by Cathy Lamb
I heard a growling in the distance, and I knew what was coming: Mack and Jules’s friends. From everywhere, all over the country, they were here, on their motorcycles all coming off the same ferry. We all went down to the driveway to greet them.
Dozens of bikers on bikes of all sizes, all of them dressed in their leathers, entered the property. My mother and aunts, in their fancy, ruffled, sparkling purple, yellow, and pink dresses and matching heels, and identical long double strands of real pearls, waved. They put their hands above the most fantastical
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hats ever made in this galaxy and wiggled their hips. The bikers waved back, smiled, laughed and gunned their bikes.
The wedding was soon to begin.
Upstairs in Rose Bloom Cottage in her pink childhood bedroom, Jules was a wreck.
My mother and aunts hurriedly came outside to get me, all a tizzy. I was telling the band where to set up and directing the caterers and bartenders, Marco helping like a wedding planning pro. A package arrived with stacks of boxes from Julia’s Chocolates in central Oregon that we were placing on each table, as it’s the best chocolate on the planet Earth. I was planning on getting changed into my maid of honor dress, but for now was whipping around in a flowered yellow sundress.
“Come,” my mother panted, pulling on my arm, her towering hat askew. “You need to talk to your sister. She’ll listen to you.”
“Jules needs your sisterly spirit,” Aunt Camellia said, her face creased in worry as she held onto her hat with both hands.
“Your emotional strength as a woman.”
“Get in there and fix this problem,” Aunt Iris said, her hat off as she shook it at me. “Your sister is flipping out and we need a solution.”
“But what’s wrong?”
“You’ll see.”
They shoved me into Jules’s childhood bedroom. She was in a pink fluffy robe stained with coffee and red wine. She was pacing, having a hard time breathing, her hand on her throat.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m getting married!”
“But you want to get married,” I said, giving her a hug.
“I know, I know. But I’m nervous. I have nerves. I haven’t seen Mack in a week, and that makes me feel all jittery and scared.” She wrung her hands. She gasped. She bent over. We were definitely in meltdown territory.
“Jules, remember what you love about Mack.”
“I love a lot about him. In bed, he’s so kind, but he’s so passionate. He knows exactly how I like to make love, the pacing,
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and how I like things different sometimes and sometimes the same, and how he’s always a gentleman and he’s romantic and whispers sweet things to me so my mind is in it and my body is in it, too. He’s so fiery, he makes me feel like a woman, but oh!”
She put her hands over her mouth and gasped, again and again.
“Take a breath, honey,” my mother said, all fluttery and worried.
“She needs to get her soul aligned with her goals,” Aunt Camellia cried.
“She’s having a dang panic attack,” Aunt Iris said.
“Oh, oh, oh!” Jules said, growing whiter by the second. “I’m getting married! I’m getting married. I’m getting married.” She put her hands to her long blonde hair. Then she fiddled with her hoop earrings. She stared at the tattoo of Mack’s face, then she burst into tears. I held her as she struggled for breath. Tears and not breathing. Well, we had a problem.
I knew what to do! I hugged her and hurried outside and found Mack, keeping my expression happy so as not to alarm the guests with a suspected freaked-out bride. “Come with me,”
I told him.
His face instantly leaped to worry. “Is my honey bunch okay?
Is my sweetie pie calm?”
“She’s nervous. She’s scared.”
Mack is six foot six inches tall. The kids he works with as a pediatric nurse see the kindness in his heart and they love him, but he looks a little intimidating. He’s a mix of a motorcycle gang member and Santa Claus without the white beard.
“What’s wrong with my pumpkin? She still wants to get married, doesn’t she?”
“Please, come upstairs.”
His eye flew open wide and he went white. He sprinted to the house and thundered upstairs to her pink room.
“Love muffin,” he said. “My sweet rose. My darling cupcake. What is it?”
“Oh, oh, oh!” Jules cried. She wrapped her arms around him and was soon hugged by a giant bear.
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“Mom. Aunts.” I motioned to them. “Let’s leave the two love muffins alone.”
They followed me out, hands wringing, chants to the heavens for luck whispered by my aunt Camellia.
My mother said, “My goodness. If she doesn’t get married I’m going to drink a whole keg of beer myself.”
Aunt Iris muttered, “She’d better walk down the aisle with that young man. Statistically speaking, she has a high chance of being married forever.”
I figured they would need fifteen minutes. Mack would not be able to “take his time,” this time, as we had a wedding. We waited downstairs. Mack came bounding out on the dot in fifteen minutes and announced, “My sweetheart, my chocolate croissant, is feeling better now, ladies! On with the wedding. I cannot wait to be in that gazebo with my apple pie.”
We trooped upstairs, my mother and aunts holding on to their marvelous hats. Jules was much better. Her newly done hair was a mess and her makeup would have to be redone.
“He’s so sexy,” she whispered to me. “He knows exactly what to do for my nerves and my brain and my va va voom. I feel so much better.”
I took a deep breath before I walked out of the house in my maid of honor dress and came face-to-face with Marco. He was in a dark blue suit and looked like a cross between Tarzan and a love God. I, however, was not in a traditional maid of honor dress. Picture those silky, fluffy, lacy dresses that maids of honor wear.
That was not me.
Picture the pastel colors.
That was not me.
Picture the matching heels, the hair all done up with curls and whirls.
That was not me.
What was I wearing?
I was in a black leather bustier.
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Yes, a bustier.
My boobs were almost spilling out the top of said leather bustier. About four inches of my stomach was peeping between the edge of the bustier and my white lace skirt, which fell to above my knees, lined with white satin so it would not be see-through. The white lace skirt had several slits so when I walked my legs showed up to almost midthigh. As a gift, Jules had bought me knee-high black leather boots, so I was wearing those, too. I was also wearing black fishnets and a black bandana around my head that said JULES AND MACK FOREVER.
I was hardly dressed in front of over two hundred people.
Cleavage up, thighs showing, even my stomach making an appearance
Curiously, I rather liked it. The wedding dress designer had truly made an eye-catching and unique maid of honor biker-gang dress, but I was nervous about what Marco would say.
Marco did a double take, a shocked expression on his face, then he smiled and looked me up and down, up and down.
“Wow. I mean, wow, baby. You look . . . uh, wow.”
“I’m a biker chick.”
“I can tell.”
He smiled, and I smiled back nervously. Oh my. I figured we’d have some fun biker sex tonight. We’d had a lot of fun sex lately. He was holding my bouquet of flowers. They were a mix of pink, red, and white roses, all wrapped in a long black leather ribbon and white lace.
My mother and aunts smiled at me. Their hats bobbed. They had outdone themselves. Their hats were wide brimmed, purple, yellow, and pink, matching their sparkly, ruffled dresses and piled with a mix of fresh and faux flowers. The hats were cocked this way and that, a faux bird here and there, glitter sprayed left a
nd right, a handful of silver sequins, lots of netting and long ribbons trailing down their backs.
“I love you,” my mother said to me, and my aunts echoed it.
They tried to hug me, but their hats poked me in the face. “You look marvelous, Evie, in your lace and leathers. . . . You should
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ride a motorcycle. . . . Have you thought about wearing a bustier more often? My goodness you do have our family’s bust, don’t you? Why do you cover it up?”
And then it was time. My aunts were seated first as a rock band played “Back in Black” by AC/DC. Everyone loved it, especially since many of the guests were in their black leathers for the wedding. Mack’s mother, grandma, and great-grandma and their husbands went next. Nine bridesmaids, childhood and motorcycle riding friends of Jules, and the groomsmen walked the aisle arm in arm. The bridesmaids wore summer dresses, knee-high black boots, and the black JULES AND MACK FOREVER
headbands, as did the groomsmen.
It was my turn to walk down the aisle, then my sister would follow. My mother was walking Jules down the aisle. My mother held a small, handsome photo of my father so he could walk his daughter down the aisle, too, which made me get all emotional, but I have a feeling that the doors of heaven open up for occasions like this. Henry Lindsay would be watching, and he would see it all.
I winked at Marco on my way down the aisle, then stood at the front of the gazebo and turned around to see Jules, my best friend, my love-sister.
The music changed from rock and roll to a traditional wedding song.
Jules was resplendent. Her wedding dress was white, lacy, and sleeveless, so her shoulders were bare. The layered skirt came to midthigh so her black knee-high leather boots with silver sequins at the top made quite an entrance. She wore her long blonde hair loose like a Viking with a black JULES AND MACK
FOREVER headband. A white lace veil was attached to the headband, which created a five-foot train that fluttered in the wind.
She was naturally exquisite.
When she appeared at the end of the aisle, everyone stood, gasped, and started cheering for her. My mother cried next to her, Jules cried. I cried. My aunts cried, even practical Aunt Iris.
Mack, dressed in his black leathers with a black bow tie, his arms outstretched at the end of the aisle, had tears racing down
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his cheeks. “Come on down, my apple pie! I’m waiting for you!” he boomed.
“I’m coming, baby,” Jules called back. “I’m coming!”
Whew. What a day.
The wedding was everything Jules and Mack wanted. Mack’s best childhood friend, Jay Dove Boy, in his leathers, led the solemn vow ceremony where they promised to be loyal, kind, and devoted and to ride their motorcycles as they explored life and love together until death did they part. A band played a blend of rock/disco/old-time dance music. Everyone loved wearing their own black leather JULES AND MACK FOREVER headbands. It seemed to give everyone a new “wild and rockin’ ”
mentality and the party boomed. The barbeque went over deliciously well.
The cake was made by the Bommarito sisters in Trillium River.
It was a three-layer cake painted with exact replicas of the motorcycles that Jules and Mack rode. But on the top layer, using who knew what, they had made two edible motorcycles, exactly patterned off of Jules’s and Mack’s favorite motorcycles, with Jules and Mack on top. Jules’s blonde hair was flying behind her, and they were in their leathers.
The beer and wine flowed like a river. There was dancing and laughing and toasts. The woman they hired to paint fake tattoos on guests was extremely talented.
At one in the morning, Jules and Mack got on his motorcycle to leave for a bed-and-breakfast in town for their honeymoon night, and we all cheered as they sped off. Mack announced to a delighted Jules that they were going to Thailand for their honeymoon.
“I packed perfectly,” Jules gushed. “Bikinis and lingerie! I’m ready to go!”
Marco and I, along with a whole bunch of other people, helped to clean up, and then we headed to our beach, made love, and watched the sun come up.
I did feel daringly biker-chickish in my maid of honor dress and Marco adored the leather bustier.
* * *
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Marco asked me to marry him shortly thereafter, on one knee, on our beach, in the middle of a sunny, windy Saturday.
The ring was exquisite and sparkling, and when he was still on his knee, I was so excited, I hugged him tight and we fell over, me on top of him. I did not bother to get up until I’d kissed that man silly.
I did not want to have a premonition about Marco and me and our future. I simply wanted to live with him, love him, and be like a normal person who doesn’t know the good and the bad upcoming. But maybe, because my feelings for him were so intense, it brought it on.
In the premonition I saw two people together. At first I didn’t recognize us. We were very, very old. White hair, wrinkled skin, glasses, the works. We were sitting at our beach, in chairs, holding hands, a whole bunch of animals around us. There were at least five dogs. A couple cats. A few grizzled horses in the background, along with alpacas, sheep, and goats.
I had already told him, before he formally asked me to marry him, that because of my family history, I would not have children. “I can’t do this to anyone else,” I said. “It’s clearly in my family line, all the way back.” He agreed and said he’d never planned on having children. “I want you, Evie. It’ll be you and me and our animals.”
We agreed to open up a shelter for animals that cannot find homes. We would call it Sundance’s Home. Not all animals are adoptable for one reason or another, and those would stay with us permanently.
“That’s a plan,” Marco said. “We’ll be animal collectors.”
Seeing us on the beach, old and smiling, it looked like we’d turned into happy, old animal collectors.
It was my favorite premonition of all time.
A READING GROUP GUIDE
ALL ABOUT EVIE
Cathy Lamb
ABOUT THIS GUIDE
The suggested questions are included to enhance
your group’s reading of Cathy Lamb’s
All About Evie.
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
1. What did you think of All About Evie? Were there scenes that made you laugh or cry? Were there scenes that you, personally, could relate to?
2. Evie Lindsay had premonitions. It was genetic, handed down from mother to daughter in her family line. Do you have premonitions? Do you believe that other people could have premonitions? Would you want to have premonitions?
3. Who was your favorite female character? Betsy, Evie, Jules, Poppy, Aunt Camellia, Aunt Iris, or Tilly? Why?
4. Evie said, “You all knew this secret about me. You’ve all known how lonely I’ve often felt, how alone. There was something missing, and I couldn’t explain it, couldn’t fix it, couldn’t deal with it. I thought that it was me, that something was wrong with me. I thought it was my premonitions that were setting me apart, but it wasn’t. I had been taken from my biological parents, and somehow, some way, even though I was a baby, I felt it. That separation is what caused the inexplicable hole I have felt, I have battled, my whole life.”
Should Poppy and Henry have told their daughter,
Evie, that she was adopted? When should they have told her? Do you understand their reasons for not telling Evie?
Do you approve of their reasons?
5. Did Johnny and Betsy deserve to go to jail? Were they right in going to court to gain back custody of Evie when they were released? Should the judge have given them custody of their daughter? If it were you who lost
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS 393
Evie, would you believe that she should come back to your home, given the same circumstances?
6. Aunt Iris said, regarding the pot they were growing in their greenhouse, “Isn’t it better for all of us t
o die stoned than to die sober? It’s a much gentler way to spend your dying time.”
“I want to be high as a kite when I die,” Aunt Camellia said, her face ecstatic at the thought. “High. As. A. Kite.
Flying through the heavens, dipping into the clouds, rolling over rainbows.”
How did you feel about the “mowie wowie” growing in the greenhouse?
7. Evie said, “I pulled myself together and went to work, because this is what we do when life falls apart: We buck up and we go to work and we take care of people and our responsibilities.
“Why? Because we must.
“And maybe that answer is, boringly, dully . . . perfect.”
What five words would you use to describe Evie? How did she change from the beginning of the book to the end? What would it be like to have her life and to see premonitions?
8. “Jail, Betsy decided, is actually hell.
“It’s a hell wrapped in concrete, wire, and steel bars, that has landed on Earth, dangerous and suffocating. She had a metal plank and a sinking, stained, skinny mattress for a bed. She had bars keeping her trapped like an animal; a toi-
394 Discussion Questions
let within her cell with no privacy; and a small, battered sink. She was told what to do and when to do it. The food was horrible, the lack of sunlight graying to life, the lack of freedom deadly to her mind and soul.”
Was Betsy’s story in jail difficult to read? Did the paral-lel story line between Evie and Betsy work for you? Did you like Betsy?
9. Rose Bloom Cottage had a huge, thriving garden with a gazebo, paths, willow trees, and a pond, designed by Evie’s grandmother. How did the garden, and the flowers, particularly the roses, enhance the story? What were they a metaphor for?