“Au contraire, my sister. She missed you winning all those science fairs. She missed you dressing like a Vulcan for three years’ worth of Halloween parades. . . .”
Rose cringed.
“She missed us in leg warmers and ripped sweatshirts,” said Amy. “Okay, granted, I wish I’d missed that, too.”
“We were trendy!” said Rose.
“We were pathetic,” Amy corrected her. “Let me talk to the g-mom! I’ve got stories!”
“Forget it,” Rose said, laughing.
“So tell me this . . . is Maggie coming to the wedding?”
“I think so,” said Rose.
“Is she going to replace me?” Amy demanded.
“Absolutely not,” said Rose. “Your butt-bow is secure.”
“Good deal,” said Amy. “Go have a piña colada for me.”
“And you go keep our drinking water clean,” said Rose. She hung up the phone and considered her day. No dogs to be walked, no wedding crisis to resolve. She wandered into her grandmother’s living room and picked up a photo album from the top of a stack on the coffee table. “Caroline and Rose” read the label pasted on the front. She opened the book and there she was, a day old, wrapped in a white blanket. Her eyes were squinched shut, and her mother faced the camera, smiling tentatively. God, thought Rose, she was so young! She flipped through the pages. She was a baby, she was a toddler, she was riding a bike with training wheels, her mother behind her, pushing a stroller in which baby Maggie rode in like Cleopatra on her barge. Rose smiled, turning the pages slowly, watching herself and her sister grow up.
FIFTY-NINE
Maggie sat back, gave her ponytail a businesslike tweak, and nodded. “Okay,” she announced. “I think that’s it.” She beckoned Ella and Dora over to her table in the back of the fabric store. “This skirt,” she said, showing them the pattern. “This top,” she said, laying a second pattern carefully on top of the first. “And these sleeves,” she said, displaying yet a third pattern, “only three-quarter-length, not full length.”
“We’ll make it from muslin first,” said Ella. “We’ll take our time. We’ll be just fine.” She gathered up the patterns. “Let’s get started first thing in the morning, and we’ll see what we shall see.”
Maggie sat back and smiled proudly. “It’s going to be great,” she said.
That night, Maggie came home from her shift at Bagel Bay, and a last-minute stop-off to return three of Mrs. Gantz’s rejected bathing suits, and found her sister’s bags stacked neatly by the door. Her heart sank. She’d failed. Rose was leaving, and she didn’t even know how hard Maggie had been trying to find her a dress. She didn’t know how sorry Maggie was. Her sister was still barely talking to her, barely looking at her. It hadn’t worked out at all.
Maggie walked toward the back bedroom, hearing Rose’s and Ella’s voices from the screened-in porch.
“You’d think the little dogs would be the easy ones,” Rose was saying. “But really, they’re the most stubborn of all. And they bark the loudest, too.”
“Did you girls ever have a dog?”
“For a day,” said Rose. “Once.”
Maggie headed into the kitchen, thinking that she could make dinner for her sister, and at least that would be something, a small but meaningful gesture, an act that would show Rose she cared. She pulled swordfish steaks out of the refrigerator, sliced up purple onions and avocado and teardrop tomatoes for a salad, and set the basket of rolls right by her sister’s plate. Rose smiled later when she saw them.
“Carbohydrates!” she said.
“Just for you,” said Maggie, and passed her sister the butter.
Ella looked at them curiously. “My stepmonster,” said Rose, with her mouth full. She swallowed. “Sydelle. Sydelle hated carbs.”
“Except when she went on that sweet-potato diet,” Maggie said.
“Right,” said Rose, nodding at her sister. “Then she hated red meat. But no matter what diet she was doing, she’d never let me eat bread.”
Maggie yanked the bread basket away, and flared her nostrils as wide as she could. “Rose, you’ll ruin your appetite!” she said.
Rose shook her head. “Like that was going to happen,” she said.
Maggie pulled up her chair and started on her salad. “Remember the traveling turkey?”
Rose closed her eyes and nodded. “How could I ever forget?”
“What is the traveling turkey?” asked Ella.
“Well ...” said Rose.
“It was one of ...” Maggie began.
The two of them smiled at each other. “You tell it,” said Rose. Maggie nodded. “Okay,” she said. “We were both home for spring break, and Sydelle was on a diet.”
“One of many,” said Rose.
“Hey. Who’s telling the story?” asked Maggie. “So we come home, and what’s for dinner? Turkey.”
“Turkey with the skin taken off,” said Rose.
“Just turkey,” said Maggie. “No potatoes. No stuffing. No gravy ...”
“God forbid!” said Rose.
“Just turkey. We had poached eggs for breakfast, and then it’s lunchtime, and out comes the turkey. The same turkey.”
“It was,” said Rose, “a very big turkey.”
“We had it for dinner that night, too. And lunch the next day. And that night we were going to one of Sydelle’s friend’s houses for dinner, and we were so excited because we thought we’d finally get something that wasn’t turkey, except when we got there we found out that Sydelle ...”
“. .. took the turkey with her!” Rose and Maggie concluded together.
“It turns out,” said Rose, buttering a roll, “that her friend was on the same diet she was.”
“We all had turkey,” Maggie said.
“Traveling turkey,” said Rose. And Ella sat back, feeling relief wash through her as her granddaughters started to laugh.
That night, for the last time, Maggie and Rose lay side by side on the flimsy pullout mattress, listening to the croaking of the frogs and the warm wind rustling the palm trees, and the occasional squeal of brakes as another resident of Golden Acres made his or her unsteady way home.
“I’m so full,” Rose groaned. “Where’d you learn to cook like that?”
“From Ella,” said Maggie. “I paid attention. It was good, wasn’t it?”
“Delicious,” said Rose, and yawned. “So what about you? Do you think you’ll stay here?”
“Yes,” said Maggie. “I mean, I liked Philadelphia okay. And I still think about California sometimes. But I really like it here. I’ve got my job, you know. I’m going to grow my business. And Ella needs me.”
“For what?”
“Well, maybe she doesn’t need me,” Maggie conceded. “But I think she likes having me around. And I sort of like being here. I mean, not here here,” she said, gesturing to indicate the room, the condominium, the Golden Acres Retirement Community in general, “but Florida. Everyone here is from somewhere else, did you ever notice that?”
“I guess.”
“It’s good, I think. If everyone went to high school someplace else, it’s not like you’re always running into people who remember what you were like in high school, or college, or whatever. So you can be different, if you want to.”
“You can be different anywhere,” said Rose. “Look at me.” Maggie leaned on her elbow and looked at her sister, the familiar face, the hair spilling over the pillow, and saw Rose not as a threat, or a scold, or someone who was always going to tell her that she was doing things the wrong way, but as an ally. A friend.
There was silence for a moment as the sisters lay side by side. In her bedroom, Ella cocked her head and held her breath, listening.
“I’m going to do it, you know,” said Maggie. “Your Favorite Things. I’m going to open a store someday. I even know where.”
“I’ll come down for your grand opening,” said Rose.
“And I want to tell you ...”
�
��You’re sorry,” recited Rose. “You’ve changed.”
“No! Well, yes, I mean. It’s true.”
“I know,” said Rose. “I know you have.”
“But that’s not what I wanted to tell you. What I wanted to tell you is, don’t buy a dress.”
“What?”
“Don’t buy a dress. That’s going to be my wedding present to you.”
“Oh, Maggie . . . I don’t know.”
“Trust me,” said Maggie.
“You want me to get married in a dress I’ve never even seen?” Rose gave a nervous laugh, while picturing the kind of dress Maggie would come up with—cut low, slit high, sleeveless, backless, and fringed.
“Trust me,” said Maggie. “I know what you like. I’ll show you pictures. I’ll let you try it on first. I’ll come home. We can do fittings.”
“We’ll see,” said Rose.
“But you’ll let me try?” asked Maggie.
Rose sighed. “Fine,” she said. “Go for it. Knock yourself out.”
Silence again.
“I love you, you know,” said one of the girls, and Ella wasn’t sure which one. Rose? Maggie?
“Oh, please,” said the other sister. “Don’t be so sappy.”
Ella waited in her bedroom, holding her breath, waiting for more. But there was nothing. And, hours later, moving carefully, when she eased the door open and walked into the bedroom, both of the sisters were sleeping, both curled on their left sides with their left hands tucked under their cheeks. She bent down, hardly daring to breathe, and kissed them each on the forehead. Luck, she thought. Love. Your heart’s every happiness. And, as quietly as she could, she laid two glasses of water, each with a single ice cube, on the bedside table and tiptoed out the door.
SIXTY
“Calm down,” said Maggie for the eighteenth time, and leaned close to Rose, who flinched. “If you don’t relax, there’s no way I’m going to be able to do this.”
“I can’t relax,” said Rose. She was wearing a thick white terry-cloth bathrobe. Her hair, thanks to the hourlong ministrations of Michael from Pileggi, was an elaborate updo of curls, bobby pins, and tiny white blossoms. Her foundation was on, her lips were lined. Amy, resplendent in a simple navy sheath that she’d ornamented with a bed-pillow-sized butt bow, was bustling around looking for the caterers, and the platter of sandwiches they’d promised, and Maggie was currently trying, unsuccessfully, to curl her sister’s eyelashes.
“Hello!” Michael Feller, resplendent in a new tuxedo, with his thin hair artfully arranged over his bald spot, stuck his head in the door. “Everything okay in here?” He recoiled as Maggie maneuvered the eyelash curler into place. “What is that?” he asked, sounding scared.
“Eyelash curler,” said Maggie. “Rose, I’m not going to hurt you. I promise. Now, just look right at me . . . Don’t move your head . . . there! Got ’em!”
“Agh,” said Rose, cringing as much as she could with her eyelashes trapped between the metal pincers of the curler. “Ow . . . hurts ...”
“Don’t hurt your sister!” Michael Feller said sternly.
“It . . . does . . . not . . . hurt,” said Maggie, easing the curler along the length of Rose’s lashes. “There! Perfect! Now I just have to do the other one!”
“God help me,” said Rose, and looked at her feet. They looked very nice, she had to admit; she’d been dubious about the whole notion of a pedicure. “I’m not a pedicure kind of person,” she’d said. But Maggie, who’d become extremely bossy in the months since Your Favorite Things had been written up in the Fort Lauderdale Sun-Sentinel, was not taking no for an answer.
“Nobody’s even going to see my feet,” Rose had protested, but Maggie had said that Simon was going to see her feet, wasn’t he? And so Rose had given in.
Maggie maneuvered the curler toward Eyelash Number Two, curled it carefully, and stepped back to study the effect. “Did you see my date?” she demanded. “I mean, I know this is your special day and all, but ...” And she paused, looking at her sister.
“Maggie!” Rose exclaimed. “I do believe you’re blushing!”
“Am not,” said Maggie. “It’s just that I know it’s a lot of pressure, inviting a guy to a wedding. . . .”
“Charles seems very comfortable,” said Rose. In fact, Charles seemed just about perfect, the kind of guy she’d always hoped Maggie would find once she’d gotten over her thing for the semi-employed bass-players-slash-bartenders of the world. He was younger than she was, someone she’d met at Princeton, although Maggie had been evasive about the details. “And he’s crazy about you.”
“Do you think so?” Maggie asked.
“Definitely,” Rose said, just as Amy arrived, brandishing a platter of sandwiches over her head and Maggie ducked through the door.
“I found the food!” she announced.
“Where?” asked Rose, waving at her father as he left.
“With Sydelle, where else?” Amy asked, carefully wrapping half of a turkey sandwich in a napkin and handing it to Rose. “She was scraping mayonnaise off the bread. And My Marcia was asking the rabbi whether she could do the Lord’s Prayer.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
Amy nodded. Rose took a single bite and set the sandwich aside. “Can’t eat. Nervous,” she said, as Maggie swept back into the room, carrying a large, vaguely dress-shaped bundle wrapped in white plastic.
“Ready for your dress, Cinderella?” she asked.
Rose swallowed hard and nodded. Inside, she was dying. What if the dress wasn’t right? She imagined herself walking down the aisle, thread trailing, half-sewn seams gaping open. Oh, God, she thought. How stupid had she been to let Maggie take this on?
“Close your eyes,” Maggie said.
“No,” said Rose.
“Please?”
Rose sighed and gently closed her eyes. Maggie reached over to the zippered plastic bag, gently tugged down the zipper, and eased Rose’s dress off the hanger.
“Ta da!” said Maggie, and twirled the dress through the air.
At first all Rose saw was the skirt—layers and layers of tulle. Then, as Maggie held the dress up, she could see how beautiful it really was—the creamy satin bodice dotted with tiny seed pearls, the fitted sleeves, the neckline that she saw was just deep enough. True to her word, Maggie had sent pictures and had flown up to Philadelphia to do a fitting. But the finished product was more beautiful than Rose could ever have hoped for.
“How long did this take you and Ella?” Rose asked, stepping into the skirt.
“Never you mind,” said Maggie, fastening the dozens of buttons she’d sewn by hand along the back.
“How much did it cost?” asked Rose.
“Never mind that, either. It’s our gift to you,” said Maggie, straightening the neckline, and turning her sister toward the mirror.
“Oh,” gasped Rose, looking at herself. “Oh, Maggie!”
And then Amy was walking toward them, holding Rose’s bouquet of pink roses and white lilies in her hand, and the rabbi was sticking his head around the door, smiling at Rose and telling her that it was time, and Ella hurried in after him, her corsage tilted to one side, a shoe box in her hands.
“You look beautiful,” said Ella and Maggie at the exact same time, and Rose was staring at herself, knowing that the dress was the exact thing she was supposed to be wearing, knowing she’d never looked prettier, or happier, than she did at this moment, with her sister on her right side and her grandmother on her left.
“Here,” said Ella, opening the shoe box. “These are for you.”
“Oh, I’ve got shoes already. . . .” Rose peeked inside and saw the most perfect pair of shoes—ivory satin, with low heels, and embroidered in the same thread as her dress. “Oh, my God. They’re so pretty. Where did you find them?” She stared at Ella and took a guess. “Were they my mom’s?”
Maggie looked at Ella and held her breath.
“No,” said Ella. “They were mine.” She wi
ped her eyes with a handkerchief. “I know I should probably lend you earrings or a necklace or something, if you still need something borrowed, but ...”
“They’re perfect,” said Rose, slipping the shoes on her feet. “And they fit!” she said.
Ella shook her head, and her eyes filled with tears. “I know,” she whispered back.
“Don’t start crying yet,” said Lewis, poking his head through the door. “We haven’t even gotten started.” He grinned at Rose. “You look lovely. And I think they’re ready when you are.”
Rose hugged Ella, then reached out for her sister. “Thank you for my dress. It’s unbelievable. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen!”
“You’re welcome,” said Ella.
“Oh, it was nothing,” said Maggie.
“You guys ready?” asked Rose, and Maggie and Ella nodded. The caterer threw the doors open, and the guests looked at Rose and smiled. Camera bulbs flashed. Mrs. Lefkowitz sniffled. Michael Feller lifted Rose’s veil. “You look so beautiful,” he whispered in her ear. “I’m so proud of you.”
“I love you,” Rose said. She turned. At the end of the aisle, Simon was smiling at her, his warm blue eyes glowing, the yarmulke perched on top of his carefully cropped curls, his parents beaming beside him. Ella grabbed Maggie’s hand and squeezed.
“You did it,” she whispered, and Maggie nodded happily, and the two of them looked at Rose and caught her eye. We love you, Ella thought, and smiled, sending all of her good wishes through the air . . . and, in that instant, Rose looked at them through her veil and smiled back.
“And now,” the rabbi intoned, “Maggie Feller, sister of the bride, will read a poem.”
Maggie could feel the tension as she stepped forward and smoothed her dress (sage green, sleeveless, and without the slit in the skirt or the plunging neckline she knew her big sister was dreading) and stepped forward. She was certain, she thought, as she cleared her throat, that Sydelle and her father would be expecting her to bust out something that began, “There once was a girl from Nantucket.” Well, they were in for a surprise.
“I’m so happy for my sister right now,” said Maggie. “When we were growing up, Rose always took care of me. She always stuck up for me, and wanted what was best for me. And I’m so happy because I know that Simon will do the same things for her, and that we’ll always be a part of each other’s lives. We’ll always love each other, because that’s what sisters do. That’s what sisters are.” She gave Rose a smile. “So, Rose, this is for you.”
In Her Shoes Page 40