Redeem Me (17 page)

“Yes, Clint here has been gracious enough to agree to help me select a dress for our county’s Harvest Dance.” Clint grins proudly, having been placed at the center of her attention. “It’s a large formal dance with”—I pause, trying to come up with the right wording—“an eclectic mix of socioeconomic levels and their respective styles.”

Clint’s eyes glaze over. I’ve lost him to the woman’s long legs, which are partially covered by over-the-knee boots.

“Okay,” the woman says, drawing out the word as she considers the information. “And what style of dress are you interested in wearing?”

I don’t freakin’ know.

I didn’t know what I wanted, but the saleswoman at Nordstrom apparently did. That’s probably why she works at Nordstrom and I’m a statistician. Dress, shoes, earrings—it is a bit like the prom. Except I didn’t bring Clint prom gown shopping with me. I’m glad he’s here now, though.

We eat at the cafe on the third floor. Clint selects a big booth right by the window. I push all my new items in first and then slide in, making sure the dress is hanging nicely so it doesn’t wrinkle.

“Who are you taking to the Harvest Dance?” I ask as I stir the sugar in my tea.

“Jocelyn Marks.”

“Sounds familiar. Do I know her?”

“She was three years behind us. Works at Salon Nadine.”

“Oh,” I say, registering the information leak in my head.

We eat in comfortable silence, both starving from the long morning. When the server clears our plates, Clint orders two chocolate chip cookies for us. He’s such a sweet guy.

“Do you think it’s too soon for me to start dating someone?” I blurt out.

“It doesn’t matter what I think. What do you think?” Clint cautiously asks.

“Most of the time I think it’s too soon, but then again I’ve had no indication the time will ever come when it feels right. There are times when I no longer care and just want to do whatever I want in that moment. Even though I hate Jason, I feel like I’m betraying him. I don’t know what’s right and I’m just scared to death I’m going to hurt Noble,” I say, sending every thought in my head scattering out of my mouth.

Clint takes a bite of his cookie. “Charlotte, very few people in the world have what you and Jason did. I don’t know how long you’ll be apart but I do know I’ve never seen anything like the two of you together.” I might start to cry. “But Nick’s a smart guy, always has been. He understands as much as any of us does what you and Jason were. He knows exactly the risk he’s taking by being with you—and it’s worth it.”

I force myself to take a bite of my cookie, too.

“Let Nick worry about himself. You deserve to be happy and I think he’ll take good care of you. No more dra-maa,” Clint adds, and I think he sounds like the smartest person I’ve ever known.

“Thanks for coming with me, Clint.”

He smiles as he takes another bite of his giant cookie.

“My pleasure. I had no idea dress shopping was this fun.” He leans in a little. “Sinclair’s going to lose his shit when he sees you in that dress.” Clint’s eyes motion toward the dress, hidden behind the Nordstrom bag.

“You don’t think it’s too tight?”

“Oh no, Charlotte—don’t start fidgeting already. The only way you’re going to pull it off is to wear the hell out of it. I know you can do it.”

I grab my necklace and nervously bite my lip.

“Come on, it’s just a dress.”

Clint’s right. I could have gone way shorter with a cutout back or something.

My phone dings with a text from Jenn, always six hours behind:

YEHA! SORRY I CAN’T MAKE IT,

BUT LOVING YOU GOING. SAY

HOWDY FOR ME AND HAVE TOO

MUCH TO DRINK!

After Clint hauls in all my bags and leaves, I take the dress out and hang it on the back of my closet door, placing the shoes on the floor beneath it. I get a text from Noble:

FLOWERS?

Don’t need any.

YOU WON’T LIKE WHAT I COME

UP WITH ON MY OWN. DID YOU

GET A DRESS?

Yes.

WILL I LIKE IT?

That’s the intention.

WHAT COLOR?

Off white. Get a SINGLE, bright colored flower for my wrist if you can. Ruby, purple, blue, any deep color, but only one flower.

WHY ONLY ONE?

Dress speaks for itself.

WHAT DOES IT SAY?

Get your hands off me, mostly :)

I really do hate those little smiley faces. I throw my phone on the bed happily. Tomorrow’s Friday. Now that I have a dress, I’m excited for the dance. I spend some time on Sephora’s website researching makeup. I say natural, but I think most other people would call my look plain. I order some brown eyeliner and mascara, a multipack of shadow, some bronzer, sparkly lip gloss, brushes, and a liquid blush product called Orgasm Illuminator because really, how could I resist? I check out, and Sephora promises to have it to me by tomorrow.

Sean lets himself in the back door, yelling my name to make sure I’m dressed.

“I’m in my room.”

“Are you decent?” he asks as he walks right in. I’m lying on my bed with my laptop. He whistles when he sees the dress and shoes.

“Harvest Dance?” he asks, not quite able to believe it.

“Yes. Are you and Michelle going?”

“No, she’s not feeling well.”

I’m overwhelmed with how much Sean loves me. “Are you ever going to tell me she’s pregnant?”

“You caught that, huh?” He’s sheepish. “It just never seems like a good time.”

I place my hand on his shoulder. “When’s she due?”

“May. Are you going to the dance with Nick Sinclair?”

“Yes,” I say, nodding.

“For what it’s worth, I think he’s a good guy.”

“That’s worth a lot, Sean.” My sweet brother, who’s kept his firstborn a secret to not upset me or hurt my feelings, thinks Noble’s a good guy.

“You know, sometimes you seem more comfortable with him than I’ve seen you since we were kids. He’s good for you.”

“I get it.”

I should be with Noble because Jason and I getting back together scares the shit out of you.

N
adine combs out my hair and glares at it with contempt. “What took you so long to call?” she asks, looking at my face in her mirror.

“I don’t know. I just haven’t been properly focused on my appearance.” This conversation would be ridiculous anywhere but in here.

“Well, you’re here now. What are we doing with this color?”

I scrutinize my hair and have no idea. I should have looked at some magazines before I came.

“Whatever you want, Nadine. You’re the expert.”

She beams, giddy with the freedom, and says something that sounds like, “Serena, can you mix me up some PN-thirty-two, a little XJ-seventy, and some forty-seven for around her face?” Serena hurries off to concoct whatever it is Nadine just requested. “What about your feet?”

I slide them out of my UGGs and Nadine’s eyes widen to the point of popping. “Jocelyn, bring over the soaking tub, please. Jesus, Charlotte, have you been under some kind of a rock?”

“Yes,” I say, shaking my head and silently promising to make some serious changes.

Nadine works diligently, sectioning my hair and painting it with alternating colors. Sometimes she separates the hair twice until she deems the section perfect. I soak my feet until Serena comes over and starts working on my pedicure.

“What kind of shoes are you wearing tomorrow?” Serena asks.

“The most gorgeous blue suede crocheted sandals I’ve ever seen,” I gush.

“You need to shave your toes.”

What?!

She holds my foot up and Nadine agrees.

“Yeah, you need to get rid of that.” Seeing that I am feeling like the hairy-toed sloth, she adds, “Everybody’s got it. Serena, before you paint her, wax her toes.”

If I had any pride left, this would be a humiliating day.

After two and a half hours I’m finally having my hair dried by Nadine. She’s taken about three inches of dead ends off and it’s still long. The color’s magnificent. Amazingly bright and blond with some other color I can’t even describe mixed in. Around my face is a honey-blond color applied sparingly to soften it. As she blows me out, she asks what I’m going to do with my hair tomorrow.

“I don’t know. I haven’t even thought about it.”

“What’s your dress like? It must be something to go with blue suede sandals.” Nadine doesn’t forget the details.

“It’s off-white and lace with a high-low hem.” I try to describe it the same way the Nordstrom’s saleswoman did, but Nadine looks a cross between perplexed and repulsed. I try again. “It looks like a simple off-white slip with a lace dress over top, but it’s actually all one dress. The slip ends mid-thigh and the lace falls to my ankles in the back, but hits just below my knee in the front. The neckline’s wider and lower than a traditional tank dress, and the stitching pushes my breasts up, but I swear somehow it’s subtle.” That’s the best I’ve got.

Nadine nods. “I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt because I know you’ve still got some hotness in there.” She pulls the top section of my hair up and into a clip. “How about I just blow it out straight and you can pull it back—or not—tomorrow.”

“That sounds good.”

I’m admiring my toes when Nadine says, “Jason’s not coming—in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t.” Dumbfounded, I look at the floor, too afraid I’ll cry if I look up.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Nadine tries to catch things before they spiral out of control.

“It’s okay. I’m just not used to talking about him.”

“Do you guys ever speak?”

“Not since August twenty-seventh.” I’m ashamed of having divulged the exact date.

Nadine looks at me sympathetically as she grasps the depth of my psychosis. “I’m sorry, Charlotte.”

“It’s okay. Actually it’s good practice. I’m sure his name’s going to come up tomorrow night. I think it’s progress it never occurred to me that he might be there,” I lie. And Nadine knows it. I’ll add
lying sack of shit
to my list of things I hate about myself. Oh wait:
inept
lying sack of shit.

“You look beautiful, Charlotte,” Nadine’s mom says as she checks me out of the salon. Highlights and a cut, pedicure, toe wax—God help me, clear manicure, eyebrow wax, and a blow-out.

“Thanks, but if I didn’t look good after all this, it would be pretty sad, don’t you think?”

“We see it all in here,” she says, and we both start to laugh.

I let myself into Butch’s and the smell of the lasagna I dropped off earlier makes my mouth water before I get the key out of the door. Butch is sitting at the kitchen table and BJ is, as usual, at his feet. Butch studies me. I strut around the table showing off my new look.

“What do you think?”

“What did you go and do?” he asks gruffly.

I don’t let it bruise my new confidence. “What
didn’t
I do is a better question. Too much?” I ask, twirling around. When was the last time a girl twirled in here?

“I think you’re nuttier than a bat, that’s what I think.” Even Butch starts laughing at the tail end of his statement.

I take the lasagna out of the oven and soon we begin to eat in silence.

“Can I ask you something, Butch?”

“Have I ever had a choice with all the damn questions?” he replies.

“Why do they call it the Harvest Dance if it’s at the beginning of the planting season?” The question keeps popping into my head, but I always forget to ask.

“Damn idiots that are in charge,” he answers, and takes a large bite of lasagna. It’s his favorite of my limited cooking repertoire.

“Huh?”

He finishes chewing and rolls his eyes. “Originally it took place in the fall, after the harvest, to celebrate the end of the season, but the fall got so damn busy they decided to move it to the end of the farmer’s summer, March. They billed it as a “good luck to the harvest” festival, or some dumb shit. I have no idea.” He takes another bite. “Do you have a date?”

“Don’t I have to have a date?” I ask.

“How the hell should I know?” he barks.

“Did you have a bad experience at this dance? You seem a bit agitated.”

We eat the rest of the meal in silence.

“Can BJ spend the night tomorrow night?” I ask as I clear the dishes, expecting some nasty comment about not coming home after the dance.

“Of course he can.”

I turn to see him scratching BJ under the neck and practically cooing at him. I think Butch might be bipolar.

I take a long shower in an empty house. No parents, no roommates, no friends. At Rutgers I had to wait in line for the shower. I stay busy to keep from getting depressed. I can hear my mother saying,
“So what if you’re alone. A lot of people have it worse.”
She always had a knack for making me feel better by guilting me.

Once out of the shower, I start with lotion and apply it all over my body. If yesterday’s visit to Nadine’s taught me one thing, it’s that I need to pay a great deal more attention to my body. I carefully brush and floss. I find a sample of moisturizer in my makeup bag and apply it liberally. Starting Over by Origins. My God, who would want to start this over? I’m barely surviving as it is. It feels good on my face, though.

I try to use the eyelash curler, but my lashes are long and unruly. I end up making my eyes bloodshot. Deep breath. I will not get frustrated.
Eyedrops, that’s all, now calm down
.
What are you nervous about?

My eyes move toward the dress and I know what I’m nervous about.

Clint’s words echo in my head:
Wear the hell out of it!

I find a few samples of perfume Sephora was kind enough to include in my package and spray each one out the open window. I settle on one that’s more citrus than floral and wonder if Noble has a preference. Unsure of how much to apply, and scared of smelling like a French whore—or an American one—I spray it into the air and run into it. I’m an idiot. Am I supposed to put some of this on my inner thighs? Neck, wrists, ankles, thighs, right? I’m sure if I asked my mother she’d tell me no one’s nose should be down there.

I pull a small section of hair from each side and twist them toward the back. I bought a simple pearlized barrette at the drugstore that I use to secure both pieces behind my head. It’s flower child meets socialite. At least it is in my head. I use all my new Sephora finds and put on my earrings and bangles.

I grab the silver metallic purse I found in my mother’s things and feel a little like she’s going with me. I stuff it with my driver’s license, credit card, insurance card, AAA card, phone, lip gloss, and some cash—it’s like I’m a real grown-up. I look up and catch my reflection in the mirror, and even without the dress on yet, I am a grown-up.

I wish Jason could see me like this. If only it were possible without having to see him at the same time.

I slip out of my robe and take the dress off the hanger. I try three different styles of underwear and none of them work. It’s not see-through, just spectacularly tight, and even a thong leaves a small indention. I can already hear Noble’s commentary on my lack of underwear to our county’s biggest social event. If I thought he could behave himself, I’d tell him.

I step into the dress and pull it up over my shoulders. I try to zip it, but I can’t get the zipper up more than a couple of inches. Man! I want to look perfect when Noble comes. If he has to zip me up, we’ll never get out of here. Why am I completely alone?

As if sent by God, I hear the back door open. “It’s your brother.”

“And Michelle,” she pipes in.

“Oh, I’m glad you guys are here.” I slowly blink to keep from crying and ruining my makeup. “Michelle, can you come in here a second?”

She comes through the doorway and stops moving as she sees me. I stop, too, awaiting the first Salem County female reaction, although since she married my brother she’s not exactly impartial.

“Charlotte, you’re…stunning.” I let out my breath. “Sean’s going to be ecstatic to see you like this. Really, you’re gorgeous.”

“Can you zip me?”

Michelle walks behind me in her obvious maternity shirt.

“Thank you. I was worried it was too much. I—”

She interrupts me. “It’s definitely not too much. I love it. And, man, I love your shoes!”

“I wanted to tell you congratulations, and thank you. Thank you for keeping it quiet for so long. You and Sean are too good to me.”

“We love you.” Michelle hugs me, being careful not to touch more than the bare minimum necessary. As we embrace, we hear the back door opening one more time and Sean and Noble greeting each other. Michelle looks at me with excited anticipation. “You ready?”

“I doubt it.”

Michelle lets me lead the way out to the family room. Noble and Sean are sitting in chairs, both facing the doorway that I enter through. Sean actually blinks his eyes as if he’s hallucinating. I’m embarrassed. I’ve overdone everything.

Michelle steps to the side of me and tries to alleviate the shock. “Boys, I’d like to introduce Charlotte O’Brien.” She curtsies in my direction and moves to stand next to them. She slaps Sean on the shoulder and he briefly moves his head. “Sean, I think you know her as your sister.” She smiles at me encouragingly. “And, Noble, I believe you know her as your date for the evening.”

Nice job, Michelle. I’m not sure I’d have known exactly what to call me.

Noble stands up and crosses over to me, staring into my eyes. Surprising myself, I don’t look away.

“Charlotte, you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

My smile is so big it hurts my face a little. I tip up on my toes and kiss him on the lips.

“I have something for you.” He returns to his seat and pulls out a small plastic box. His suit is navy blue and the jacket stretches from one shoulder to the other, fitted perfectly. He has a crisp white shirt and a navy blue tie with flowers swirling through it in all types of deep colors. I see blue, ruby, and purple. He pulls out a single gerbera daisy on a wrist strap. It matches the floral pattern of the lace on my dress, and I wonder if Clint’s provided him an overview, but for now I’m willing to give him all the credit. It’s a deep raspberry color. Our eyes meet again as he places it on my wrist.

“It’s perfect,” I say.

“No.
It’s
not perfect.” He kisses my hand. “I see what you mean about the dress speaking for itself.”

“Let’s get a picture,” Sean says, and for the first time since I kissed Noble, I remember we’re not alone.

Noble congratulates Michelle as we walk to the car.

“Why did you guys come here tonight?” I ask Sean.

“To get a picture, of course. You can’t take one of yourselves.” He stops walking and turns to me. “You look great, Charlotte. Listen, no matter what happens tonight, enjoy it. Nights like this only come around a few times in your life.”

“I will. I promise.”

Noble opens the door to the Volvo and boosts me into it. I catch him staring at my breasts and he shakes his head as he closes the door. He climbs into the driver’s side and I hand him the keys. I wave as Sean and Michelle pull out of the driveway. I can smell the citrus perfume and I hope Noble likes it.

“Charlotte, I’m not going to ask you to talk about us tonight. I want us to just enjoy each other the way we usually do. No heavy topics.”

I should say something, but I don’t think he’s done.

“I’ll tell you this, though: If your brother hadn’t been in there, you wouldn’t be wearing that dress right now. As it is, I’m having an extremely difficult time controlling myself.”

I feel my entire body flush and I squeeze my upper thighs together in response and try to control my breathing.

His eyes turn dark. “Please forgive me if I’m a little possessive tonight. I didn’t think it was possible to feel about another person the way I feel about you…in that dress.”

I nod, not knowing what to say, and he turns the key in the ignition. I grab his hand and hold it between both of mine, and it seems to take the edge off. His face softens, but not the look in his eyes.

We head toward the Reed farm without a word. The sun is setting and the sky, in its final minutes of light, is streaked with red and pink lines.