She handed her back the empty mug. The tables’ sudden turn stung.
“Leah, what am I doing up here? Why did you even ask me?”
Leah frowned. “I didn’t ask you.”
“The postcard? ‘Please come.’ It sounded urgent.”
“Oh, that.” She lifted one tanned shoulder casually.
“Yeah, that. I took off and left everything at home, thinking something was wrong. That maybe you needed me. But everything’s fine. You’re fine. Perfect, in fact.”
Leah’s lips pursed. “What made you think something was wrong?”
Iris stood. “Oh, I don’t know. Outside of a Christmas phone call, I don’t hear from you for years. You’re in Yellowstone, then suddenly you’re back home, farming with Mom. Then, whoosh, you’re in Seattle with a new guy. Engaged.”
Leah rose from the porch step. “Don’t the phone lines work in Massachusetts?”
“It’s not like I can just drop everything and take off every time you start a new project. Come on, Leah, the farm wasn’t exactly your first whim.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I can’t hold my breath every time you turn left instead of right. That while you hop in and out of our lives, the rest of us have been raising families, paying bills. You know, growing up.” The words tingled on her lips, but it was a relief to finally air them. And one more thing. “We’re in different chapters, Leah.” She held her breath, awaiting the response, and then a small noise escaped Leah.
Iris reached out. “Please don’t cry . . .”
And then she realized Leah wasn’t crying at all. No, her sister was in fact bent over, her hand covering her mouth in a fit of laughter.
“This is funny?” Iris sputtered.
“Just sit down,” Leah said, wiping her eyes. She looked at Iris. “Chapters? Seriously?”
Iris was too offended. “Forget I said anything.”
“No, you’re right.” Leah leaned in closer. “We both dropped the ball in the communication department. Maybe we have been in different chapters. But now I’m about to be joining yours.”
“Joining mine?” Iris couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her voice.
“You know, marriage. The old ball and chain.”
But Iris didn’t laugh.
“Look, I’ve made some mistakes,” Leah said softly, “but so have you.” She grabbed Iris’s hand and squeezed it in her own. “I’m getting married. And I need my big sister.” Her voice trembled a little when she said it, and Iris felt herself bending.
“Fine,” Iris said reluctantly. “You’ve lured me up here after all.”
“Good! Then, let’s catch up. Ask me anything,” Leah said, eyes flashing. “Anything at all.”
Iris stared back at Leah’s childish optimism. And just like that the pendulum swung back, reminding Iris of the globe-spinning game they used to play in Bill’s den. Where in the world are you going to live? But she went along with it. “Fine. Where’d you two meet?”
“Here, at the farm. Didn’t you know?”
Iris withdrew her hands and wrapped her towel more tightly across her waist, piqued again. “Nope. No one tells me anything.”
“It happened last summer. He’d come up with some friends from New York. They rented the Thayer place.”
The Thayer place was a formidable summerhouse, one of the oldest and handsomest in Hampstead. The Thayer family spent most of the season residing in it themselves, but on occasion they loaned it to close friends from the city.
“Stephen knows the Thayers?”
“His parents do. Anyway, he came by the stand one day when I was working. He bought a pound of strawberries. Then he came back the next day, and the day after that. By the end of the week, I told him that I didn’t have a strawberry left on the farm. And he laughed and asked me out.” Leah’s eyes sparkled as she related the story. “It was funny. There I was, in a crumpled sun hat, covered in dirt and sweat. And he just kept coming back. Said he’d never seen anything like me.”
Coming from anybody else, the comment would sound smug. But Leah was simply relating a fact, still as perplexed by her charm as she’d been since they were kids. “Amazing, huh?”
“Amazing.” Iris hoped she sounded sincere. She was, mostly.
“So what does he do?” From the Breitling on his wrist to the Brooks Brothers shirt he’d worn at dinner, Iris knew Stephen was successful. But she was more interested in what he did.
“He’s a CPA. Used to work for a firm in New York.”
Iris contemplated this; Stephen seemed a far cry from the outdoorsy, ponytailed national parks guys Leah used to hang out with.
“But he left all that recently to manage his family’s foundation. His grandmother started it thirty years ago, for the Special Olympics.”
This seemed more in line with the Leah Iris knew. “So, what do you do out in Seattle?”
Leah frowned. “Do? Well, I’ve been decorating our new apartment. It’s right by the Needle, you must come visit! And I handle the schedule. That sort of thing.”
“The schedule?”
“You know, planning charity events, trips . . .”
Iris blinked. It was the exact sort of thing she could not picture her sister doing. Leah was a doer, not a planner. The girl had never worn a watch, let alone followed a schedule. And certainly not someone else’s.
Leah jumped up. “Speaking of schedules! You’re coming to the dress fitting today, right?”
Iris ran a hand through her hair, which was now mostly dried, and sufficiently tangled. No one had mentioned anything about a fitting. Truthfully, Iris had looked forward to a day alone in the hammock. Especially before she sat her family down for the Paul Talk. The other reason she was here.
But the look on her sister’s face left no room for begging off. “Can’t wait to meet the dress.”
Leah pointed a finger at Iris. “Don’t forget about yours,” she said coyly. “The bridesmaid dresses won’t be in for another week, so it’ll be a surprise. But it’s to die for!”
Iris winced. She had forgotten about the bridesmaid dress. Back at home, in her attic, at least twelve bridesmaid dresses rested in various states of disuse, each tucked away into weepy cardboard boxes, no matter the fact that many had been chosen by some of her dearest friends, bestowed with the grave promise that this dress could be worn again. But Iris knew the cold, hard truth. No such dress existed.
Seven
Patty’s Bridal Boutique was nestled at the south end of Main Street, in one of the historic brick shop fronts between Sprinkles Ice Cream and Tate’s Pub. Appropriately so, Iris thought to herself. The nervous bride could throw back a shot of tequila while two doors down her maids consoled themselves with a double scoop of cookies and cream. Which is exactly what Iris planned to do, as soon as this fitting was over.
Honestly, Iris was surprised that Leah had purchased her gown at Patty’s. The boutique was elegant, as were most of the shops in Hampstead village, but it catered to a traditional New England set. She’d been sure Leah would have flown home with an haute couture dress bag flung over her shoulder, having long ago secured a gown from one of the trendier fashion houses on the West Coast.
Now, she found herself thrust into one of those overly stuffed ornate chairs outside Miss Patty’s stately dressing room, balancing a tray of coffees in her lap, each one a sound representative for its intended recipient: a double espresso for Millie, an iced caramel latte for Iris (with extra whipped cream, which would have to be the last if her dress measurements were to be taken), and a suspect swampy liquid that Leah swore was a rejuvenating green tea.
“Soothes the complexion,” Millie informed Iris, regarding the tea. Though Iris seriously doubted Millie Standish had ever consumed one of the shimmering concoctions herself.
“Put those beverages down,�
� Millie said now, holding up a veil from the display rack in the corner. “I need your opinion.”
Iris trudged over. It was a far cry from home, where in Sadie’s case, everything Iris attempted to assert her opinion on, from fashion to pizza toppings, was met with a dubious glare, or in Paul’s case, a dismissive tsk of disapproval. At least here she was being consulted.
“So, what do you think?” Millie held up a simple veil with an appliquéd headband.
Iris shrugged. “It’s nice. But I haven’t seen the dress yet.”
“Trust me, this will work.” Millie thrust the veil at Iris, just as another stole her attention. “Oh, my. Look at this!”
One after another, Millie plucked veils from the rack, piling them into Iris’s outstretched arms until she could no longer see over the cloud of tulle.
“Um, Mom.”
“Hush. Put this on,” Millie said, handing her yet another.
“Me?”
“Yes, you. We need to help your sister narrow her choices.”
“Whose choices?” Iris mumbled.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing.” Iris dumped the pile of veils onto a nearby settee.
“Here, now isn’t this lovely?” Millie tossed a fingertip veil over Iris’s head, where it promptly snagged on her ponytail. “Dear, what is going on with your hair?”
“Mom.”
“Fine, just turn around.” Millie pursed her lips. “Yes, that’s a possibility.” She shoved another in her hand, this one dotted in pearls. “Next.”
“Shouldn’t this be up to Leah?”
“Leah doesn’t know what she wants,” Millie replied, fussing with the edges. Iris glanced sideways at her mother. She’d always thought herself the sole possessor of such an opinion. Now she wasn’t sure whether to rejoice in a newfound teammate or abandon the field given the company.
While her mother sorted through the remaining pile of veils on the settee, Iris lifted the blusher to check her phone.
No messages.
“What about this one?” Millie set a French birdcage veil on her own head, turning admiringly in the mirror.
“Mom!”
“Well, what else am I supposed to do? You’re hardly cooperating.”
Iris plopped down on the couch.
“Isn’t Stephen wonderful?” Millie asked, taking the veil off her head. She patted the sides of her hair into place, not waiting for Iris’s response. “We’re so fortunate to have him joining the family.”
As opposed to Paul? Iris wondered. Though she could hardly argue that point now.
“Yeah, he seems great. But isn’t this all happening sort of fast?”
Millie turned to face her. “What do you mean?”
“Well, she’s only known the guy for less than a year, right?”
Millie frowned. “A year is a long time, Iris. I knew your own father for less before we became engaged.”
“I know. But it was different then. Besides, they haven’t been together for all that time. He’s been in Seattle, and she’s been living here up until a few months ago.”
Millie shook her head. “Stephen travels a lot for his foundation, so it wouldn’t have made any difference where Leah lived. They made great use of the time they had.”
“Yeah, in places like Vail. And Capri. Vacations, Mom. And never for more than a week at a time. What do they know about their compatibility when it comes to the mundane stuff? Like who takes out the trash, or who pays the bills? Have they even had their first argument yet?”
Millie crossed her arms. “Iris, I know you seem to be going through a difficult time right now, but I really don’t think you should be displacing your personal issues on your sister.”
Iris wanted to disagree, but they were interrupted.
“La-dies!” Miss Patty rounded the corner in a flowing tent of a dress. “Your bride is ready.”
Iris found it ridiculous the way Miss Patty detained them outside the dressing room, but when the peach curtains parted, she couldn’t contain her gasp. There on a carpeted riser, like the tiny ballerina in a childhood music box, perched Leah.
“Oh, sis.” Any misgivings Iris had had were tossed aside. “You look—”
“Striking,” Millie interjected, and Iris couldn’t disagree.
“Do you like it?” Leah turned before the mirror in exactly the sort of gown Trish had predicted. It was a silk organza sheath, perfectly fitted to Leah’s trim physique, highlighting every elegant curve of her figure.
“It’s lovely. You’re lovely,” Iris choked, swiping at a stray tear.
Millie nodded, dabbing her own eyes.
Miss Patty extended a box of tissues to the women. “I figured these would be in order.”
Iris grabbed a wad, wondering if Miss Patty swept through her shop with a tissue box in hand every day. Probably, she decided. Though the sight of Leah in her dress was enough to give even Miss Patty due pause.
“So what do we think?” Patty asked, lifting the modest train and spreading it elegantly across the carpeted floor. “The alterations girl did a wonderful job, didn’t she?”
Leah turned left, then right, her brow knitting.
“I don’t know,” she said quietly.
“What’s not to know?” Millie asked.
Leah lifted one shoulder. “There’s just something about it . . .” Her voice trailed off.
The four women pressed into the confines of the mirror, studying Leah’s reflection. The creamy organza. The strapless bodice. The fitted waist void of any glittery distraction from the design’s impeccable lines. Iris had to agree with Millie; it was striking. In short, it was Leah.
“I think it’s the waistline,” Leah said, and before she could continue, Miss Patty summoned a tiny Italian seamstress named Vera who lost no time kneeling beside the bride and tugging expertly at the fabric.
“There’s enough room to breathe,” Vera said. “If it’s any tighter it will crease.”
Leah sighed. “What about this?” She pulled on the bodice. “Do you see this gap?”
The women craned their necks, peering down Leah’s bust.
Vera tucked two discreet fingers beneath the fabric. “No gap here,” she announced to the group.
Deflated, Leah turned to scrutinize the view from behind.
“These pearl buttons, they need to come off.”
Vera made a small noise in her throat, which made Iris wonder just how many perfectly good pearl buttons she’d been asked to sacrifice in her career at the mercy of an edgy bride.
This time Miss Patty stepped forward to place her hands on Leah’s. She spoke softly. “The pearls line the seam. Exactly where you said you wanted them at the last fitting. Remember, dear?”
Iris could feel the collective holding of breath in the tiny dressing room. She herself was feeling like she needed air.
Millie broke the heavy silence. “You’re going to worry Miss Patty. The dress is perfect, dear.” Iris recognized the frustration in her mother’s tone, even if the others didn’t. It was a warning that Millie’s already thin brand of patience had worn. From here on out there would be no more hand-holding.
But still Leah balked.
Iris drew Miss Patty aside and whispered to her. “Maybe we should go through the racks one last time?”
“The racks?” Miss Patty clasped her large bosom. “This gown is custom. And even if she wanted something in-store, the wedding is in three weeks. There’s no time to order and fit another.”
Iris wavered, the tensions of Miss Patty and Millie pressing against her temples like bookends.
Four sets of eyes fell on Leah again, whom Iris suddenly feared might bolt. Millie began fiddling with her purse straps, and Miss Patty squatted at Leah’s feet, frantically adjusting the train, as if this might somehow transform the bride’s
angst.
Leah turned to face them. “Iris? Tell me what to do.”
Iris stiffened. Was Leah really placing all bets on her? Because Iris didn’t think that was such a great wager. While her bright, beautiful sister was about to embark on a brand-spanking-new marriage, her own was in shambles two hundred miles south.
“Come on, Iris. Truth.”
Iris felt the other women’s strained expressions shift in her direction.
The truth. Oh, there were plenty of truths Iris could have shared, even more colorfully if, say, a chilled bottle of Grey Goose had been handy. Where to begin? The part about “till death do us part”? Or the part about the thousand little deaths you suffer, even in the marriages that last? And what about sisterhood, that ever-shifting bond that Iris’s sisterless friends seemed to believe held some female magic they’d missed out on? Best friend for life. Keeper of your deepest secrets. Iris couldn’t remember the last time she’d told Leah a secret. Or the last time that her sister had kept one. As Iris stood beside her in the mirror, a million little truths swirled between them. Don’t expect too much. Don’t let your ass go. Or your dreams, for that matter.
But it was Leah’s pleading expression that sliced through them all.
Iris cleared her throat. “You’d probably look beautiful in any dress,” she said, ignoring her mother’s imploring look. “But this is the one.” There. She’d said it.
And with that small offering, the air shifted. Millie’s face crumpled with relief, and Miss Patty clapped her hands together. The sisters’ eyes remained locked in the mirror.
“Please Come,” the postcard had said. This wasn’t about a dress.
• • •
As children, Millie had taken Iris and Leah shopping for back-to-school clothes each August. Iris had dreaded those visits, not only because they drew her out of the lake on a perfectly good summer morning, but because of the inevitable suffering in the dressing room. Pleated plaid kilts with brass buckles at the waist that felt scratchy against Iris’s bare skin and caused her to reach under the wool to itch her mosquito-bitten legs. But there was one summer excursion that had been particularly dreadful. That year they had taken separate dressing rooms, each emerging from their private quarters to model the clothes. The outfits still matched; but the similarities screeched to an abrupt halt there. The same angora sweater that looked lumpy and unformed on Iris draped elegantly at Leah’s tiny waist. The corduroy painter’s pants that gaped unflatteringly on Iris hugged the curve of Leah’s back, the back pockets showcasing her rear end in a way that was both girlish and alarmingly sexy, much to Leah’s delight. From acid-washed denim jeans to the painful floral Laura Ashley dresses that delighted only the elderly saleswoman and Millie, everything looked good on Leah. It was Iris’s earliest memory of any dissatisfaction with her own body. The sisters were not just growing up, but apart.
The Lake Season Page 6