Life Intended (9781476754178) Page 12

  “Kate,” I say. I begin to stick out my hand, but instead, she leans forward and air-kisses me on both cheeks, European style. I feel clumsy and uncouth as I pull back.

  “Very well,” she says, giving me an appraising once-over. “We will begin. Do you know what type of dress you are interested in?”

  I shake my head. “I wore a ball gown for my first wedding, so . . .”

  She shakes her head briskly. “Not right for your frame. You need something that’s cut slimmer around the hips. A mermaid gown, perhaps? Or a trumpet style. I’ll go pull an assortment in your size.” She puts a finger to her chin and studies me for a moment more. “Not white, no, no. That would be inappropriate after a divorce.”

  “I’m not divorced,” I say defensively. “He died. My first husband died.”

  I feel Gina’s hand on my back as Veronica frowns. “Pardon me. I just assumed. Well, still, white isn’t right for a second wedding. But we’ll find you something special.”

  She pulls out a tape measure and makes rapid measurements around my bust, waist, and hips, then she disappears into the back of the store.

  “Don’t let her bother you,” Gina says in a low voice.

  “She didn’t know,” Susan says defensively. “How would she know?”

  “It’s okay,” I say quickly. “Let’s just focus on finding a dress.” After all, a dress will make all of this real. And maybe that’s what I need in order to get out of my own head: a reality check.

  Veronica returns a few moments later with a rolling rack of cream and ivory gowns, some of which are simple and sleek, some of which are elaborate, with long trains and delicate beading. “Sometimes, the ones that look the most unlikely on the rack are the ones that are the most exquisite on,” she tells me with the grave expression of someone imparting a major piece of wisdom.

  I nod and accept the first one she hands me, a flowing ivory sheath that laces up the back.

  “There’s a slip hanging in the dressing room, and strapless bras in several different sizes,” Veronica says. “Why don’t you get into the appropriate undergarments, and I’ll be in to help you lace up the dress in a moment? Just call when you’re ready.”

  She holds the dressing room door open for me, and I quickly pull on the slip and bra before wriggling the dress over my head. It cascades beautifully over my curves, and I stare at myself in the mirror for a moment, struck momentarily mute by seeing myself in a bridal gown again after all these years.

  This dress, made of silk, is completely different from the embroidered lace one I chose for my wedding to Patrick, and I’m surprised at how good this makes me feel. I shouldn’t look the same. This isn’t the same. And maybe, just maybe, that means it’s okay that what I feel for Dan isn’t the same as what I felt for Patrick.

  “Hello, new me,” I whisper to my reflection with a smile. “This is where you live. Reality. Don’t forget that.”

  “Ready for my help?” Veronica asks from outside the dressing room door, and I open it to let her in. “Ooh la la!” she exclaims theatrically. “You look gorgeous!”

  I smile at her in the mirror as she starts to lace up the back of the gown, then I shift my gaze to my own reflection again. I can imagine walking down the aisle in this dress. I can envision Dan standing there beaming at me. Surely that’s a good sign. And as Veronica cinches the bodice, I can feel myself relaxing a little.

  When she’s done, she has me turn to look at the back of the dress with a hand mirror, and she tells me I look beautiful. Then she leads me out to the showroom, where Gina beams at me, and Susan claps her hands together. “Kate, you’re a vision!” she exclaims.

  “You look beautiful,” Gina breathes, her eyes wide.

  I turn to look in the three-way mirror, and as I twirl around, I see what they’re seeing; the dress flatters my shape perfectly. In the mirror, I can see the reflection of the street outside, with a steady stream of people passing by, a few of them glancing in. I wonder if they’re looking at me. Do I look like a joyful, first-time bride? After all, there’s nothing that marks me as a widow. The black ribbon I wear is around my heart.

  “This might just be the dress,” I say, turning to Veronica. “I don’t think I need to try on any more.”

  “Nonsense,” she says. “You’ll look lovely in each one.”

  I look warily at the rack of dresses waiting for me. “You want me to try on all of these?”

  Veronica smiles thinly. “That’s what brides do, dear.”

  Susan gives me a warning look, and I shrug and head back into the dressing room. For the next forty-five minutes, she and Gina ooh and ah over each dress I put on. The buttons and laces get more intricate with each subsequent gown, and I’m beginning to feel like I’d need a degree in rocket science just to figure out how some of them work.

  Then, Veronica pulls a beautiful gown from the rack and brings it over. “This is my favorite,” she tells me. “I think you’ll love it too.”

  I gaze at its clean, flowing lines, the scalloped sweetheart neckline, the empire waist, and the long, detailed train. My lungs constrict. “Venetian lace,” I murmur, reaching out to touch it.

  “That’s right,” Veronica says, looking surprised. “How did you know?”

  I sigh. “It looks a lot like the dress I wore to my first wedding.”

  “Wonderful!” she exclaims, entirely missing the point. “Then you’ll love this one too. I think it’ll fit you perfectly.”

  “I don’t want to—” I start to say, but Veronica hustles me into the dressing room with the gown anyhow and tells me she’ll be back in two minutes to help me into it.

  It takes me a full minute of staring at the dress before I tentatively reach for it, fingering the pearly buttons on the back. I remember Patrick running his hands over the buttons on my dress a dozen years ago at our reception and whispering in my ear, “I’m going to love taking this dress off, Mrs. Waithman.”

  I shudder and move my hand to the lace at the top of the neckline. I remember Patrick’s touch, his warm fingers caressing my skin, just below my collarbone. “I can’t believe you’ll be mine forever,” he’d whispered in my ear as we danced our first dance together.

  My sigh is interrupted by Veronica’s shrill voice outside the dressing room door. “Ready to be buttoned in?” she asks.

  I sniff and wipe my eyes. “Almost. Give me one second.”

  I resolve once again to push thoughts of my first wedding away as I shrug into the beautiful ivory dress. “Ready,” I say through the door, and Veronica bustles in.

  Her fingers are deft and nimble on the buttons, and I don’t look in the mirror until she’s led me out to the main room.

  “Kate,” Susan says softly as Gina gasps.

  I look up at my reflection and realize that on me, the dress looks even more similar to my original gown than it did on the rack. I turn slowly around to look at the girls, who are gaping at me.

  “It looks like . . .” Gina begins.

  “I know,” I say softly.

  The two of them stare at me while I smooth my hands over the delicate lace. I feel like I’m standing in a memory.

  “You look beautiful, Kate,” Susan says after a moment.

  “Thanks.” My voice is hollow as I turn back around to my reflection. As I stare at the dress—a dress I know I can’t wear to marry Dan—something outside on the street catches my eye in the mirror. The world around me seems to slow down as I lock eyes with a girl staring in the window of Elisabetta’s Bridal. She’s holding the hand of a man—her father, I’m guessing—and her expression is sad. I know her immediately. But what I’m seeing isn’t possible.

  “Hannah?” I whisper, my heart thudding wildly as I spin around. I could swear that the girl whose face I just saw is the girl from my dreams, but I must be wrong. She can’t be real.

  The girl is staring bac
k at me, her expression perplexed, as the man continues to lead her up the street. But is her confusion because she thinks she knows me too? Or because I’m a crazy lady in a wedding dress staring at her like I’ve lost my mind?

  “Kate?” Susan says, but her concerned voice sounds very far away. “Kate? What’s happening?”

  I ignore her and call out “Hannah!” again, as if the girl can somehow hear me through the glass. But she’s already disappearing from view, and the others in the shop—including my best friend and my sister—are staring at me like I’m a lunatic. Maybe I am. But all of a sudden, I don’t care.

  I stumble off the pedestal toward the door, but Veronica grabs me, her grip viselike. “Not so fast!” Her voice is an angry staccato. “You cannot leave in one of our dresses unless it’s paid for!”

  “Of course, of course.” I begin to try to peel the dress off, right there in the middle of the store, and behind me, I can hear Susan screaming at me to stop, and Gina asking what’s going on, but their voices are a blur. I can’t get the dress off; the buttons are too tightly done, and I can’t reach them. “Help me!” I cry out. Susan just stands there, but Gina rushes forward and begins unfastening my dress as quickly as she can.

  But by the time she’s done and I’ve discarded the gown and kicked off my heels, I already know it’s too late. I rush to the door in my bra and slip anyhow, ignoring the whistles and laughter as I spill onto the sidewalk. “Hannah!” I cry. “Hannah?” I look desperately up and down the street, but the little girl and her father are nowhere to be seen. I turn around and come back inside, where Veronica is staring at me with disgust and Susan and Gina look worried.

  “Kate?” Gina asks after a moment. “What just happened?”

  “I thought I saw someone I knew,” I answer, my voice shaking.

  “Okay, let’s get you dressed and out of here,” Susan says in her take-charge voice, putting her arm around me and leading me back to the dressing room.

  “If the dress was damaged at all, you’ll have to pay for it!” Veronica calls after us.

  Susan whirls on her. “It wasn’t damaged,” she snaps. “Now if you’ll kindly hang it up, we’ll be on our way.” She shuts the dressing room door behind us and gestures to my pile of clothes in the corner.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, “I-I don’t even know how to explain what just happened.”

  I expect Susan to say something biting about how she went out of her way to book this appointment for me, but when I look up after slipping my shirt over my head and buttoning my jeans, she’s staring at me worriedly. “Are you okay?” she asks.

  “I don’t know,” I mumble. I’m well aware that what I’ve just done is the behavior of a mentally unstable person, but I’d do it again in an instant. And that scares me as much as it should.

  Fourteen

  Outside the store, Susan and Gina hustle me up the street to Starbucks, and I can’t help but scan the sidewalks in the vain hope that I’ll see the girl who looked like Hannah again. My head is spinning and my mouth is dry. Was the girl in the window a figment of my imagination? Or have I been somehow dreaming of a real girl? Either way, it makes me feel like I’m going insane.

  “Tea?” Susan asks once she’s coaxed me into a seat in the corner of Starbucks. “I think a cup of tea will help.”

  I nod, wordless.

  Susan glances at Gina. “Come with me to order, will you, Gina?” she asks. “Kate, you’ll be okay for a second, right?”

  “Sure,” I say in a voice that sounds hollow to my own ears.

  I watch as Gina and Susan converse in low tones near the Starbucks counter, shooting me a few furtive, concerned looks. Then I turn to look out the window, searching the faces, but it’s just a sea of unfamiliar people immersed in a summer Saturday. Couples holding hands. Children skipping alongside their mothers. Women with huge shopping bags from Bloomingdale’s and Henri Bendel. I feel painfully, starkly alone all of a sudden.

  “Here you go, sweetie.” Susan interrupts my train of thought. She puts a steaming cup of tea in front of me and takes the chair on my left. Gina settles into the chair on my right with an iced coffee. They exchange looks.

  “Want to tell us what that was back there?” Gina asks gently.

  I take a moment to gather my thoughts. “You know those dreams I’ve told you about?”

  “About Patrick?” Susan ventures, glancing at Gina.

  “Right.” I return my gaze to my lap. “Well, there’s a girl in the dreams too.” I take a deep breath. “And when we were in the bridal shop, I could have sworn I saw her out the window.”

  My statement is greeted with silence, and when I look up again, they’re both staring at me. “I know it sounds irrational,” I say quickly. “And I know she doesn’t really exist. She can’t. You don’t have to tell me that. But seeing that girl on the street—it was like the real world was colliding with the world I’ve been dreaming. Or maybe it’s not a dream.” I pause and draw a deep breath. “I’m crazy, aren’t I?”

  “When you say a girl, what do you mean?” Susan asks carefully, and I notice she hasn’t refuted my suggestion of craziness. “Like someone our age? Or a child?”

  “She’s twelve,” I tell them. “Well, she’ll be thirteen next week, actually. It’s her birthday.” I smile faintly before it dawns on me how stupid I sound. “Sorry, I know you must think I’m nuts.”

  Susan and Gina exchange looks. “No. Not nuts,” Gina says softly.

  I glance out the window again before adding, “I dream her in so much detail. I mean, right down to the chipped purple polish on her nails, the crush she has on one of the guys from One Direction, and the fact that she’s hard of hearing.” I pause and without meeting their eyes add, “Also, in the dreams I’ve been having, she’s my daughter.”

  When I turn back to them, I’m surprised to see Susan looking relieved. “Well, this makes complete sense now,” she says. “You’re just upset because you can’t have children. This is a natural reaction to that, to dream up a little girl. As for her being hard of hearing, that’s obviously because of that class you started taking.”

  “But I had the dream first,” I say without looking at her. “Before I started taking the class.”

  “Kate, is that why you enrolled?” Gina asks carefully. “Because you were dreaming of a deaf daughter?”

  I hang my head. “Maybe.”

  “Okay,” Gina says after a moment of silence. “You know what? Let’s get you home. It’s been a stressful morning, and I don’t think today’s the best day for dress shopping. We can go again in a few weeks.”

  “Can we sit here for just a minute?” I ask in a small voice.

  Gina scoots her chair closer to mine, and Susan does the same. “Honey,” Gina says, rubbing my back, “we can stay here for as long as you want.”

  Susan eventually takes me home, and after I hug her good-bye and retreat to the bathroom to get some ibuprofen for my throbbing head, I can hear her talking to Dan in low tones in the living room.

  “I told him you’ve been having some really vivid dreams about having a child,” she whispers as I walk her to the door. “He needed to know.” She pauses and adds, “But I didn’t tell him the part about Patrick. I don’t think you should either.” She hugs me good-bye with a promise to call me tonight, and she’s gone before I can reply.

  I close the door behind her and walk slowly into the living room, where Dan is sitting on the couch, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped. “Babe,” he says, jumping up as I enter. “Are you okay?”

  I nod as he pulls me against his chest. His hugs have always felt safe to me, and now, I close my eyes and relax into him, falling into the familiar rhythm of his steady breathing.

  “So Susan says you’ve been having dreams about being a mother?” he asks once I’ve pulled back. “About a little girl who’s ours?”

 
I blink at the word ours, but of course he’d assume that. “Something like that.”

  “And you thought you saw her today?” he asks cautiously.

  I take a deep breath. “I saw someone who looked like the girl I was dreaming about,” I tell him. “I think— Maybe I’m just overtired or something.” But I realize as soon as I say the words that there’s a little piece of me that believes that somehow, I really did see Hannah on the street. But that’s impossible.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks. “These dreams, they were obviously powerful enough to make you sign up for those classes . . .”

  I hang my head. “I knew how stupid it would sound.”

  “Kate, I wish you’d said something. I thought you’d lost your mind when you decided to learn sign language for no apparent reason. Now it makes sense.”

  “It does? You don’t think it makes me sound crazy?”

  He sighs. “I think it sounds like you’re sad. And I’m sorry you’re sad.” He sits back down on the sofa and stares straight ahead for a moment. When the silence makes me uneasy, I sink down next to him. “About kids,” he says hesitantly after a moment. “I . . . I’m afraid this is going to drive a wedge between us. I think we need to make sure we’re on the same page.” He pauses, and when I don’t say anything, he goes on. “I just assumed you were thinking like I was: that we were too old to become parents. But I should have discussed it with you. It’s just that everything with you has felt so easy. I figured we’d be in agreement about this too.”

  “Yeah,” I agree softly. But maybe it shouldn’t have felt easy, I realize. Maybe that’s one of the problems.

  “Kids are a difficult topic for me,” Dan continues without looking at me. He scratches the back of his head and sighs. “My marriage to Siobhan broke up over fertility issues. She wanted a baby. We couldn’t have one. And we drifted apart because of it.”

  “I thought you split up because she cheated on you.”