Season of Sisters (40 page)

Holly checked off number one. Going down the list, she marked through number six:
I will have a friend who makes me
laugh and one who lets me cry;
number fifteen: I
will own glasses that match, a good set of wrenches, and a pair of crotchless panties;
and after a moment's consideration, number eighteen:
I will be a
man's
"
Best He Ever Had."

I have confidence Justin would concur
, she mused.

Gracefully, Holly rose to her feet. She tucked her pen into her pants pocket and held the sheet of paper in both hands. "My Life List," she said. "I thought if I did all these things, I would be Living with a capital L. But I was wrong. What I've come to realize, what my friends helped me to see, is that this is no Life List. This is a list of things to do before I die. It's a bucket list. A dying list. I've been spending so much time trying to Live—capital L—that I never learned to live. Well, I'm done with that, Mama. I'm ready, finally ready, to starting living my life. The first thing I'm going to do is this."

Holly ripped her Life List in two. Then in four. Then in eighths. She ripped it over and over again until her Life List was no more than confetti. She threw the pieces up into the air to scatter on the breeze. Laughing, she whirled around.

"Girl, have you lost your mind?" her father called.

She looked around to see him standing a dozen yards away. Out of earshot, thank goodness. "No, Daddy, I haven't lost my mind. Although, I feel as if I've lost ten pounds."

"Don't start that. I swear, you are just like your mother, whining about your weight. What is it about women and weight, anyway?"

They stood beside Elizabeth Weeks's grave for another ten minutes, chatting and reminiscing. Laughing. Then Holly returned to the car, leaving her father to his own private thoughts in the place his beloved wife had been laid to rest. As she walked away, she heard him say, "She turned out good, didn't she, Lizzie?"

Her heart warmed and the smile stayed on her face as she approached the Gray Swan. Waiting for her dad, she rapped the tip of her gold pen against the dashboard and hummed the old Helen Reddy song "I Am Woman."

Her dad sauntered back to the car and climbed in, saying, "Where next, pumpkin?"

"Let's do an all-right-turn day and see where that takes us, okay?"

"Sounds good to me."

He started the motor, but just before he put the car into gear, Holly stopped him by placing her hand on his arm. "Wait, Dad. Before we go, do you happen to have any paper with you? I need to write myself a note."

"Look in the glove box. There's a small spiral where I keep gas mileage notes."

She found it, ripped out a sheet, then with her special pen wrote a title:

My Living List

First and Last Item: I will die knowing I have lived.

She folded the slip of paper and tucked it into her wallet in a new special place, between the photos she carried of the men in her life: her dad and Dr. Justin Skipworth.

"You need to be home any certain time?" her father asked.

"As long as I'm home by four, that'll be fine. I have a date tonight with a handsome doctor."

She couldn't think of a better way to start living.

* * *

Maggie cracked open the bride's dressing room door and peeked out into the church. "He stood me up," she grumbled. "The most important date I've had in twenty-five years, and he stands me up. I can't believe it."

"Oh hush," Holly said. "Today isn't about you, Maggie Prescott."

"I know that. It's just that nothing is turning out like I'd planned. That's difficult for me."

Holly walked over and gave Maggie's arm a comforting pat. "Everything is lovely, Maggie. Don't worry. The church is beautiful. The reception room looks divine. Grace is happy as a clam."

Maggie sniffed. "I still think she could have let us help her get dressed."

"Quit being such a baby. It's only right Sally helps her, and the room is exceptionally small."

"She could have dressed in here with us. She didn't have to use the lavatory."

"Maggie, what's going on? You're... oh... you're nervous, aren't you?"

"Of course I'm nervous. This is the most important event I've ever planned. I want everything to be perfect and it's certainly not starting out that way. Grace hasn't let us see what she is wearing and the ribbons on her bouquet are white instead of ivory and I've already ruined one pair of pantyhose and I only brought one spare and I'm going to be alone at this party today and while being alone isn't a problem for me because I've learned I'm okay with it, I didn't want to be alone today and I don't like it!" She grabbed a tissue from the box just as a knock sounded on the door.

"Don't start the waterworks, Maggie. Please. You'll ruin your makeup and your eyes will be all red and Grace will worry."

"You're right." Maggie paused, took a deep, bracing breath, and with determination, shook off her tears. Then she answered the door and time stood still.

Mike.

"Sorry I'm late. My flight was delayed."

Maggie couldn't speak. He looked tall and tanned and so handsome that he took her breath away.
I've missed you, Mike Prescott.
Finally, she found her voice. "I'm so very glad you were able to make it at all. Thank you for coming."

"Thanks for inviting me." He hesitated, then said, "You look great, Maggie."

She beamed and preened, smoothing the skirt of her pale pink sundress. "Thanks. You'll see a lot of pink around here today. Grace has decided it's her favorite color."

"You always were pretty in pink."

Maggie wanted to kiss him. She wanted to throw her arms around him and kiss his socks off. And maybe more. Now was not the time, however. They still had issues to cover, plenty to settle between them. But his acceptance of her invitation to the Hardemans' anniversary party was a start. A very nice start.

Maggie was greatly encouraged.

"We're still getting dressed in here or I'd ask you in."

She smiled sheepishly as she showed him the hole in her stocking at the ankle. "If you want to take a seat, I'll join you just before the ceremony begins."

"All right. Good. Well, I'll see you in a few minutes, then."

Maggie shut the door, then leaned against it, swallowing a squeal of pleasure but allowing her smile full rein.

"Mike
is your date?" Holly demanded. "I thought he was on a boat in the Caribbean."

"He was. He flew back for me."

"So you're back together? Why didn't you say something?"

"We're not back together. We're talking about it."

"Talking is good," came Grace's voice.

Maggie and Holly turned as she glided out of the lavatory into the dressing room. Holly clasped her hands in front of her mouth. "Oh, Grace, you're gorgeous."

Maggie clapped with delight. "It's the Pink Sisterhood dress. The one from St. Louis."

Grace nodded. "It's perfect. I may be stubborn, but I'm not stupid. It wouldn't do for me to wear anything else. The week after our trip, I called Charlene and asked her to send it. This and one other."

She unzipped a garment bag hanging on the clothes rack and removed a familiar dress, a vintage wedding gown made of slipper satin and Belgian lace. Maggie's wedding gown. "I didn't feel right about letting it sell to anyone else. Maggie, you have given me so much. Please accept my gift to you in return."

"On one condition," Maggie said through teary eyes. "Holly must promise me she'll borrow it if the need arises. Which I suspect will happen in the very near future."

With reverence, Holly trailed a finger across the aged slipper satin and Belgian lace. "It's the most beautiful wedding gown in the world."

Maggie and Grace leaned forward anxiously. Maggie asked, "So you'll wear it?"

Holly nibbled at her lower lip, then smiled a Mona Lisa smile. She checked her watch. "It's almost time. Maggie, we'd better find our seats."

"Holly!" Grace and Maggie both protested.

Laughing, she opened the door. Grace and Ben's son, resplendent in his tux, stood just outside, his hand raised to knock. "Come on in. She's ready."

Holly finger-waved a teasing good-bye, took a step from the room, then stopped and looked back over her shoulder. "Congratulations, Grace. You are an inspiration and I'm proud to be sharing this day with you."

No one spoke for a moment after she left, then Maggie sighed with mock frustration. "So, was that a yes or a no?"

Grace laughed. "I think it was a definite maybe."

Nodding, Maggie lifted Grace's bouquet from a florist's box on the dressing table. "Now be careful with this," she said, handing it over. "I still think it was a mistake to use magnolias."

"Quit being such a worrywart. The doctor said the flower itself won't bother me, and in my opinion, nothing else would do."

"If you turn into a pink magnolia and clash with your peach cake, don't blame it on me." Maggie kissed Grace's cheek and whispered, "Happy anniversary, sugar. I hope this day is all you dreamed it would be."

She dabbed at tears as she hurried down the aisle, then slid in next to Mike and offered a loving grin. He leaned toward her, brushed a quick, gentle kiss across her lips, then tucked her arm through his.

Maggie settled back to watch the ceremony, for the first time looking forward to the second half of her life.

* * *

Grace stood beside her son at the back of the church, gazing toward the altar where Ben waited, flanked by their children and grandchildren. Time seemed to stop as her heart overflowed.

What a gift she'd been given, this life of hers.

She'd had fifty years with Ben Hardeman. Fifty years. It was hard to imagine that so much time had passed. Gazing up the aisle toward the weathered, wrinkled man, she recalled the freckle-faced boy who'd thrown baseballs at milk bottles to win a figurine for her at the county fair on their first date. She'd always said she fell in love with him the moment he'd handed her the pink chalk cherub.

They'd had their ups and downs, of course. Some downs lower than others. She had a photograph hanging in her kitchen of a bubbling mountain stream bordered by fir trees and pines and pretty columbines. The caption beneath the photo quoted Carl Perkins. "If it weren't for the rocks in its bed, the stream would have no song."

It was, Grace thought, a good analogy for life. Her personal life stream had lots of little rocks, a few logs, and a couple of humongous boulders along the way. As water rushed over and around the obstacles, it created that wonderful, exciting music of life well lived. Between the white water, life drifted in placid pools of peace, its song soothing and restful and welcome until rocks appeared to stir up the froth once again.

Rocks would reappear. Of that she had no doubt. One big boulder in particular lay in wait before her.

But today wasn't a day to think about endings. Today was a day to think about love and life and living well. She'd been so blessed.

Ben. Her children. Grace's gaze drifted toward her daughter, then to each of her sons. Babies had been the greatest joy of her life. Her children had fulfilled her, given her life purpose, enriched it and anchored it and sent it soaring. Nothing she'd done in her sixty-seven years was as important as raising her children. Each of them had turned out fine, too. Better than fine. Oh, sure. A time or two her kids had been rocks in her stream, but they'd all made it through the rapids together without getting too terribly soaked.

And her grandbabies. They were pure pleasure. They were her reward for fighting the fight for the past eight years.

Her youngest grandson, seven-year-old Sean, saw her watching him and waved. In the second row from the front, Maggie followed the path of Sean's gaze and added a wave of her own.

Grace smiled. Husband, family, and friends. Dear friends. Friends who brought humor and variety to her world, who supported her during those troubling, rocky times. Dear friends who enriched her life.

If her stream went dry today, Grace would go knowing she'd taken her own advice. She would die knowing she had lived. In the meantime, she wasn't wasting a minute.

Grace had
living
to do.

* * *

The big band sounds of Glenn Miller and Tommy Dorsey drifted on the air at the Ashford Hotel. Hot canapés sizzled in buffet trays, the aroma a pleasing blend of spices, meat, and fresh-baked pastry. Uniformed waiters carrying trays of crystal champagne flutes mingled with the guests. At the far end of the room, a small crowd gathered in front of a laptop computer to watch the slideshow of old family photographs the Hardemans' grandson had put together as his gift to his papa and nana.

Holly primped in the ladies' room. She freshened her makeup, reapplied her lipstick, and rubbed cream perfume on pulse points at her wrists and the base of her neck. She wanted to look her best, needed it to boost her confidence.

Justin was still annoyed at her for flipping out in Grace's room at the hospital that day and being surrounded by wedding paraphernalia probably wouldn’t improve his mood. She returned to the reception and cast her gaze about, searching for Justin. Maggie and Mike stood near the front of the room admiring his aunt's peach cake. While Holly watched, he reached out and took his wife's hand. Maggie glanced up at him and smiled.

Holly sighed with satisfaction and continued to survey the room. Meeting Grace's gaze, she grinned and waved. Her friend was laughing, beaming, surrounded by her family and friends. Holly had never seen a woman look so happy.

Then, Holly found him. Dressed in his dark blue suit, a white shirt, and a sky blue tie, Justin leaned casually against the painted white wall, his arms crossed, an unreadable expression on his face. He waited for Holly to come to him.

"Will you dance with me?" she asked.

He nodded but didn't speak, leading her onto the dance floor. Holly went into his arms like she was coming home. They danced to "Moonlight Serenade" in silence.