Shake Down the Stars

by Renee Swindle

  I grin. “Let’s see. . . . Piper Diaper. Pipeline. Piper the Sniper. Pipe Head, or there was the abbreviated version of Pipe. My sister’s name is Margot,” I add. “And my mom is Margaret. Go figure.”

  “My turn. I didn’t get teased because of my name so much as my boobs. There was Twin Peaks, Double Trouble. Silicone Valley. Lactation Station.”

  “Lactation Station? Whew. That’s harsh.”

  She makes a loud smack after polishing off the contents of her glass. “One thing’s for sure—Mitch and Diane know their wines.” She sets her empty glass down and wraps her arms around her knees. “Anyway, real sorry for your loss.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Was it illness?”

  “Car accident.”

  “Those buggers will get a person every time.”

  “How about you? If you don’t mind my asking.”

  “I’ll tell you what, Piper Diaper; if they were giving a prize for the biggest loss in this here group, I’d win hands down. Lost my son, my husband, and my big brother all in one shot. Plane crash. Everybody gone.”

  “Sorry.”

  “They were on their way to Vegas. My husband was flying the plane. Just a fun trip for the boys, you know.”

  There is absolutely nothing to say that she hasn’t already heard, so I scoot closer and hold up my plate of cookies.

  “Don’t mind if I do.” She chooses a chocolate-mint macaroon. After a couple of bites her chewing slows and her eyes widen. “My Lord, this is delicious.”

  “Yeah. They’re from our favorite bakery.”

  Favorite, not only because Lulu’s bakes the best cookies and cakes around, but also because it’s where Spence and I met. We were sitting table to table when we noticed we were both grading papers. He was working on his doctorate at the time and teaching Intro to Philosophy. We struck up a conversation that led to a walk along College Avenue.

  Clem finishes a cookie in no time. “Hold on a sec.” She disappears into the house and comes back with an entire bottle of wine. “Now this is what I call a meetin’.” She fills both our glasses, and we clink. “Cheers.”

  “Cheers.”

  We don’t talk for a while, just eat and drink, the mix of cookies and wine our reward for putting up with the meeting.

  Clem finishes another cookie and polishes off her wine. I don’t judge. What else are you supposed to do after losing your entire family if not drink?

  “How long?” I ask.

  “Almost nine years ago now. My boy was only twenty-six. My husband was the love of my life. My brother, Billy, was my parents’ only son. Momma took it so hard; she passed not long after. How’s that for tragedy?”

  “Not bad,” I say softly.

  “Told you, sweetheart, biggest mourner here.”

  “How long have you been coming to the meetings?”

  “Off and on for three years. I’ve slept with half of the widowers here. Diane and Mitch may as well be running a high-class singles bar.” She chuckles.

  “Do you think you’ll ever marry again?”

  “Wrong question, sweetheart. Question is, do I think I’ll ever feel again.”

  “I’ve wondered the same thing myself.”

  I watch as she pours more wine. As different as we are, I’m struck by the fact that I may as well be looking at my future self: drunk night after night and sleeping with widowers.

  I think of Spence and glance back at the house, but there’s no sign of either him or Tisa. I can’t imagine losing Hailey and Spencer in one fell swoop, and I feel an onslaught of panic and dread at the thought of living my life without him. All of these years in limbo and I’ve never considered that I could actually lose him. In truth, I’ve been waiting until we get back together; officially back together, that is, with a second wedding and the whole bit. And then, only then would we think of having another child. But what if I have things wrong and we need to get back together now? What are we waiting for, anyway? Why are we playing at pretend marriage when we still love each other? I sip my wine while thinking that I need to talk to him. I love him and can’t lose him.

  I start to stand, but I don’t want to leave Clem behind so abruptly. I have virtually no friends, and I already like her. After Hailey died, I pretty much secluded myself in hopes of never having to deal with anyone’s pity ever again. And there were also those who shunned me, as though by virtue of our friendship my bad luck would rub off on them. But Clem’s frankness and ability to relate are not lost on me. “I should get going,” I tell her. “I’m not sure I’ll be coming back to any of these meetings, but if you ever want to meet for coffee or lunch, I’d love to talk more.”

  “I’d be delighted. We can go to the bakery you told me about and stuff ourselves with cookies.”

  “That’s a deal.” I take pen and paper from my bag and jot down my phone number. “Promise you’ll call?”

  “Scout’s honor.” Her head gives an imperceptible bobble.

  “Clem, are you okay to drive? Spence and I can give you a ride home if you want.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about me. I live up the street. One reason I haven’t given up on these meetings is that I can drink as much of this fine wine as I want, then walk my drunk ass home.”

  She laughs, but then as if distracted, leans back on her hands and lifts her face toward the night sky. I follow her gaze and see she’s staring at Sirius and Centauri, their double helixes shining as brightly as ever. I say good-bye, but she doesn’t turn; she just keeps her eyes focused skyward.

  My stomach shrinks when I see Spence and Tisa in the living room saying good-bye to Roland as though they’re a couple. Tisa smiles her happy nitwit smile when I walk up. “How did you like the meeting?” she asks.

  “Fun!” I say.

  Spence narrows his eyes. Be nice.

  Roland gives me a hug and says he hopes to see me again. He shakes Spence’s hand. “Day by day.” I manage not to roll my eyes when Spence and Tisa repeat the mantra.

  Tisa gives Spencer a hug. “I should get going, too.” She hugs me next as though we’re long-lost friends. “It’s so nice to meet you, Piper.” She waves good-bye, but then she says, “Thursday? Same place?”

  Spence practically blushes. Although I’m just not sure if it’s because he knows I’m looking at him or what. “Yeah, see you then.”

  He helps me with my coat after she leaves. His silence says he knows good and well I’m waiting for him to explain. He doesn’t, though, leaving me to ask, “Thursday?”

  “We’re meeting for coffee. It’s nothing.” He waves good-bye to Diane. “See you next week!” he says, and starts ushering me out the door.

  “What did she mean by ‘same place’?”

  “We’ve had coffee a couple of times, same café. It’s nothing.”

  “Yeah, you keep saying that. But if it’s nothing, then why didn’t you tell me about it? We tell each other everything.”

  He doesn’t respond until we’re at the car. “There was nothing to tell, okay?” He opens my door and motions for me to get inside. He remains silent until we’re safely driving away.

  “But if everything is on the up-and-up and innocent—”

  He hits the brakes a little too hard when we reach the stop sign at the corner. “Tisa and I aren’t up to anything. This is what Mom meant about moving on, Piper. You need to remember we’re no longer married.”

  I think of Clem and my decision to talk to him. If ever there was a time to talk about getting back together, it’s now. “But what if I don’t want to move on? What if I want more?”

  Curious, he glances over at me.

  “I was talking to someone tonight. She lost her husband, son, and brother in a plane crash.”

  “Damn.”

  “I know. But talking to her, Spence, I realized how much I don’t want to lose you. I me
an, I know we’re there for each other, but I want us to make things more official. I love you, Spencer. I want us to get back together. Really back together. Maybe I could even move back in. I’m practically living there anyway.”

  We drive quietly. I know better than to press him. As much as we love each other, for me to actually verbalize what I hope we’re both feeling must come as a surprise. But someone had to say it; someone has to help us out of our perpetual limbo, and I don’t mind at all that someone being me. Seeing him with the nitwit has helped me realize that we need to get back together. I need to stop sleeping around, and I could do with drinking less, too. I reach over and take his hand. “Your mom is right about moving on, but I want to move on together.”

  We’re at the house by now, and he cuts the engine. He then gives my hand a kiss and returns it to my lap.

  “Listen, P. I have to tell you something.”

  “What?”

  “I asked Tisa out.”

  “To coffee, you mean.”

  “No. When we meet for coffee, it’s more like the meetings. We talk about things. You know, she talks about her aunt, and I talk about Hailey.”

  “You talk about Hailey with her?” I don’t mean to sound so shrill, but it’s too late.

  “And you,” he adds, as though this will help. “We talk about everything. But next time is more like a date date. You know, dinner . . . a movie.”

  I bite hard on the inside of my lip as I try to steady my breathing.

  “I’m curious, that’s all,” he says. “Like I said, I want to get out more. Tisa is nice. Doesn’t mean I’m marrying the girl; it’s just a casual night out.”

  “What’s so casual about dinner and a movie? You said it yourself—it’s a date.”

  “P,” he says, taking my hand again, “come on. Support me on this.”

  I snatch my hand away. “Support you? I can’t believe you’re going out with her after what I’ve just told you.”

  He takes the key out of the ignition and clicks the doors open, his way of signaling that I’m getting out of hand. He always clams up when our talks become too heated.

  “I refuse to feel guilty about this, P. I’m not doing anything wrong here. And if you think about it, it might be good for you to get out, too. Wouldn’t hurt for you to lie low on the alcohol either.”

  “You’re one to talk.”

  He leans back against his seat and stares at the roof of the car. “It’s just one date.” He turns slowly. “You know I love you, Piper. I will always love you. We were a family. We still are. I just—I feel dragged down.”

  “By me?”

  “No. Not you. By everything. I feel like I’m wasting away. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life like this.”

  “We could try to help each other. It’s me you’re talking to. No one knows you better, Spencer. No one can love you more than I do.”

  “I know.” His eyes meet mine, and when he doesn’t look away, I lean in and close my eyes. I open my mouth just enough, but then, not a second later, I feel nothing except a peck on the cheek. I shoot my eyes open and see he’s already on the other side of the car.

  “Friends?”

  I’m not sure if I’m more angry or embarrassed. Before I say something I might regret, I get out of the car, slamming the door behind me. I rush up to the front porch and start digging in my purse for my keys.

  He walks up and watches me closely. “Piper, did you hear what I said? Can we be friends?”

  “Why should I be your friend while you’re fucking that nitwit?”

  “I keep telling you, we’re not doing anything.”

  “Not yet,” I say. I find my keys and start to let myself inside the house, but then he moves in front of me with his arm blocking the door.

  “No, Piper. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. We can’t keep doing this. I need a break. I want to be alone.”

  When he refuses to move, I take a step back. All these years of walking through that door, and now he won’t let me inside. “Spencer.”

  He lowers his head. “Some other time, okay?”

  My throat is tight, my tongue dry. I start for my car. “I hope you have a nice time with Tisa!” I yell. “I hope you two have fun fucking in our home!”

  “P?” he says. “P! It’s not like that. It’s just for a little while, okay? I’ll call you.”

  I ignore him, though. I get inside my car and drive away as quickly as I can. Naturally, the last thing I want is for him to see that I’m crying.

  seven

  Margot is dazzling in white silk crepe. She turns in front of one of the long mirrors at Rebecca Rankoff’s studio, and we ooh and aah at the creped back and matte crepe finishes of the gown she wears and the veil woven with hints of gold. Already teary, Mom clasps her hands in adoration. “Oh baby, you look stunning. Absolutely stunning.”

  Danielle stands beside Mom and bursts into teary applause. “Margot! Oh my God! Curtis is going to flip when he sees you.”

  I join in, too. It’s hard not to. The dress is sexy yet sophisticated, modern yet timeless.

  Last week, a couple of days after Halloween, Margot and Curtis signed a deal for a new reality TV show called Margot and Me. I knew the show was a possibility what with all the meetings and phone calls taking place long before their engagement party, but since nothing came to fruition, I assumed the idea was merely that. But apparently TV has become so bad, someone out there believes a vapid football player and his vain girlfriend are interesting enough to garner an audience. Who knew? The show will focus on Margot more than Curtis, with the plot revolving around what it’s like to be married to a football star. The producers also think they can gain a Christian audience since Margot and Curtis are involved in the church. Moreover, there’s her attempt at starting an acting career and their plan to have a baby. Combine this with guest appearances from people in the entertainment and sports industry, and everyone is predicting a hit. Cameras have already started following Margot. The only reason they aren’t here now is that Rebecca Rankoff, the wedding gown designer, refuses to allow cameras inside her place of business, and everyone agrees the wedding dress should be a surprise, anyway.

  In order for the wedding to air during sweeps, Margot and Curtis changed their initial date from March of the year after next to July, only eight months away. It’s been a nightmare as far as changing venues, but she and Curtis are willing to do what it takes, and bribe whomever necessary, to get what they want. The only person they couldn’t bribe is Firth, who was booked solid, which means boon times for Danielle, of course, who ecstatically agreed to take over the planning.

  Mom gives Margot a hug. “I’m so proud of you, baby.”

  “Oh, Mommy,” Margot says with a sniffle. “Isn’t it perfect?”

  We’re all being fitted today by Rebecca herself, an elfinlike creature who speaks in hushed tones as though her vocal cords sit on reeds blown by a gentle breeze. She whispers now to one of her assistants who rushes up to Margot and wraps measuring tape around her waist before typing something into her tablet.

  I walk over to the walled mirror and gaze at my reflection. The Greek-inspired bridesmaids’ dresses are made from silk chiffon with taffeta trim. Going against the typical edict whereby the sister serves as maid of honor, Margot gave Danielle the number one position (“You don’t mind do you? I know the wedding means a lot to you, but Danni was around more when I was single, so she really gets what this means!”). I’m actually perfectly fine with being a lowly bridesmaid. I’d have no idea what to say for a toast, otherwise.

  Rebecca steps up and fluffs the bow on top of my shoulder. “It should sit high like a flower. Like so.” I have to lean in closely to hear her. Danielle, on the other hand, is another story. “Offer him fucking seventy, then!” she barks into her cell. “I don’t give a rat’s ass. We need him in July. He should be grateful we�
�re asking at all. Tell him this is the kind of publicity he fucking needs if he wants to play with adults.”

  Rebecca winces. I doubt many of her clients have dropped the F-bomb in her studio.

  Danielle gives a satisfied nod before clicking off. “Baxter is a yes,” she tells Margot. She continues pacing the studio while typing a text. Baxter is a rap artist Curtis wants for the reception, even though it means paying double to get him to cancel a tour date so that he can be there to rap his three most popular songs.

  Mom stands next to me and looks at her reflection, while Rebecca, Margot, and Danielle confer about the dress. Mom’s off-the-shoulder dress highlights her figure and long legs. Unable to get enough of her reflection, she moves and sways while humming to herself. While she claims she hopes Margot’s TV show becomes a vehicle for God’s Word, I’m sure the former actress in her is thrilled about the face time she’ll be getting on the tube.

  She lifts the hem of her dress and watches the chiffon billow around her knees. She smiles rather demurely when she remembers I’m there. “You look beautiful, Piper. Who knows? Maybe you’ll meet someone at the wedding. You never know. Lots of single men will be there. Lots of athletes and actors—the sky’s the limit!”

  “Not interested. I’m bringing Spencer as my date.”

  She goes back to her reflection with a wave of the hand. “What is going on with you two, I’ll never understand. I will say this, though. If a man wants you, he marries you. Or in your case, remarries you.”

  What Mom knows about my relationship with Spence pretty much adds up to nothing. It’s been a little more than a month since he told me about the nitwit, and after a fierce meltdown that involved impressive amounts of scotch, I’ve come to realize the best way to deal with the situation is to wait things out. He initially kept calling, but I made it clear that I didn’t want any communication between us until he stopped seeing her. I suppose I understand why he needs a break, but my hunch tells me that losing all contact with me will speed the process along. I figure another month or so, tops, and he’ll realize how much he misses me. No one understands him like I do. We have a deep and abiding bond, and if it takes dating an airhead for him to realize it, so be it.