I locked myself in our bathroom the day of Nancy’s wedding “do”. I’d popped a zit, made a mess of my chin and my eyes had dark hollows under them after three nights spent running the events of Birdie and Loni’s first shoplifting trip through my brain. I viewed the day from every possible angle, agonizing about how I could’ve done things differently. If only I’d run faster or straightened up my sour face and gone along with them, I could’ve stopped Loni from getting Birdie into drugs. Instead I’d sulked like a brat and sent Birdie off into the streets where creepy men lurked around in their shiny Lexus SUVs. Now they were probably circling around Carla like vultures sniffing a fresh kill.
Guy knocked on the bathroom door. “Are you ready, Anna?”
“I can’t go. Call them. Cancel it.”
Shuffling feet, clearing throat. “Open the door, Anna. Let’s talk.”
“Nothing to talk about. Your relatives will hate me.”
“I love you, Anna. That’s what counts. Let me in.”
“What happens if I don’t?”
“I have a key. I can get in anyway.”
I opened the door and sat back down on the toilet. Guy came over and folded his arms round me. “You’re a prickly little thing, Anna. That’s why I love you.”
“I forgot what it’s like to be around family. I don’t know how to act.”
He folded me into his arms and rocked me like a child. I nuzzled his scented neck and wondered how Gord could’ve spawned such a gentle, empathetic son. It must’ve been Nancy’s influence. The nurturing kindergarten teacher treasuring every silly utterance, every childish sketch, every stumbling step of his growing years. Teaching him to share, use your words, don’t bully, be kind.
Unless there was another side to Guy that I hadn’t seen yet. I couldn’t help remembering Dane’s words, the first time I read his journal.
Those people have layers – the outer respectable layer that everyone sees. Nice clothes, sweet cars, manicured nails, designer cologne, a good job, wallet full of cash and plastic. Peel that back and you find the inner layers. The bad-boy layer…
I felt Guy’s hand stroke my hair. “Earth to Anna.”
I blinked my eyes. “Sorry, it’s just last-minute nerves.”
“You were like – in a trance.”
“I have a lot on my mind.”
He turned my face towards him. “I told you already, if you ever want to talk to me about anything to do with your past or your family, I’m here to listen. Maybe it’d help to share it with me.”
I shook my head. I couldn’t let him in. Not now. Not yet.
“When you’re ready, then.”
I nodded. “Okay – but how should I act around all your family and friends?”
“Imagine you’re at a parent teacher meeting.”
“We don’t have them. The parents of my students are either at work doing their second or third job or out partying.”
He sighed. “Okay. Imagine they’re all naked and that’ll put just the right kind of smirk on your face. Drink plenty of champagne. Eat. You’ll be fine. It’s only a few friends and a couple of aunts and uncles. Oh and some cousins.”
“You’ll stay beside me the whole time?”
“Promise I won’t let you out of my sight,” he said, stroking the curve of my jawline and planting a kiss on my lips.
I let him carry me to the bedroom and dress me in the floaty dress. After I touched up my makeup, he appeared behind me carrying something that glittered like fire.
“Hold still,” he said, draping a necklace of tiny diamond-encrusted feathers round my neck. “Every bride needs something old. This was my grandmother’s. Mom told me to give it to you.”
He reached into his pocket and took out a small crocodile skin box. “And something new.”
I flipped it open to find diamond drop earrings in the shape of flowers. While I was fastening them on, he gently took hold of my foot and raised it so he could slip the cream and blue lace garter around my ankle and up my leg.
“You forgot the borrowed part,” I said, holding his face and kissing him. All the bad stuff went away when Guy was around me.
“Hmmhh,” he said, stroking his chin. “What can you borrow?”
Then I had a brainwave. A brilliant flash of light with Birdie standing in the center of it. “It’s okay. I have something. Wait right there.”
I ran to the closet where my old suitcase had been pushed into a corner, still packed. I dragged it out, careful not to touch its dusty surface on the perfect silk of my dress. I’d borrow something of Birdie’s. I’d kept a few things of hers that I’d get out every now and then to remind me of her.
A waft of musty air hit me when I opened the case. A fusty mix of mold, damp and rancid cooking oil was a powerful reminder of my other life – debt-ridden and miserable in a run-down apartment. Under all the cheap, creased clothing a black velvet box was tucked into the corner. Inside was a silver ring with a square green gem flanked by two pale blue stones. She’d lifted it from Kmart on one of her jaunts with Loni. Afterwards she’d get that ring out every night and put it on, then move her finger up and down so it sparkled and caught the light.
From the moment I saw it I wanted that ring. I remember lying on the frayed pink bedspread at the group home and watching her as she twirled around in front of the mirror, pouting and holding it to her face. But no matter how much I pleaded to try it on, she shook her head. A spiteful smile twisted the corners of her lips as she stuffed it in the inside pocket of her ratty green parka.
When Guy called to ask if I was ready, I snapped the suitcase shut. Next time he was teaching evening class I’d throw it in the garbage. Now I was married with an unlimited supply of money and credit I had no need of any of that cheap stuff from my old life.
But first I twirled around in front of the mirror looking at myself. I pouted and fluttered my eyelids like Birdie used to. The ring flashed like green fire under the halogen lights. So pretty. So shiny. Now I would sparkle for her. The way she always wanted to. Wearing her ring would bring her closer to me. As if she was with me at my wedding reception.
The long driveway up to Gord and Nancy’s place was a gallery of Porsches, BMWs, Jaguars, Mercedes and a smattering of SUVs. I always shivered at the sight of them. Large silver ghosts drifting through the night, their drivers concealed by a shield of tinted glass.
“You cold or scared?” asked Guy, reaching a hand over to steady me.
“Just spooked,” I said, chewing my lip.
“Smile and be gorgeous. You’ll enchant them,” he said, pulling up to the front door. “Just let them have their day.”
By this time Nancy, luminous and sleek in a shimmering, gray gown with a choker of large pearls, had appeared at the open door waving frantically at someone behind her. Guy held the car door open for me and I stepped out like Cinderella from her coach. I said to myself Birdie are you watching as I glided up the driveway on the arm of my handsome husband. Three little girls dressed in crisp white party dresses burst out from the house carrying silver baskets and throwing pink rose petals at our feet.
“My cousin Ronnie’s daughters,” whispered Guy. “They’re sweet kids.”
Silver pots of white hydrangeas filled the foyer with a sweet, heady smell and we entered the living room to a sea of faces. Maybe it was the flickering candles that cast long shadows across the walls, or maybe it was the fact that I hadn’t eaten a thing that day, but I was so lightheaded I almost fainted. Guy caught my elbow and someone dressed in a white shirt and black skirt thrust a drink into my hand from a silver tray. Gord’s voice boomed out, The bride and groom, Mr. and Mrs. Franzen, and champagne bubbles fizzed up my nose amid a loud burst of cheers and applause.
Soon people I’d never met were hugging and kissing me, wishing me a long, happy marriage. I mumbled out a few “thank you’s” and tried to fix a smile on my face.
Guy eventually rescued me, steering me towards the food table.
“Eat something before you pass out from starvation.” He fed me some creamy little confection made of mushroom, cheese and garlic. I ate two, followed quickly by a couple of skewers of spicy satay chicken. Gradually the dizziness receded and my head cleared enough to take another glass of chilled champagne, then follow Guy around the room to be introduced to friends and family.
I made passable small talk, mostly chatting about my job and dodging any questions about family or the past. In return I got the usual tilted head and simpering smile together with stock comments like teaching must be such rewarding work or how wonderful to actually make a difference. All of which really meant, I wouldn’t be caught dead working for peanuts with reprobates, lowlifes and dropouts but someone has to do it and I’m glad it’s you. I put my hand to my heart, Oprah style, and pasted on a glowing smile. My career was a guaranteed conversation stopper so they invariably moved on. Eventually, I receded into the background, content to let Guy do the talking.
At one point we ended up near Gord who was holding court with a bunch of friends and colleagues. Impeccable in an expensive navy suit and sharp white shirt, he was talking up his latest app designed for struggling readers. I gazed in awe. He had the gall of a Wild West snake oil salesman. Gord’s heart didn’t just bleed when he talked about his work, it gushed a stream of saccharin platitudes and stale clichés. Words like differentiation, rigorous core standards, data-driven instruction, action-oriented, forward driven, relentless pursuit of excellence, stakeholder involvement, enhanced observation guidelines, synergistically accountable, raise the bar, close the gap and reap the benefits poured from his mouth.
His audience stood, glassy-eyed. I couldn’t tell whether they were awestruck or bored. My face must have reflected that thought because he glanced at me and the stream of words faltered for a minute. He looked like a kid caught with his hand down his pants. Under the tan, his face flushed and he threw back his drink, then shot a quizzical look my way. I didn’t want to cause any waves at this early stage of our relationship and lowered my gaze.
“Bathroom,” I said, patting Guy’s arm.
“You okay?” he said, kissing my forehead.
I handed him my glass. “Great.”
Gord started up again after I’d left the circle and all I could think of was how much I wanted to snoop around the beautiful bathroom.
A section of the massive mirror turned out to be a medicine cabinet containing a large collection of pills. Vicodin, Valium, Percocet, Xanax, Klonopin. And all for Mrs. Nancy Franzen. Seemed life with Gord wasn’t exactly a picnic. I’d suspected as much. I tipped a few from each container into a Kleenex and stuffed them into my underwear. If the dreams about Birdie got too real I’d drop a couple to get past the pain.
The bathroom led into a walk-in closet as large as a bedroom. Lit by three crystal chandeliers, its walls were lined with ribbed aqua-blue silk. A long row of tailored suits, plastic-wrapped shirts and sweaters took up one side and on the other, Nancy’s monochromatic wardrobe of well-cut jackets, silky shirts, pants and sheath dresses. Two towering shelves were filled with designer shoes – Gucci, Comme Des Garcons, Saint Laurent, Prada. I pulled a few drawers open. Perfectly folded scarves, gloves, neutral underwear. Then I lifted up the stack of beige and gray undies and found a fat cache of frilly, lacy panties. Red, pink, cream, leopard print. So Gord and Nancy did have a little fling every now and again.
Someone tried the door handle so I slipped out of the closet, flushed the toilet and opened the door. I was just about to paste on a smile again when I came face to face with the SUV man from the riverfront. He stepped back smiling.
“Excuse me,” he said. “Have we met?”
I stepped aside. “Don’t think so.”
He stroked the silver goatee. “I’m sure we have. Wait. It’ll come to me.”
“You must be thinking of someone else,” I said, pushing past him.
He held up both hands. “Sorry, could be mistaken, but I swear I thought – anyway – congratulations,” he said, pushing the washroom door open. I stood in the hallway, my heart slamming against my chest. I needed to know why he was here tracking in sludge from that other secret world of mine.
Guy appeared from around the corner.
“You get lost in there?” he asked, holding out his arms. I ran up and caught him around the waist.
“Who’s that guy?” I said, as the man left the washroom and swished by, patting Guy on the shoulder.
“Why – you got the hots for him?”
I shook my head. “I’ve seen him somewhere but I can’t place him.”
Guy led me back into the packed living room. “That’s Peter Karrass. He’s some kind of social worker. Works on Dad’s projects a lot.”
I remember thinking that might explain why he might have been hanging around the riverfront, but it didn’t totally satisfy me. I decided to keep him on my radar and follow him next time I saw him cruising the dark side. But Sabrina had just arrived all decked out in a figure-hugging orange dress that clashed with Nancy’s carefully placed hydrangea posies. And she was talking loud enough to drown out the rest of the guests. I swept across the room to rescue her from my mother-in-law’s purse-lipped platitudes.