CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
AINSLEY
“I love the dress in the window,” my new client says. She’s getting married in two months, and is hoping I can design and sew a dress for her. She’s delusional. Custom made dresses usually require at least six months lead time, but her husband-to-be is in the military and being deployed. They want to get married before he leaves, and I want to help them. “Would you consider selling it?”
“It was my mother’s dress,” I say quickly. “So I’m afraid not.”
I leave out the rest of the story. I like each dress I design to have a story, but that dress, the story of my dress, isn’t a fairytale. My mother is gone, the original dress is ashes, and the man I was supposed to marry in that dress was seriously injured. I couldn’t sell it in good conscience, even if I wanted to. The dress is obviously cursed. I should probably have an exorcism preformed on it.
“Besides, you want something unique to you.”
My store is more a design studio than an actual store. I don’t have dresses on racks. Because my designs are one of a kind, there aren’t samples to try on. I do have an extensive portfolio, and shelves and shelves of different examples of crystals, beads, and laces. The whole point of what I do is that no one will have the same dress. Each of my dresses is unique and special, like the women who wear them.
“Can you do it?” she asks. “Is there enough time?”
The door to my shop opens. Skye and Brody both walk in. My store stays open later than both the vet and fertility clinics, but the last time they were in my shop together was when they helped me move in. Now they are showing up unannounced. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out something’s up.
I refocus on my client. “No beading?”
“Lace,” she says, her face hopeful. “I love lace. And I have this from my grandmother that I plan on wearing for you to draw inspiration from.”
She reaches into a box, revealing a cathedral length veil. It looks like something a princess would wear. Inspiration strikes, my head starts spinning with ideas. Taking it from her, I hold it up. “I see a simple dress. Maybe a sheath. Something classic, timeless.” I place the veil on her head. “Low cut back.”
“Oh my goodness, he’ll love that,” the bride-to-be says. “So you’ll fit me in?”
I nod, and she nearly leaps into my arms, hugging me. Brody gives me that proud brother smile of his. I’m glad he’s proud, but I have no idea how I’m going to pull this off. Two months isn’t enough time, not with my current client list. Oh well, sleep is overrated. I finish up with my new bride then turn the store sign to closed.
Turning back around, I feel like I’m about to face the firing squad. “Okay, what’s up?”
“Nothing,” Brody says. “We’re just on our way to dinner and thought we’d see if you’d like to join us.”
I don’t believe that for a second. “As you just heard, I’ve got less than two months to make her dress, so . . .”
“Just tell her,” Skye says to Brody.
I’ve never seen him look at her the way he is, full of annoyance. “Brody, what’s this about?”
“Rhett,” he says, placing his hands on my shoulders.
It’s been two weeks since my visit to see Rhett. Two weeks of him calling and texting. Two weeks of me ignoring and deleting all his messages. I never told Skye or Brody about what happened at his facility. They asked, but I don’t have the energy to get into it all. My silence on the subject was enough for them to gather it didn’t go well. But from the look on Brody’s face, they know something I don’t. “Is he hurt? Or . . .”
I feel my body start to tremble, and Brody hugs me. “No, nothing like that. He’s fine. He’s really good, in fact.”
He encourages me to sit. Can it be good news? No one ever says I think you should sit down before they give you good news. But this little sofa is where I usually reveal my designs to my brides. Only happy things happen in this spot.
Skye doesn’t sit. I wonder if that’s because the news is bad or if she’s simply letting Brody and me have a sibling moment. “So I guess you talked to him,” I say.
Brody looks up at Skye, who simply raises a disapproving eyebrow. “Actually, I went to see him,” he says.
“You what?” I nearly fall off the sofa in shock, as Skye gives Brody an I told you so look.
“Why? When? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Remember, he was my friend first, before he was anything to you.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean? How can you say something like that to me?” I snap, getting to my feet.
“Wait, sis,” Brody says, shaking his head. “That came out wrong. Of course, I know what you had with him was more . . . I know you’re hurting more. But he is my best friend.”
Is. That little word holds a lot of meaning.
“I told Brody to tell you before he went,” Skye says.
“I wanted to see what he had to say first,” Brody says.
“And?”
“He’s coming back to Charleston. To the clinic. The condo. He’s coming home.”
“No!” My whole body shakes, rejecting the very idea that Rhett will be living in the same building as me again, working just down the street, with my brother. “No,” I say again and continue to repeat the word. No part of me is ready for this. No part of me is ready to see him again. I can’t be hurt by him again—not daily, not in person, not anymore. I can’t.
“Ainsley, he’s coming back for you,” Skye says.
That stops me cold.
“He didn’t say that,” Brody says, glaring at his wife.
“It’s obvious,” Skye says sarcastically.
“Skye,” he snarls, “Ainsley doesn’t need your theories right now.”
“Shut up, both of you!” I cry. “What the hell is wrong with you? I lost the love of my life. You two still have each other. Grow up.”
They look at each other, both of them knowing I’m right. I really don’t have the energy or patience to deal with their stuff right now. Apparently, my stuff is on the verge of coming back to town and bringing a heaping pile of emotional shit with him.
“I feel like when Rhett got hurt, we just fell apart,” Skye says quietly.
“It’s my fault,” Brody says. “We should’ve gone ahead with the wedding like you planned.”
“No,” Skye says. “Cancelling the big wedding was the right thing to do.”
Skye and Brody’s wedding was set for just two weeks after the accident. When Rhett got hurt, they cancelled. Instead, they ended up having a simple service, just the two of them and Skye’s parents. I wasn’t even there. She didn’t wear the dress I made. I wonder if Rhett knows any of that.
“We should have it now,” Brody tells her. “Like you wanted.”
My brother can be very sweet when he tries, but I can tell Skye’s not convinced, shaking her head and saying, “Maybe.”
He pulls her into his arms. “I’ve been working so hard because I wanted to keep business healthy for when Rhett came back. I needed to believe he’d find his way back.”
My eyes catch his. All these months, he’s been waiting on his friend like I waited. He taps my nose.
“I don’t want you to feel like I’m picking sides,” he tells me. “I made it very clear to Rhett how I feel about the way he treated you.”
I nod. “It’s not like you can force him out of the business. I know that.”
“That’s not it. Rhett offered to back out of our partnership. It was me who insisted he come back.”
Turning my back to him, I cover my mouth. It’s stupid. He knows I’m crying. So what if he hears it.
“He was coming back to Charleston no matter what.”
All the pain in my chest explodes. “I’m really glad you’re getting your friend back, Brody.”
“Ainsley, don’t be that way.”
“It’s too much, Brody. It’s just too fucking much. Please go.”
My brother s
teps toward me, but Skye stops him. “Rhett wasn’t supposed to be done with his program there for another couple weeks,” she says. “But he’s leaving early. He’ll be back in Charleston the day after tomorrow.”
“Of course,” I say, holding everything inside. I can’t let it out. The anger, the pain, the hurt, the sadness—it’s all in a box inside my heart like the breakup box in my closet, only if I take off the lid of this box, I’ll never get it back on.
“He won’t start back to work for a little bit,” Brody says. “Some of the doorways are just standard size, and . . .”
“It’s a tight fit for his chair,” I say, looking at the front door to my shop, remembering how I insisted on double doors. The idea that Rhett would come through my door still a hope in my heart all those months later. “I know.”
“So we’re going to widen a few. Make a few of the exam rooms more accessible for him,” Brody says.
“That’s great,” I snap, knowing I’m being bitchy, but unable to stop myself.
Skye takes Brody’s hand. “This is a lot on her. We should go.”
He moves toward me, but I step away. “Skye’s right. You should go.”
It’s not in Brody’s nature to leave me when he knows I’m upset, but he also knows when he’s not going to get anywhere with me. Tonight is one of those times. I need some time to digest all of this, figure out how to handle it. I follow them to the door, letting them both kiss me on the cheek before they go. When the door closes behind them, I turn the lock.
But the lock on my heart opens, and I sink to the floor and cry.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
You will never be alone.
A. Rose
RHETT
From the sidewalk, I look up at the building. The last time I was inside my place was the day of my accident. I went from the hospital, to my parents’ house, to the rehab center. I’ve never been back. My condo has been empty a long time. I left a lot of things empty.
I wonder if Ainsley’s inside at her place. Is she at her dress form working up her latest design? Is she taking a Sunday afternoon nap? Does she know today’s the day I’m moving back? Does she care?
I’ve tried and tried to call her, text her, but she won’t respond. Serves me right after the silent treatment I’ve given her and hitting on her the way I did.
“Ready?” my dad asks.
He came to Atlanta to help me move back to Charleston. I didn’t have much at the rehab center outside of some clothes and a few pictures, but he still made the trip. He brought my new car with him, equipped with hand controls for the brake and gas. I tried to tell my parents that I didn’t need a car. The vet clinic is close to my condo, and most grocery stores deliver now. I thought I could do without one for a little while, but they surprised me with it. Honestly, I thought the last car my parents would ever buy me was when I turned sixteen, but they want me to be as independent as possible, and consider transportation as part of that deal.
So I drove the whole way back from Atlanta myself. It’s about five hours, and we only had to stop once. My dad looked just as nervous as he did when I was sixteen, but we made it without incident. I think he hoped that my lead foot would have disappeared with my inability to actually feel my feet, but nope. I still love to drive fast.
I’m grateful to my parents but hate that they’ve had to do so much for me. They foot the bill for my rehabilitation program and hospital bills that my insurance didn’t cover. They’ve been paying the mortgage on the condo as well, refusing to touch my savings, even though I insisted they sell it. They wouldn’t, never losing hope that I’d one day return to my old life.
Today is the first step of that.
Normally when I drive, I transfer into the driver’s seat, remove the wheels of my chair, lift it to the passenger seat, and I’m ready to go, but since my dad was in the passenger’s seat today, we stored it in the backseat.
My dad carries a bag, reaching for the front door to the building. I can’t help but smile. He’s been with me through this whole process—he should realize that I can open my own door. Things like that used to piss me off, but now I realize he just wants to make my life easier. So if opening my door makes him feel like he’s helping, I let him. No use in getting mad at someone who has the best of intentions.
Rolling inside the foyer of the building, I take a deep breath. Ainsley is so much a part of this place. The walks with Sadie, the rides up the elevator—she’s everywhere. I guess if she wants to avoid me, she’ll just take the stairs. No chance of running into me there.
The elevator door opens—empty. Guess it’s too much to hope for to run into her my first day back. Still, I find myself holding my breath, praying the elevator will stop on her floor, but no such luck.
We reach my floor, and using my arm, I hold the elevator door open for my dad to exit first. You don’t lose your manners when you lose control of your legs.
“Promise me there’s not some big surprise party in there waiting for me,” I say.
“Just Sadie,” he says. “And your mother. That should be enough for us to handle.”
Apparently, my mother’s been in high gear since I announced that I was checking out of my program early. My dad says he’s barely seen her. She’s been in full-on renovation mode, making sure there’s enough space for me to maneuver my chair, making sure all kitchen essentials are in lower cabinets, remodeling my closet so all my clothes hang on the lower racks, hiring people to install a shower hose and chair. I hear she’s even had an ADA toilet and grab bars put in. Yes, my mother is even concerned about the comfort of my ass.
I appreciate it all. I really do, but if you can’t have a good laugh about your mother talking to you about the cushioning on your toilet seat, then what can you laugh about?
My dad opens the door to my place, walking inside. For a second, I just sit, peering inside. I know at some point I’ll probably build my own house, something designed for my new life, but right now this feels perfect. It feels like I’m right where I’m supposed to be.
Sadie barks, running toward me, jumping up, her front paws in my lap. My parents brought her back to Charleston a week or so ago. It’s the longest we’ve been apart since I was in the hospital. Obviously, she missed me.
“Hey, girl,” I say, rubbing her ear. I watch my parents out of the corner of my eye, seeing them holding each other tightly.
This has aged them. Since my accident, my mother hasn’t had her nails done. She’s let herself go gray, no longer keeping her hair color appointments every six weeks. But at least she has her hair. My dad lost more than he cares to admit. I’ve been in Atlanta for a while, but they didn’t pick up with their old routines. I’m not sure if it’s because money is tight for them now, or if they just don’t find those things important anymore. Either way, they are reaching the age where I should be the one taking care of them. That’s what I plan on doing. This chair will not stop that.
“I did as I promised and kept everyone away,” my mom says, kissing my cheek.
The one person I did want here, I couldn’t have my mother invite. I have to fix things with Ainsley on my own. I roll around, seeing all the work my mom has had done, and thank her for each and every detail. She truly did try to think of everything, down to the easiest place for Sadie’s dog food.
“We do have one little surprise,” she says.
“You guys have done enough,” I say.
She walks toward my spare bedroom. I hardly ever used that room. I had it set up as my home office, but rarely needed it. She opens the door, stepping inside.
“What did you do?” I ask in disbelief. My home office is now my home gym. I know these specialized machines cost a shit ton of money.
“Jay recommended free weights and the FES bike,” my dad says, holding up one of the electric stimulators that will attach to my legs to help pedal the machine.
When I first was hurt, all I could think about was all the things I could no longer do. The more time that has passe
d, the more things I’ve discovered I can still do. They had a ton of activities at the rehab center, like wheelchair tennis, which I completely sucked at. I wasn’t much of a tennis player when I had use of my legs, not sure why I thought it would be different now, but I play a mean game of wheelchair basketball, and plan to find a local team to join.
I have a binder full of exercises I can do from my chair to keep in shape. You’d be surprised how hard a sitting ab routine can be. I still have my six pack to prove it. I can’t believe my parents did all this, although I don’t know why I’m surprised. They’ve been with me every step of the way.
“I’ll pay you guys back for all . . .”
They both wave me off. My mom says, “We’re really proud of you, honey.”
I reach out and take her hand, sensing she’s about to cry on me again. I swear, I’ve seen her cry more since I said I was coming home than when I was first hurt. I guess she’d rather I see her cry happy tears than sad ones.
“We should let him get settled,” my dad says.
My mom promptly looks at him like he’s insane. “I thought we should stay a few days just in case . . .”
“It’s my freshman dorm room all over again,” I say, chuckling. “Remember Mom booked the campus hotel for the first two weeks?”
“I managed to get her out of there in four days,” my dad says proudly.
“Hey,” my mom says, smacking both our shoulders. “Remember, you didn’t pack your underwear, and I had to go buy you all new pairs, Rhett. You were glad I was there then.”
“Mom, I’m not eighteen,” I say softly. “I’ll be all right.”
“I still think it would be best if we stayed. Just tonight.”
“Honey, we aren’t that far away. Rhett will call if he needs us,” my dad says, giving me a look that I better or else.
I hate that we are back to this, back to them worrying about me like this. I know they mean well, but I feel a certain anger bubbling up inside, and I reach for what rests against my chest.
The memory of the day my mother handed me Ainsley’s engagement ring is still fresh. It was just after midnight on what should’ve been my wedding night. I expected my mother to pour some tough love on me, but she simply placed the ring in my hand and walked out of my room. She didn’t need to say anything else. I knew what Ainsley returning the ring meant. She wasn’t coming back. Even though it’s what I thought was best for her, even though it’s been months since that night, the pain of knowing she was truly gone still makes my heart feel like it’s being stabbed with a hot welding iron.
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