine or something."
Pouring them both some tea, Claire sat at the head of the table, while Sara slipped into the chair just to her right. "No worries. She's got more dresses than your average bridal shop."
After a quiet moment, Sara felt her friend studying her over the rim of her mug. "You look different."
Brushing her bangs out of her eyes, Sara waved her off with a sigh. "Yeah, I'm overdue for a trim, and I've kind of cut back on the makeup. Time for a new look."
Claire continued to look at her like she was an abstract sculpture on display at the Museum of Contemporary Art. "No, that's not it."
Moving her mug out of the way, Sara planted both elbows on the table and covered her face with her hands.
"Claire," she moaned. "I'm in trouble."
Nearly knocking her own mug over, Claire asked. "What do you mean? Are you—oh hon." Dropping her voice an octave, she asked, "You're not pregnant, are you?"
At that, Sara dropped her hands from her face. With a stone-cold serious expression, her voice was flat as she replied, "No, I'm not pregnant."
With a hand to her chest, Claire exhaled, "Thank God."
A frown etched over Sara's forehead. "What would you do if I said I was?"
"Sweetie." Reaching over, Claire smoothed the back of her fingers against Sara's cheek and cupped it in the warm palm of her hand. "I'd make sure you knew that you weren't alone, and then I'd ask what I could do to help."
Not only did that simple little gesture make Sara sorry for challenging her, it triggered a longing for her mother that she hadn't felt in a very long time. Suddenly, all she wanted to do was unload everything her heavy heart was getting really tired of lugging around.
"Claire," Sara rasped as she felt the emotions already starting to surface.
Getting up, Claire moved her chair right next to Sara, put an arm around her, and squeezed.
"Come on," she urged as she tightened her grip. "What's this all about, huh?"
Sara turned to her friend, who was wearing yellow ducky pajama bottoms with a royal blue Knollwood High School sweatshirt pulled tight over her very conspicuous baby bump.
"I don't know where to start," she whispered.
Which was a lie. She knew exactly where she had to begin.
Massaging her forehead with her fingertips, troubling images she thought she had banished forever started escaping from the nether regions of her memory.
Two pink lines on the pregnancy test stick.
The awful one-story clinic on the outskirts of Madison.
The unimaginable pain.
The crushing guilt.
The soul-robbing shame.
Her face twisted into a sob. "Oh, Claire."
Burrowing her face in her friend's shoulder, Sara cried until there wasn't anything left. The whole time, Claire didn't budge, as uncomfortable as she must have been. She just stroked Sara's hair and kept repeating, "Everything's gonna be OK."
Two hours later, with a mountain of used tissues filling a paper grocery bag at her feet, Sara looked into her friend's tired eyes. "I should let you get to bed."
"Oh, don't worry about me," Claire replied as she squeezed Sara's hand. "In the morning, I get to sleep in."
Tilting Sara's chin up, she looked into her eyes and said, "I can't believe you've been keeping that inside for this long."
"Thanks for not judging me." She drew a deep breath. "I'll be honest. I never really thought twice about it until Andrew came along."
Her eyes started to fill again. "He's too good for me."
At this, Claire sat up. "Oh, like hell he is."
Ignoring Sara's shocked expression, she squeezed her hand and said, "Come on now. I'm getting a little tired of you telling me how you're not good enough, or you don't deserve this or that. It's time you put all of this behind you. You deserve to be happy as much as everyone else."
With a gasp, Sara hissed, "That's easy for you to say, Claire. You haven't done what I've done. There's no way to put that behind me. Life doesn't come with an undo button." Appalled that she found herself glaring into her tired friend's face, she softened her expression and mouthed, "It doesn't."
Still holding onto her hand, Claire broke into a gentle smile and said, "Oh yes, it does."
* * *
The first thing Sara saw when she woke on the morning of the gala was Kate's gown draped across the seats of all four barstools that had been turned around so they were facing her. The wrap lay neatly folded on top of it. Having gotten in so late the night before, she was fairly sure that's not the way she had left it before collapsing on the sleeper sofa that Andrew had open and ready for her. What she was sure of was that she knew what she had to do and wasn't looking forward to it. Not one bit.
Assuming she had the place to herself, she got out of bed. With nothing on save a skimpy tank top over her snowflake pajama bottoms, she made up the bed and folded it back into place. According to the oven clock, it was already 11:30.
Good God.
Given the amount of light coming through the bay window, she knew it was late, but she was surprised to see that half the day was almost over. And relieved that her sleep was deep, not interrupted with bad dreams or insomnia.
&nb
sp; So glad it's Saturday.
Stripping down, she checked herself in the mirror before she ducked into a steamy shower. Her eyes still looked swollen and bloodshot from all of the crying the night before. And her hair. Now that she had lightened up on the makeup, the flat black color just wasn't doing it for her anymore.
Reaching behind the shower curtain, she turned off the water. After wrapping a towel around her torso, she opened the bathroom door and peeked out, just in case. Not seeing or hearing Andrew, she made her way to the kitchen, where she had left her phone.
Pulling up her contact list, she selected a number and waited for someone on the other end to pick up. When they did, she said way more cheerfully than she intended, "Hey Chelsea. It's Sara Cleff. Have any openings this afternoon for a cut and color?"
"Uh, yep. Sure do. How's one o'clock?"
"I'll take it."
Step one in her undo process: Return hair to natural color. A cosmetic change, sure, but as Claire said the night before, "Baby steps."
After a shower and a bite to eat, she made her way downtown for some ("Come on, say it with me," Claire had urged) pampering. Use of this word in regard to herself still brought a look of distaste to Sara's face.
Plopping into Chelsea's chair she stared at her reflection as the stylist raked her fingers through her dull black strands, asking, "So what are we doing today?"
Sara knew exactly what she wanted. "Same style, an inch off all around, and this color has to go."
Ready with a picture somebody had taken of her and Kerry after he had helped her win a pie-eating contest by holding her hair out of her face while she dug in, Sara held it up for Chelsea to examine.
As the stylist peered at it, she instructed, "As close to that color as you can get, OK?"
"You got it," Chelsea promised before asking, "What's that white stuff on your face?"
"Whipped cream."
"And who's the guy?"
With dry-eyed resolve, Sara said, "My brother."
"He's pretty cute." With a quick squeeze on her shoulders, Chelsea winked. "Looks just like you."
Two hours later, Sara walked out already feeling a little undone, sporting a fresh cut and her God-given hair color.
Next stop, Nordstrom for some shoes to go with Kate's gown. Knowing she needed just a little bit of a heel to keep the hem off the floor, she didn't want so much heel that she'd be taller than Andrew. With no expectation of how that evening would roll, her only hope was to get in one slow dance with him, cheek-to-cheek.
And he has to initiate it. Otherwise, it won't mean anything.
While she was trying on a pretty pair of low-heeled silver sling backs, the opening riff from Prince's "When Doves Cry" sounded from the depths of her purse. Snatching it before too many eyes turned her way, she answered without seeing who it was.
"Hey there." The sound of Andrew's voice filled her with a bittersweet mix of excitement and sadness.
"Hey. I'm shoe shopping for tonight. What are you up to?"
With a warm chuckle, he replied, "I'm still at church. Looks like I'll be playing at the five o'clock. My backup seems to have caught the bug I had last weekend."
"OK. Do you want me to just meet you at the gala?" she asked, crouching over on the little step stool she was on to try to tune out some of the store noise.
"That's what I was thinking. Is that all right with you?"
"Yeah, sure."
"But I need you to do me a favor."
At this, she put the shoes down, stood up, and poked a finger in her free ear to hear him better. "I'm sorry. What?"
"Can you bring my tux to the church for me? It's in a black garment bag in the closet. The shirt and shoes that go with it should be in there, too, at the bottom."
"Sure, yeah."
"OK, see you in a bit."
Before she hung up, she said, "Hey. Wait a minute. I can't go walking into church carrying your stuff. What will people think?"
But he had hung up already.
Checking the time, she made her way to the nearest register with the sling backs and then headed back to the apartment where she deposited them before gathering Andrew's tux. Twenty minutes later, she was walking through the narthex, realizing she didn't have the slightest idea where his office was.
She spotted a kindly looking older gentleman standing near the room where the ushers stored the collection baskets. "Hi, I'm looking for Andrew Benet. Can you tell me where I can find his office?"
He smiled and pointed to a door on the other end of the building. "That's the church office. His office is through those doors."
"OK, great. Thanks."
With the crowd starting to gather for Mass, she wanted to hurry up and get out of there so she could get home and get ready, sight unseen. Bursting through the office door, she found that the lights were off, and it appeared to be empty. Walking up and down the corridor that led to the staff offices, she found that each door was locked.
Who locks doors in a church?
Back in the main office, she decided the best thing to do would be to leave his tux there with his name on it.
With her back to the door, she lay the garment bag carefully across the desk and pulled a large sticky note off of a pad that was sitting near the phone. Clicking a pen, she started writing his name, but nothing appeared on the paper. She shook the pen. Still nothing.
"Dammit."
"Can I help you?"
Swirling around, Sara found herself face-to-face with Andrew. With a slow smile creeping over her mouth, she raised her eyebrows as recognition registered on his face.
With a low, sultry voice, she asked, "Did someone here order a tuxedo?"
But he didn't smile back. Coming through the door right behind him was Marge, a few of the sopranos whose names she still didn't know, and the kindly looking older gentleman from the narthex. All dressed in formalwear.
C-r-a-p.
"Uh, Sara. I believe you know Marge."
She nodded at the diminutive librarian with a scowl that could take down a rabid grizzly.
"Marge."
"Sara?"
"And these," Andrew continued, "Are the members of the parish council."
One of the women came forward with a smile and extended her hand. "Hi Sara. Lorelei. We met at cantor practice last week? I love what you've done with your hair."
Sara touched her fingertips to her bangs. "Oh, thanks. I'm sorry. I didn't recognize you." Waving her hand toward the soprano's rhinestone-studded aqua cocktail dress, she said with as much sincerity as possible, "You look lovely."
Her eyes darted to Andrew who had sidled up next to her to get the garment bag while Lorelei explained. "We just need to pick up the silent auction items that Andrew here was kind enough to store in his office for us."
"Uh, did you all need a hand?"
While some of the men paused to consider her offer, the rest of the women kindly declined as they nudged their spouses down the hallway.
Digging his keys out of his pocket, Andrew handed them to Lorelei. "You guys go ahead, and start loading everything up. I'll be right there."
When they were alone, he turned to Sara. "Sorry about that."
She shrugged. "No worries. I don't embarrass easy. Hope I didn't get you in trouble though."
With a smile, he moved a little closer. "Everything OK? I'm guessing you got home pretty late last night."
As brightly as possible, she thanked him for having the bed ready. Then, pressing her lips together, she nodded. "I'm good." Tilting her chin lower, she added, "I'm very good, actually."
Although smiling, he looked confused.
"Never mind."
No minds in the gutter tonight.
Turning to leave, she was halfway through the door when he called after her, "Sara. Take a cab tonight. That way we can drive home together."
As she saw members of the parish council fill in behind him, their arms full of boxes and their face registering no small amount of surprise, she just nodded
—
And told her dashboard the entire way home all about Step Two in her undo process: Tell Andrew everything.
"Maybe Claire's right. If he loves me, which I'm not even sure he does, what I did won't matter. It happened way before we met."
"But what if she's wrong? If I'm upfront with him and he turns me out of the apartment and his life?"
A shudder ran through her. "I'm not sure I can bounce back from that."
Pulling to a stop at an intersection, she looked in the rearview mirror. "Because you went ahead and fell in love with him, didn't you? Even after I told you not to."
She gripped the steering wheel with both hands and shouted, "Shit!" at the top of her lungs.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a guy driving a delivery truck the next lane over laughing at her.
After flipping him off, she pressed her foot to the accelerator as the light turned green and resumed her dashboard-speak. "Let's just see how tonight goes. Just play it cool. Let it ride."
Sounds like a plan.
When she got home, the first thing she did was crank a little Pat Benatar and sang "Heartbreaker" as loud as she could while she got ready, thankful as ever that she lived in a soundproofed unit, even if it was just temporary.
About to walk through the door to grab the cab she had ordered, she realized she didn't have a coat to wear over her gown. Flinging open the foyer closet, she raked through its contents and pulled out Andrew's black overcoat, the one he was wearing when he came home on casserole night.
"This will have to do," she muttered to herself as she pulled it on, slipping her clutch in the pocket and carefully draping the folded wrap over her arm. Picking up the hem of the gown, she made her way to the taxi waiting at the curb. All she did the entire way to the Jackson Boulevard address was close her eyes and inhale the hint of Andrew's scent coming off the coat collar, trying to brand it in her memory. Just in case.
"Union League Club of Chicago," the driver announced as they pulled up.
Handing him his fare plus tip, she felt the door open beside her as the doorman offered his hand to her.
"Good evening, Miss."
No one had ever called her "Miss" before, unless she counted her dear Aunt Ruby who would call her Missy every time she scolded her.
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