to her only makes me sad. Sad for her in a whole new way.
“I’ll just butt out, then,” Olivia says, her voice wobbling.
“Good idea,” Damon snaps.
That afternoon we close up early. Mamma, Sarah and Missy sit at the kitchen bench finishing off their gingerbread milkshakes, slurping them back like kids. CeeCee and I finish what we’re doing, and get ready to close early. We bundle on our coats and scarves and walk up to Bessie’s shop for the final dress fittings. I’m giddy with excitement, and hope my dress still fits after all the Christmas baking I’ve been sampling.
We’re chatting away about the last few days and all that’s happened when CeeCee stops dead in her tracks as her handbag vibrates. She pulls out her cell phone and plunges her hand into her bag for her reading glasses.
Her lips move as she silently reads the message to herself. “You go on ahead,” she says as the light goes from her eyes.
My throat tightens. Something’s wrong. “No, we’ll wait,” I say, my breath coming out with puffs of fog.
“It’s Janey. I have to go…” Her voice cracks.
We instantly gather close and hug her. None of us speaks as we stand outside, the snow drifting around us, as we think of Walt and Janey, and what this might mean. Eventually Missy says, “Is she OK?”
CeeCee glances down to the message on her phone. “It doesn’t say a lot. I better go. I’m sorry, Lil, sorry, girls.” She turns on her heel and walks back in the direction of the café.
The four of us watch her retreat. She strides past the town Christmas tree, which sits in an apex on the side of the road near the Gingerbread Café. Its shrieking fairy lights don’t catch her attention. Her head hangs low; she’s lost in thought. I fight the urge to run after her, and squeeze her tight. I send up a prayer that it’s good news about Janey that’s called her away.
“Maybe Janey’s better?” Mamma says almost in a whisper.
“Yes,” Missy says. “Wouldn’t that be something? She’s better and she’s home for Christmas.” Her voice lilts.
“Imagine that,” I say softly. “Let’s hope that’s what it is.”
CeeCee’s walked so fast she’s only a speck in the distance. She must be going on home by the looks. Janey lives at the other end of town. I hope Janey is coming home for Christmas. And not because of any other reason.
We lace arms and walk with quick steps to Bessie’s, eager to get out of the cold. I can’t help picturing CeeCee’s downcast face, and wish I could snap my fingers and make Janey better.
For a moment the sun peeks out and brightens the wintry day. With our boots on we trek through the slushy ice, passing shops along the main street. I wave at the local shop owners who stand on their stoops and ask about the wedding. I do my best to sound merry, even though my heart is heavy with worry for CeeCee. Each business façade is decorated with shiny tinsel, and flashing fairy lights. Wreaths of holly hang on doors. Mary-Rose’s bath shop has a gorgeous Christmas tree in the window, made entirely from green bath bombs that she’s stacked in a cone shape. “How don’t they topple over?” Missy points to the bath bombs.
I shrug. “No idea, but I can smell them from here. Minty. We might need to detour in there on the way back.”
“Sounds good,” Sarah says. “I’ll pick up some for Christmas presents.”
We get to the small haberdashery shop, and push open the door to the sound of a sewing machine drumming into fabric. Bessie glances up from her work and cracks a smile. “Well, there you are, Lil. Girls.” She pushes a tendril of silvery grey hair back into her clip. “Wait until you see your dresses now…” She takes her glasses off and blinks to focus.
Missy immediately goes to the oversized cane chair and tries to drop into it. “Give me a hand, Sarah. There’s a chance I might get beached if I do this wrong.”
Sarah laughs and guides Missy’s bulk into the cavernous chair.
“Is CeeCee coming?” Bessie asks.
“No,” I say, quickly. “She’s got an errand to run.”
Bessie nods. “Take a seat, girls. And I’ll start the show, shall I?” We nod as Bessie trundles out back.
Missy pipes up, “Lil, enjoy this, OK? I know you’re worried about Janey and CeeCee but it’s not wrong to push it from your mind for a while. I know what you’re like, but worry won’t change a thing.”
It’s almost crazy how well my friends know me. “OK,” is all I manage, knowing what she says is true. Guilt sneaks up on me at times, as if by enjoying this experience I’m doing CeeCee a disservice.
“Ready?” Bessie wanders back out.
“Oh, Bessie, I cannot wait to see them all!” Missy says, clapping.
I sit on a stool by the window. Bessie’s shop is cluttered with swathes of fabric, and half-dressed mannequins. Sitting here makes me want to regress to childhood and play dress up. I can imagine pulling out lengths of shiny material and draping them over me or grabbing the feather boas and strutting around as if I’m a flapper from the twenties. It’s like a Pandora’s box of loveliness and Bessie holds the key. She can whip up an outfit in thirty minutes that would leave most designers envious. Missy gets most of her clothes made here — animal print and sequins are her weakness, though she’ll give any loud, form-fitting fabric a go.
Sarah hunts through piles of sample fabrics, holding them up to the bright light to inspect up close. I wonder if she’s contemplating her future wedding dress. Her relationship with Ridge is the stuff dreams are made of; he swept her off her feet, and treats her like a princess.
“Lil, I sewed those antique beads on, but you’ll have to be careful you don’t catch them on the satin when you’re getting dressed otherwise we’ll have pulls.”
“Eek! So excited!” And suddenly I am. The dress. The kind of dress I’ve always wanted is seconds away from reality.
Bessie ambles over to a rack of clothes on hangers, individually wrapped in clear plastic bags, and picks the garment on the end. My breath catches. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve seen my dress and I’m ruing the fact the candy canes we made have been so addictive.
Carefully, she takes the plastic away and drapes the dress over her arm to stop it touching the floor. “What do you think?” she says as she holds the coat hanger forward so we can see the beading.
Missy says, “Hoist me up, someone! I can’t see!”
We laugh, and go to help her out of the chair.
Bessie points to the beads. “So I had to go slow, Lil, because I didn’t want to pull the satin, but, as you can see, the beads are dazzling.”
I gasp. It’s the most gorgeous gown I’ve ever seen. The creamy satin shines in the dim shop. The antique beads glow as if they’ve got a secret, and I bet they have. I wonder where those beads came from — perhaps
