The Chic Shall Inherit the Earth (10 page)

I felt more than saw her shake her head no.

“Perhaps you should ask him,” said a masculine voice from behind us.

Carly jumped about three inches, and collapsed back against the cushions with her hand over her heart. “Papa, you scared me half to death.”

The light outlined his hand briefly as he reached over and touched her hair. “I am sorry. I thought you knew I was in my office. Won’t you turn on a lamp?” His trousers made a soft sound as he crossed the room and folded himself into the leather recliner by the window.

“Sometimes it’s easier to talk in the dark,” I said.

“This is true. Especially when the subject is difficult.
Mi’ja
, is it really your concern for my feelings that keeps you from your mother’s wedding?”

She hesitated. “Partly.”

“I cannot know what yours are, but let me tell you mine. I admit,” he said slowly, “that the news of her engagement came as a shock to me. I was not ready to move on, and I could not believe that she could do so that easily.”

“Me either,” Carly said.

“But people change. What they need from each other changes. Sometimes we can adjust to give them what they need. And sometimes we cannot. I was very focused on giving the three of you a good life, so I worked very hard.”

When he paused, Carly put in, “But what we wanted was you.”

He sighed. “This I learned too late. But I did learn it. We may live in a small house now, and I may only see you on weekends, but when we are here together, we make the most of it.”

“I know, Papa.”

“I have learned other things, too. I have learned that the heart can heal if I do not torture it with might-have-beens and what-ifs. If I simply accept what is, then letting her go becomes easier.”

Carly sniffled and wiped her cheek with the heel of one hand. Mr. Aragon pulled a white cotton handkerchief from his jacket pocket and passed it to her.

“Please do not hurt yourself any more on my account,
cara
. If you wish to go to the wedding, go for yourself. Do not stay away for me. We do not need any more hurt in this family.”

Carly blew her nose. My eyes had adjusted so well to the dim light that I could see her attempt a smile. “I have to say, she needs me. Organization isn’t her strength.”

“Why? What happened?” I asked softly, hardly daring to break the moment between father and daughter.

“I got an e-mail from her this morning. She finally got the caterer to bring his price down to what they could afford… and now the florist is saying the lilies she wanted for her bouquet aren’t available.”

“Oh, dear.”

“These sound like normal wedding difficulties to me,” Mr. Aragon said with a smile in his voice. “At our wedding, a flagpole fell over on my car just as we were preparing to leave. We had to begin our honeymoon in a chicken truck borrowed from my uncle.”

Carly laughed. “You never told me that.”

“I did not want to remind Alicia of our humble beginnings.”

“Well, it gets worse. The last thing she said was that she was getting really worried about the wedding dress.”

“She’s had a dress for months, hasn’t she?” I asked. “I mean, she would have had one for last December, right?”

“That one was Richard’s mother’s. When they postponed, she decided to get one of her own, since they had the time to order it before May. It was supposed to be in the shop in time for fittings, and they keep saying it’s coming, but it hasn’t shown up yet. There are only two weeks to go before the long weekend.”

“It will get there,” Mr. Aragon said. “The shop will not stay in business long if its brides do not get their dresses.”

“Nothing you can do about it, anyway,” I said around a jaw-cracking yawn. “I’m for bed.”

Carly got up and hugged her father. “
Gracias
, Papa,” she said. “I feel a lot better now.”

“Then I do as well. Pleasant dreams, my darling. And you, too, Lissa.”

It wasn’t until we were settled in bed, with me on an air mattress on the floor, that Carly whispered, “What if the dress doesn’t come?”

“Then you whip one together out of a pair of curtains, like Giselle.” I yawned again and rolled over, burying my head in the depths of my pillow.

“Hmm,” I thought I heard her say before I dropped off into dreams.

O
N SATURDAY MORNING
, I scoured literary criticism texts while Carly got to work. No, not on homework or midterm prep. On a project much closer to the heart.

Her cell phone sounded like R2-D2 as it autodialed New Mexico. “Mama? It’s Carolina.”

She held the phone away from her ear while noises came out of it—either raptures or lectures, I couldn’t really tell. Not that I was eavesdropping.
Ahem
.

“Mama, slow down. Yes. Yes, I’m coming. I made up my mind last night. Bridesmaid, too, if you still want me. Okay. Yes. I already have a dress, and it’s, um, a little more flattering than the poofy one. The bubble look isn’t really in anymore.”

She rolled her eyes at me and I nodded, pretending to look horrified.

“I know—I got your e-mail. Isn’t there anything they can do to hurry it up?” She gasped. “That’s terrible. Do you get your deposit back? Well, thank goodness for that. No, listen. Mama! Thank you. Would you like me to make your dress?”

Again she held the phone away from her ear, but this time she was smiling.

“That’s why I’m offering. Yes, I mean it. All you have to do is give me your exact measurements—no fudging, Mama, this is no time to be coy about them. Then send me a couple of pictures of styles you like, and I’ll design something for you.”

Another eyeroll.

“This is what I do, Mama. I’ve interned with professionals and I’m even teaching. You’re just going to have to trust me.” Long pause. “I know. But if Papa can move on, so can I, and doing this for you will help me do it. Yes.
Yes
, I mean it, how many times do I have to say so? Send me the stuff today, and whether you want chiffon, satin, or something else, and Lissa and I will go to Britex tomorrow on our way back to school. I’ll send you some sketches by Tuesday and pictures of a mockup by Saturday. Okay?”

Another long pause, during which Carly’s eyes filled. “I love you, too, Mama. I’m sorry it took me almost a year to say it. ’Bye.”

She tipped over onto the couch cushions and blew out a long breath. “Talking with her is so exhausting.”

“What happened? The shop’s dress really isn’t coming?”

“She was nearly hysterical when I first called. She’d just hung up after being told that the factory in Thailand or wherever had closed down, like, two months ago and none of their orders had been filled.”

“And they just told her now? Two weekends before she’s supposed to wear it?”

“Great, huh? So when I called, she completely bypassed any guilt trips and went straight to ‘You are the best daughter in the world.’ ” Carly grinned. “Or words to that effect.”

“You are,” I said simply. “But how are you going to get this done?”

She glanced down at her backpack, leaning against her end of the couch. “I tear through my homework like a tornado and spend the rest of the day drawing designs.”

So while I spent the next several hours finishing my paper and slogging through the agony that is a bibliography in strict MLA style, Carly did her homework in record time and then got out her sketchbook. By dinnertime I couldn’t stand it anymore and had to go take a look over her shoulder.

Figure after figure moved across the pages, the quick movements of her pencil sketching in clouds of rosettes (“You can buy them already made up”) and glimmery trails of pearls (“I really hope she doesn’t pick that one, but it was fun to draw”). Trains, halter necklines, fifties peplums, even an Austenlike high waistline (“Your paper gave me the idea”).

“That does it,” I said, pointing at one particular sketch that took my breath away. “If I ever get married, I’m commissioning you to do that one for me.”

“If you ever get married,” she retorted, “it’ll probably be in a sarong on a beach, and everyone will roast marshmallows for the reception.”

“Oh, I’d supply s’mores,” I quipped. “But seriously, that one’s my favorite.”

The female figure looked like a calla lily in a two-piece suit with a tulip hem and a standup collar that made her long neck rise out of it like a bud out of a calyx.

“I like it, too,” Carly said. “Maybe I should send it to Kaz so he’s prepared. Oh, wait—the groom isn’t supposed to see the bride’s dress. Silly me.”

“Kaz?” I said blankly. “I’m not marrying him. He’s my best friend.”

“Brett’s mine—best male friend, anyway. And I’m not saying never, am I?”

“But you guys are dating. We’ve never been on a date in our lives.”

“You asked him to Cotillion. That’s a date.”

“I asked him because Danyel is coming and we’re all friends and it would be fun.”

She gave me a long look. “Do you ever think about how he feels about that?”

My mind flashed back to his odd comments at the time. “He said yes. What’s to feel?”

“But would he think you were interested in something else? Something serious?”

Was she kidding? “He knows me better than that.”

“You want to know what I think?”

“Do I have a choice?” I grinned at her.

“I think you’re using him so you don’t have to get out there and be available.”

“I’m not ready.”

“Callum McCloud was a long time ago. Now that you’re Miss A-Lister, you could have your pick.”

“Maybe I don’t feel like picking. Maybe Kaz is good enough for me. Is that what people are saying?”

“Maybe. I’ve heard stuff.”

And we all knew that Carly’s ear for the jungle drums was pretty accurate. “I don’t want to do what people expect. I want to be me. And being me means I go to Cotillion with my friends. Have you been talking to Gillian? She was all up in my face about him, too.”

Being Carly, she would never dream of saying what was going on behind those smiling eyes. Instead, she just shook her head.

Totally maddening or what?

IN MOMENTS I
had Kaz on the line. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“Are you sitting down?” He sounded muffled, almost out of breath.

“Yes. I’m at Carly’s, in her room.”

He took a deep breath. “Thomas Nelson bought my graphic novel.”

I screamed with delight. He screamed, too—a totally girly scream, but who could blame him? “Kaz, that’s fantastic! I can’t believe it! After all this time.”

“Two years, forty-six days, and twelve hours, to be exact.”

“You are totally my hero! When’s it coming out?”

“They’re thinking 18 months from now. There’s some stuff I have to rework, some plot things to change, stuff like that.”

“Are you okay with that?”

“Lissa, are you kidding? They publish
Ted Dekker.
I’ll do anything they want me to, including sell my soul.”

“Don’t go that far,” I told him, laughing. “It belongs to God.”

“I’ve been waiting for so long I’d almost given up. And now I feel like I’m flying, like I’m on my board and there’s nothing under me but air.”

“That’s been done already, dude. They call him the Silver Surfer.”

He let out a big “Woo-hoo! I’m gonna be published!” and I had to hold the cell phone away from my ear before I went deaf.

“We’ve got to celebrate,” I said. “This is the hugest thing in the history of the world.”

“What are you doing next weekend?”

“Coming home to Santa Barbara?”

“Can you bring the Jumping Loon?”

“Uh…” I stalled. “She’s pretty swamped. Plus she’s got, um, personal stuff going on.”

“Then I’ll come up. I got my license finally, did I tell you?”

“That’s two reasons to celebrate. Have you got a car?”

“No, but maybe with the advance money the publisher will pay me, I can finally get that Baja Bug I’ve had my eye on.”

“You can’t get a board in a Bug, Bob. Try a truck.”

“I hate talking to English majors. Knock off the aLissaration. I’ll get with Danyel and see if he wants to come, too. Maybe he’ll even let me drive.”