The Wedding Thief Page 20

  I cringed. But then I realized she didn’t seem all that angry. What was going on? “I’m sorry,” I said. “I know it’s embarrassing.”

  “Well, it’s embarrassing for you. Honestly, couldn’t the police have taken a better picture? One where you were at least smiling?” She plucked another cocktail dress from the bed and folded it. “Were the police in that much of a hurry that they couldn’t take another photo?”

  I glanced across the room at the pink baby sneakers and silver teething ring on one of the shelves. The shoes were mine, the teething ring Mariel’s. “It’s not like when that photographer used to come and take our picture for the Christmas card. They don’t take thirty and give you a choice.”

  “I would have gotten them to retake it.”

  I’m sure she would have.

  “I always say, if you’re going to have your picture spread around, make it a good one. Oh, I know, in this age of Instagram and Facebook and Twitter and who knows what’s next, everybody’s snapping photos and putting them online. But that’s the problem. There’s no discretion. Frankly, I’d rather have one great picture of myself out there for the world to see than a thousand horrible little shots.” She looked around. “Did you notice a pair of black heels anywhere? I just had them a minute ago.”

  “So your only concern is that the picture could have been better?”

  “What other concern should I have?” She walked around in search of the shoes. “It doesn’t look like it’s done you any harm. There was a piece about it on TV this morning, the local news. It looks like people around here love the whole dessert-thief idea. So ride the wave, honey.”

  The local news? Ride the wave? Even for Mom, whose publicist was the first one on her favorites list, she seemed way too blasé.

  “Maybe you can use it to your advantage when you go out on your own. With your event planning.” She grabbed a jacket from the floor, revealing a pair of black heels underneath. “Here they are.”

  “I’ll probably never go out on my own.”

  She held the heels in midair, stood perfectly still, and stared at me. “And why in the world not?”

  “Because I need money to get started. And contacts. I don’t have enough contacts in Chicago.”

  “I have contacts.”

  “Not out there.”

  “No, but I have them here. And in Manhattan.”

  “Well, even I have some contacts here. But if I was going to start my own business, I wouldn’t start it on the East Coast.”

  Mom looked as though I’d insulted her. “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. I guess because my life’s not here.” The possibility of coming back east wasn’t on my radar screen. “I never considered it.”

  “I think you should. I could connect you with lots of people.”

  I knew that was true, but it didn’t matter. Moving back, finding a place to live, trying to make ends meet while launching a business—the idea was daunting. “It’s too risky right now. I’d need to pad my bank account like crazy before I’d even think about it.”

  “I could help you. I could give you some money to get started.”

  Give me some money. All I could think about was Mariel. She’d be happy to take money from Mom to start a business. In fact, she’d done it. A dog-walking business, a gift-basket business, a vegan-soap business. All failures. “Thanks, Mom, but I don’t need your money.”

  “Then I could loan you the money at a very low interest rate. Or you could make me a silent partner with a tiny share of the business. I could talk to a lawyer about it.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but it’s not something I’m going to do.” I took a framed photo from the table next to me and studied it. Mom, Dad, me, and Mariel, my freshman year at UCLA. How happy I’d been to be on the other side of the country, on my own. And then in my senior year, Mariel arrived in town to attend Cal State.

  “You know, it wouldn’t hurt if you occasionally let someone help you. Did you ever consider the idea that people might want to?”

  “Why would I need help? I’m fine. Really.”

  She took the heels into the closet. “At least try to be open to it,” she said when she came out. “I do have a few good thoughts now and then.”

  I knew she meant well. “Yes, okay. You do. Although the idea that this publicity might be a good thing for me is a little crazy. No offense, but I live in Chicago.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning no one there will even hear about this.”

  There was a suffocating silence before she said, “Hmm. I wouldn’t be so sure.”

  Something in the uh-oh section of my brain switched on, and an uneasy feeling began to skitter up the back of my legs. “What do you—”

  “It’s on the internet. And it’s gone kind of viral.”

  “What?” I stood up. “There’s no kind of viral.”

  “Viral, then. Just plain viral.” Mom looked at me like I was overreacting. “Oh, don’t worry. I know you’re not a pastry thief.”

  “But the rest of the world doesn’t know it. My boss doesn’t know it. Ca—” I almost said, Carter doesn’t know it, but I caught myself.

  “It says suspected. It doesn’t say convicted.”

  “But I’m not even a suspect.” I looked at the floor. “Oh God, I think I need an attorney.”

  “Don’t be silly.” She flapped a hand at me. “You just need a publicist.”

  By the time I’d convinced my mother that I wasn’t going to hire a publicist, that I just wanted all of this to go away, we were standing in her closet together. She held up two dresses and asked me which one she should wear to the wedding.

  “I like the lacy one better. And that taupe color will look beautiful on you.”

  “All right. That’s what I’ll wear. Glad I’ve got that settled.” Somewhere in the bedroom, her cell phone rang, and she went to answer it. When she came back, she was beaming, her smile so wide she could barely speak. “I got the part!”

  “What part?” I didn’t know she’d auditioned for anything. It had been years since she’d worked as an actor.

  “An HBO series.”

  “Mom, that’s fantastic!” I hugged her. I was so proud.

  “I’m going to play a psychiatrist. It’s only a small part—three episodes. But it’s a good role. I’m really excited about it.”

  “We should celebrate.”

  She stepped back. Her smile disappeared. “Oh, no, no, I shouldn’t even be talking about it. My agent doesn’t have the contract yet. I don’t want to jinx things. Don’t say a word to anyone. Please?”

  I’d forgotten how superstitious she was about that. “I won’t. Cross my heart.” I made the gesture.

  She gave me a thumbs-up. Then she pulled out an ivory cocktail dress and hung it on a valet rod.

  “Ooh, that’s pretty.”

  “Do you like it? I just got it the other day. Thought I’d wear it tonight.” There was a lilt in her voice I hadn’t noticed before, even when she’d told me about the HBO part.

  “What’s tonight?”

  “Oh, nothing.” She brushed an invisible piece of lint off the dress. “I have a little date, that’s all.”

  A date. That was not what I’d expected to hear. Was it the guy from the acting class? I hoped not. He was closer to my age than hers. “Who is it with?”

  “Do you remember Paul—I mean, Dr. Sherwood? The one who popped in to say hello when I was in the ER? My neighbor Leslie’s brother?”

  The orthopedic doctor. The good-looking guy with the silver-gray hair. Yes, I remembered him. “He asked you out? How did that happen?” I wondered why the conversation was beginning to bother me.

  “He called Leslie and asked her for my phone number.” She giggled. She was acting like a child.

  “Where is he taking you?”

  “We’re having dinner at the Corner Table.”

  Expensive and romantic. I was liking this less and less. “The Corner Table. He’s not holding
back. Going all out.”

  “Honey, it’s just a dinner.” She stroked my cheek. “What’s wrong? You’re the one who always said I should date.”

  “I know, I know.” She was right. I had said that. And over the past few years she’d had a few dates here and there. She’d told me about them, but she’d never been too excited about the men. This seemed different. I thought back to Mom and Dr. Sherwood in that little curtained-off cubicle in the emergency room, about how he’d asked if he could take a selfie with her and she’d agreed. Actually agreed. I should have known then.

  Okay, I was getting carried away. She’d just met the man and it was only a dinner. It might not lead to anything. But what if it did? Was I worried that she’d forget Dad? That someone would try to take his place? Or did it bother me because it seemed like everyone was moving on with their lives except me? Maybe it was a little of both.

  “Hey, would this fit you?” Mom pulled out an emerald-green silk dress on a hanger. It was a simple slip dress, but the color and the deep V-neck made it especially elegant and sexy.

  “Where’d you get that?”

  “I don’t remember. I’ve never worn it. It’s too young for me, but I’ll bet it would look good on you. You should try it and take it if it fits.” She hung the dress on a pullout rod. “You know, I’m glad you decided to help your sister with the wedding. She’s been a lot more relaxed about things since you took over. And it’s better for you. It’s time you got on with your own life and stopped dwelling on the past.”

  That was easy for Mom to say when even she was getting on with things. I pulled a burgundy velvet evening gown from a hanger. Red feathers adorned its sweetheart neckline. The skirt had rows of ruffles and layers of fabric. It looked like one of Scarlett O’Hara’s dresses from Gone with the Wind. “What’s this?”

  “That’s a costume. I wore it in View from the Top,” Mom said, running her hand over the feathers. She looked at me. “Lots of good things are going to happen to you, honey. You’re only thirty-eight.”

  “I feel old,” I mumbled as I held the dress up in front of me and peered in the mirror.

  “You’re not old.”

  “I want to get married and have children.”

  “Children are overrated.”

  “Excuse me?” I turned and stared at her.

  “Well, I didn’t mean you. I meant in general.”

  “Right. In general.”

  “Things will fall into place, honey. You just need to move ahead with your life. It doesn’t do any good to be bitter about things. You know, I was in a play years ago with a man named Stuart Greer. He was so talented. A wonderful actor. But not long after the show closed, his wife ran off with her periodontist.” Mom looked as though it pained her to remember this. “I think Stuart had suspected it for a while. She was getting too many gum treatments. Poor man. The bitterness just destroyed him. A year later, he was dead.”

  “Wait. You’re saying he died from bitterness?”

  “Well, they said he died of cancer.” Mom hung the Scarlett O’Hara dress back up. “But I know that wasn’t the real reason. Honestly, anybody with half a brain could have figured out the truth.”

  I didn’t think bitterness was a valid medical diagnosis, but I stayed silent.

  “I just want you and your sister to be close again. The way you used to be.”

  We were never going to be the way we used to be. Not to mention that the way we used to be wasn’t half as close as Mom, in her Broadway-storied mind, imagined we were. How could I have been close to someone who was always trying to be a replica of me? Trying to chase me from my own life? I hear your sister’s a writer for the Meridian, somebody told me a month after Mariel began high school. I’d been a photographer on the school paper for three years. Within two weeks of hearing that, I quit.

  “I don’t know all the ins and outs of your relationship with Carter,” Mom said. “And I don’t need to know. But I do remember there were problems. And if there were problems…” Her voice trailed off.

  I felt something cold lodge in my spine. I didn’t want to talk about it. “I should go.”

  “Oh, sweetie. I’m sorry. I’m just trying to get you to see…come on, don’t leave like that.”

  I was about to walk out when I noticed the midnight-blue Dior gown Mom had worn the night Dad and his partners got the Tony for Rough Seas. I touched the fabric, and it felt like I was greeting an old friend. “I remember this.”

  Mom stood beside me and ran her hand over the dress, a dreamy look in her eyes. “I can still see your dad walking up to that stage with Joe and Charlie,” she said. “They were so excited. And they all looked so handsome in their tuxedos, especially your dad.”

  I could see him walking to that stage as well; Mariel and I, teenagers then, were watching at home on TV. I remember how silvery Dad’s hair seemed that night. Maybe it was just the lights. Or maybe it was the first time I realized he was getting older. He was only fifty, but that seemed old to me then. He’d worn his black-framed glasses, the ones he thought looked best with a tux, the ones that were still in the top drawer of his bureau. He had looked so handsome.

  I opened that drawer, the one that held his watches and cuff links. Everything was there, exactly where it had always been. I ran my hand over the watches, the bezels shiny, the bands sparkling. I picked up a pair of gold cuff links, replicas of an Austin-Healey 3000 Mark III, the same car he had restored. Three pair of glasses were in the drawer, including Dad’s tuxedo glasses. I lifted them from their place; the frame was cool and smooth in my hand.

  “I know I’ve told you this before,” Mom said, watching me, “but I want you to remember that your father was the love of my life. No one can ever replace him.”

  I nodded, put the glasses back, and closed the drawer. He had been gone for five years. I guessed she deserved some happiness.

  After Mom left to bring the clothes to the thrift shop, I went back into the closet to take another look at the green silk dress. The color of the fabric was so deep and lush, it looked like something that should be worn only by royalty. I undressed and slipped the garment over my head. It shimmered under the light. I turned; I twirled. The silk rippled and the V-neck plunged. The dress looked as though it had been made for me.

  I was still twirling when I heard the doorbell chime. Mom must have forgotten something. “Coming,” I yelled, heading down the hall in my bare feet, silk flowing around me. The bell rang again as I ran down the stairs. “I’m coming, hold on.”

  But when I opened the door, it wasn’t my mother standing there. It was Carter.

  Chapter 21

  Change of Plans

  Sara.” He gave a quick shake of his head. “For a second I thought you were…” He stepped into the foyer, a shopping bag in his hand. “I thought you were Mariel. Your hair looks—what did you do to it?”

  His eyes, which were usually as blue as a piece of the sky, had a gray cast to them. He disapproved. That’s what his look meant. He didn’t like my hair. He hated it. “I went to my mom’s…to get…but it didn’t come out…” I clasped my hands. Put them behind me. Dropped them to my sides.

  “It looks great.”

  Oh my God, he liked it.

  “And that dress.” His eyes went up and down, over the dress, over me. “It’s, uh, wow. I mean, you look really nice. Are you going somewhere?”

  “Me? No. I was just trying on some things in my mom’s closet.”

  Carter put his shopping bag on the table. “Sara, are you okay? I saw those posters downtown. Your picture. What’s going on?” His tone was full of concern.

  He’d seen them. Of course he had. Everyone had. “It’s a big mistake. Someone’s going around stealing pies and things, and the police in Eastville thought a friend of mine and I were doing it.”

  “Why would they think that?”

  “It’s a long story. Trust me, I’m not stealing anybody’s food.”

  “But they arrested you. Why didn’t you c
all me? I would have found you a lawyer.”

  He would have. I was sure of that. It’s what he did—he rescued people. “That’s okay. It’s over now. I just want to forget about it.”

  He closed the front door. “You know, I still care. About what happens to you. Just because we’re not—”

  “Thanks, Carter.” I knew what he was going to say, that he cared even though we weren’t together anymore, and I couldn’t bear to hear it. A piece of me was breaking off, slipping down some river like driftwood.

  He glanced at the shopping bag he’d put on the table. “Is your mom here?”

  “No, she went to take some clothes to the thrift shop. I think she has a meeting at the playhouse after that. She should be back in a couple of hours.”

  “Oh.” He looked disappointed. “Well, I’ll leave that for her. It’s just something I saw in town I thought she’d like.”

  “Why don’t you give it to her later?”

  He shook his head. “I won’t be here later. I just came to pack.”

  “What do you mean? Where are you guys going?”

  “I’m going. Checking into a hotel. The Duncan Arms. And then I’m heading back to LA.”

  I couldn’t have heard that right. “But…the wedding. It’s in four days. When are you coming back?”

  He didn’t speak for a moment. The only sound was the brass pendulum swinging in the grandfather clock down the hall, a heavy clunk marking each second. “I’m not coming back. Mariel’s called off the wedding. It’s over.”

  I froze, my mouth half-open. The thing I’d dreamed about for so long had happened. “What’s going on?”

  Carter glanced around; his gaze traveled up the stairs as though he were hunting for an escape route. “Look, Sara, I feel awkward talking to you about this. You and I never really discussed our own, uh, situation, our…I mean, after Mariel and I got together.”

  “We should have talked back then,” I said, wanting to ease the pained expression on his face. “It was my fault we didn’t.” I thought about the texts, the voice mails, the notes slipped under my door. The attempts he made to reach out to me, all of which I ignored. “You tried.”