Little Black Dress with Bonus Material

by Susan McBride

  Did she even know what was going on?

  I left Mother’s room and began walking through the first floor of the house, calling out, “Daddy? Daddy, are you here?”

  He had to be behind this, and I needed to find him, to make him reconsider.

  After a fruitless search within, I ended up on the back porch. From there, I spotted him sitting on a wicker chair positioned in front of the big stone barbecue, watching a fire burn, its flames licking dangerously upward.

  I strode down the steps and across the lawn toward him. “What are you doing?” I asked before I’d even stopped moving. “Why are Anna’s things boxed up?”

  He didn’t answer nor did his flat expression change. Instead, he slowly rose from his seat and poked at the fire with a stick.

  “Daddy, tell me what’s going on?” I demanded, looking away from him and toward the grill.

  “It’s nothing, String Bean,” he said, a slur to his voice, and I wondered if he’d been drinking. “Just getting rid of some trash.”

  I went forward, close enough that I could feel the heat, and realized then my father wasn’t burning charcoal bricks or even kindling. Paperwork and photographs fueled the flames, the edges brown and curling.

  Instinctively, I grabbed the stick he’d leaned against the stone, and I poked the blaze myself. I glimpsed Anna’s name and what looked like “Pinkerton” on a bit of letterhead before everything crackled and turned to ash.

  Turning around, I stared at him, horrified. “Did you hire someone to find Anna? You know something, don’t you? Tell me what it is,” I demanded.

  “Go back inside, Evie,” he said, his voice rattling. “What I’ve done is my business. This has nothing to do with you.” Then he looked right through me as he stood again to toss more “trash” onto the fire.

  “Daddy, no!” I grabbed his arm to stop him, and a photograph blew from his hand to the ground. I scrabbled to catch it. It was the shot of me and Anna from the rehearsal dinner. We stood arm in arm, my expression impassive; Annabelle gazed off into the distance, as if already planning her escape.

  My chest ached, so distraught was I at the mere notion that Father had nearly destroyed it. Did he figure he could banish Anna from our memories as easily as that?

  “You can’t do this—”

  “I already have,” he said and prodded his makeshift funeral pyre, his brow slick with sweat. With a satisfied grunt, he sat back down again and picked up his pipe to puff on it, as if all were right with the world and he was just outside enjoying the afternoon sunshine.

  “What’s gotten into you? I’m not saying I think she’s right for what she’s done, but this is wrong, it just is.” I stood in front of him, hanging on to the photo I’d saved, breathing hard, perspiration trickling down my back. “And the crates Thomas is hauling away, will you destroy those, too?”

  He didn’t even glance up as he drew the pipe from his mouth, expelled a line of smoke, and said, “She’s not coming back. You should know that better than anyone. Every time I turn around, there’s something to remind me of how she humiliated us. It’s high time we did a little housecleaning, I decided. Your mother’s lucky I’m not burning every damned thing that ungrateful girl ever touched.”

  Oh, God. This wasn’t right. I had cramps in the pit of my stomach. Anna may not have been the perfect princess everyone had long pretended she was, but she was still an Evans. She was still a part of us.

  “Daddy, don’t do this, please,” I said, sure that he’d regret it, if not tomorrow then in years to come. “You can’t pretend she didn’t exist.”

  “Go away, Evelyn.” He waved me off and went back to his pipe, puffing away and sweating profusely. “Get!”

  . . . doing things that no good daughter would . . .

  “She’s still your flesh and blood,” I insisted, my voice raw, my heart breaking, “no matter what she’s done.”

  A parent couldn’t give up on a child, not in six months or ever. Wasn’t that the unspoken rule? I realized my father had never been a huggable man or one who showered us with affection. But this was something that went beyond aloof. This was downright cold. What was wrong with him? Did he not see what this was doing to me? What it would do to my mother? He could strip the Victorian of Anna’s existence, but we would never forget.

  “If you could just try—” to be patient, I wanted to suggest, but he interrupted quite brusquely.

  “I mean it, Evelyn, leave me be,” he barked, and I knew he didn’t care what I had to say. He’d already stopped listening. “I need to be alone.”

  That was precisely what Anna had told me before the rehearsal dinner, and I had gone along with her, to disastrous results. It was clear I was no good at rescuing anyone.

  Clutching the photo in my hand, I backed away, wanting to scream so the whole world could hear me; but I ran to the house instead and up the stairs to my sister’s room.

  For the longest moment, I stood in the doorway, gazing at the starkness within—the bed stripped clean, the closet bare, and empty drawers hanging open—and I shook my head, astonished by how awry things had gone. When Daddy said Anna was dead to him, he’d meant it.

  God forbid I should do anything to set him off, or I may be next.

  Although I realized it would take a lot to let him down quite the way Anna had, and I didn’t have that kind of nerve besides.

  I slipped the picture into my skirt pocket, drawing in some deep breaths before I deliberately went downstairs again. Peering out the front door, I waited until Thomas’ back was turned as he added more crates to the pickup. The two I’d opened still sat on the porch floor, without their lids. I dashed out and reached inside the closest one, snatching a shoebox from within. I didn’t know what was inside, and I didn’t care.

  What I wanted was something of Anna’s before Daddy completely erased her.

  Sweat stuck my shirt to my back, but I didn’t slow down. Scurrying away like a thief, I carried the parcel inside and to the safety of my bedroom. I locked the door before I put the shoebox on my dresser. Then I reached into my pocket for the photograph of Anna and me.

  Next, I went to my closet and pulled the floral hatbox down, set it on the floor at my feet, and opened it. I dug within folds of crumpled tissue and withdrew the black dress, tossing it onto the bed.

  I dropped my skirt to the floor and unbuttoned my cotton blouse until I stood only in my bra and underpants. My eyes went to the dress.

  Do you truly want to do this? I asked myself, since I’d hoped never to use the dress again and to leave well enough alone. But how could I not in this circumstance? Did I want to know if I would see my sister again or not?

  My answer then was yes.

  Before I could change my mind, I tugged the dress over my head, wiggling the silk over my hips, not caring a whit if I perspired all over it. Suddenly, my skin felt strangely and oddly cold, and I rubbed my arms as I stared at my reflection in the mirror.

  “Tell me if she’s coming back,” I demanded. “Tell me if Anna will ever come back, or if Daddy’s right and we should all just forget.”

  I closed my eyes and waited, expecting the tingle of electricity that had happened twice before. Only I felt nothing, heard nothing but the house creaking as it always did and the rumble of Thomas’ engine out front as he started his truck.

  “Please,” I whispered, my chest starting to heave, although I steadfastly refused to weep. There’d been too much of that going around of late, and I wasn’t good at it besides. “Please, give me something to go on, either way. Just let me know that she’s alive.”

  I kept perfectly still and held my breath, hoping for the magic to happen. But not even the vaguest frisson of energy swept through me.

  It wasn’t working.

  A cry of frustration slipped out, and I stomped a foot on the floor, like an ill-tempered child.

  What was wrong with it? Why couldn’t I see what was to be? What if all the magic was gone? Had I used it up already?


  That first time I’d merely held it, about to toss it into the river, when it sent me a vision about Jonathan, and I’d simply been kissing Jon when I had the second brilliant flash.

  Could it not give me answers about someone else? Was that it? Could it show me only something about myself?

  Maybe it needed a piece of Anna in order to sense the connection. She was the first of us to wear it, and even now the scent of her lily of the valley clung to it.

  Desperate for an answer, I tossed the lid from the rescued shoebox and rummaged within, finding a monogrammed silver hairbrush, a matching hand mirror, and a tortoiseshell comb that she’d used to pull up her hair on warm days such as this.

  Yes, the comb. That would do. It even had a few of Anna’s dark hairs tangled in its teeth. Surely the dress would sense her presence in it.

  I cradled it in my hands and shut my eyes, my mind suddenly flooded with memories: my sister racing through the vineyards, her dark hair streaming behind her, and Anna laughing as I’d caught her, giggling and telling me, “Really, Evie, sometimes you’re as slow as a tortoise. Try letting loose, why don’t you!”

  Soon, I breathed in the scent of lily of the valley, as fresh and real as if Anna stood next to me.

  When I saw the vision, it came in a burst of light, hitting me so hard that I dropped the comb to the floor and ended up on my knees. My palms pressed against pine planks, I settled onto my heels, eyes closed tightly.

  There was Anna, her once-flowing hair cut short as a boy’s. She looked upon me with a thin smile, her blue eyes intense. She not only appeared very much alive but self-satisfied, as if she’d finally gotten what she wanted. I saw myself, too, seated in a wicker chair, gazing downward, my expression filled with disbelief and awe. For in my arms, I gently cradled a very tiny newborn.

  Then I heard Anna’s voice in my head, telling me, “You are meant to be her mother,” and a chill raced up my spine. “You are the most level-headed and responsible woman. All things I am not. All things a daughter needs from her mother. Things I can never be.”

  Oh, God, I gasped, keeping my eyes shut and praying it wasn’t over.

  But as swiftly as it had come, the vision washed away, and I sagged under its weight, settling on the floor with my bottom on my heels.

  “A baby,” I whispered and blinked as reality set in again. What I’d seen suddenly seemed so unbelievable, so distant. Was I going to have a baby?

  I was twenty-two and unmarried. The only children in my life were the fifth graders in my classroom. But if the dress was right—and I had no reason to doubt it yet—I would have a baby of my own, and Anna would be by my side.

  Even if my father had given up on her entirely, I could not. Not after this.

  Anna would come home. I would see my sister again, and I would make her an aunt. Surely that would cause her to stay, wouldn’t it? How could she leave Blue Hills if she had a niece who needed her love and affection? Daddy would come to forgive her, Mother would cry tears of joy, and we could be as we once were, a whole and unified family.

  “Thank you,” I said softly, beyond relieved, and pressed a hand to my heart, the energy of the dress still warm beneath my skin.

  Once my pulse had slowed and I could stand without my knees knocking, I put away the salvaged photograph and Anna’s comb, brush, and mirror. Then I took off the dress, folded it carefully, and returned it to the hatbox, which I stuffed deep inside my closet where it would stay until I needed it again.

  Chapter 14

  Toni

  When night fell and Dr. Neville showed up for his rounds, Toni was waiting for him, hoping to have him confirm there was some kind of change—even a subtle one—in her mother’s condition. But, like Nurse Liz, he played Debbie Downer, assuring her that, while Evie’s latest CT scan showed no bleeding or swelling, Evie was still in a medical coma with no remarkable EEG changes.

  “So you think I imagined it, too?” she asked him and got a gentle pat on the arm and sympathetic look in response.

  Wrung out physically and emotionally, she said good night to Dr. Neville and the ICU nurses then left the hospital for the Victorian.

  Though it was late, Bridget’s minivan still sat in the driveway, and Toni parked behind it. As she unlocked the door, it warmed her to think that someone waited for her inside instead of walking into an empty house with nothing but her worries to keep her company.

  “Honey, I’m home!” she called out as she dumped her bag on the floor then peeled off her coat and faux-fur-lined boots. She poked her head into the kitchen but no one was there. “Bridge?”

  “Up here!”

  Toni ascended the stairs in stocking feet and saw the light streaming into the hallway from her mother’s room. She found the housekeeper there, stripping the double bed.

  “Miss Evelyn should have clean sheets when she comes back. I’d hate to be caught unprepared,” Bridget volunteered, though Toni surmised there was more to it than that. Changing Evie’s bed linens surely could’ve waited until tomorrow or even the day after that. They didn’t even know yet when she was coming home.

  She smiled to herself, certain that Bridget had hung around to make sure she’d gotten home safely.

  “How is your ma, by the way?”

  “Her signs are unchanged,” Toni repeated what the neurosurgeon had told her not fifteen minutes before. She left out the part about seeing Evie’s eyes move beneath the lids and sensing her mom was in there, thinking or dreaming or something. Even if the medical establishment at Blue Hills Hospital didn’t agree with her, Toni was firmly convinced that something was going on inside Evie’s head. “So basically there’s no news to report.”

  “As far as I’m concerned, no news is good news,” Bridget said with a nod before she pointed at the plastic bag that Toni had picked up from the nurses’ station. “What’s that in your hand?”

  “The dress Evie had on when she was admitted.” She held it up so Bridget could see the black fabric stuffed inside the gallon-sized Ziploc. “I’m not sure what I’ll do with it, but I couldn’t let them pitch it, even though I’ve been warned that it’s sliced up the middle.”

  “Let’s take a look,” Bridget said, waggling thick-knuckled fingers.

  Toni gladly handed over the bag, because she didn’t have the heart to peek herself and wasn’t sure what she’d do with the ruined dress besides. Her sewing skills were rudimentary. She couldn’t do much but tack up ill-behaving bridal trains or replace lost buttons on rented tuxedoes.

  Bridget slid the black silk from the bag and laid it out on the bed. She smoothed a hand over the crumpled fabric. “Oh, dear,” she said, clucking tongue against teeth as she drew the jagged edges together. “This is an awful mess, to be sure.”

  Toni winced. The dress had been hacked up the front, just as Nurse Liz had described, and without an iota of surgical precision. “Can we duct-tape it?”

  “Duct-tape? For heaven’s sake.” Bridget snorted. “I’ll take it home and figure out a way to tack it together. I’m not bad with a needle, but I’m no miracle worker, so it won’t be pretty.”

  “If you can fix it, you’re a magician,” Toni said and gave her a hug, holding on so tightly it had Bridget flustered. “I’m sure Evie will be thrilled that we rescued it, no matter what it looks like in the end.”

  “All right then, I’ll see what I can do. Now go on and eat some supper while I finish up here.” The woman shooed her out of the room. “I’ve made a meat loaf and a green-bean casserole. You just need to warm them up in the oven.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  Toni obediently headed back downstairs, although having supper wasn’t high on her to-do list. She’d drunk enough bad coffee at the hospital to slosh when she walked, plus she’d scarfed down her fair share of vending-machine snacks. She wasn’t sure she could stomach anything else so soon. The only thing that sounded good was a cup of hot tea.

  She avoided the fridge and Bridget’s meat loaf and veggies, digging around in the pan
try for the Earl Grey Evie always kept on hand. Their love of it was one of the few traits they shared. After a few noisy minutes of clattering pots and banging drawers while she scrounged together what she needed, she had a kettle boiling on the stovetop and tea leaves spooned into the stainless-steel ball for steeping.

  Look at me, Ma, she mused, feeling virtuous, I’m doing things the old-fashioned way, slow and steady.

  In St. Louis, her life was all about shortcuts. With brides and socialites calling her BlackBerry at all hours, her job kept her too harried to wait for a kettle to whistle. So she heated her brew in the microwave and only ironed shirt collars and cuffs in the winter, because her sweaters and jackets hid the rest. Half the time, lunch and dinner consisted of takeouts, deliveries, or drive-thrus. Like every other modern woman, she rushed about from dawn to dusk. Only when she was sleeping did she lie still.

  Evie didn’t even own a microwave. She never had. “What’s the hurry?” she used to say when Toni had bitched and moaned about being the only high school student not to have one in their house. “You can’t wait twenty minutes for a pizza to cook? When I was your age, we understood that the best things take time. With you kids, everything’s fast, even the food. So much about life is being patient.”

  Like any self-respecting smart-ass teenager, Toni had tossed back: “And what if you miss out on life because you’re waiting for a pizza to cook in the oven?”

  Evie had rolled her eyes so thoroughly that Toni was surprised they hadn’t fallen out of the back of her head.

  Toni had applied at the Tastee Freeze partly out of rebellion—because her mother pushed her to work at the winery every summer—and partly because she hadn’t much appreciated doing anything slowly.

  In college, she’d finished assignments the same day they were due, had group projects done before everyone involved even knew what was going on. When she’d been writing for the society tabloid, she’d scribbled notes in her own shorthand during interviews and then typed up her pieces in one frenetic sitting. Even when she planned events, she worked in a frenzy of activity, talking hands-free on her cell as she drove, returning e-mails while she plotted seating charts, and checking guest lists on her laptop while she watched Law & Order reruns with Greg. “Do you have to multitask all the time?” he was always asking. “Can’t you just sit for five minutes and do nothing?”