Unfortunately, she was now wide-awake, again. What could she do with her time? Draping her robe around her she padded to the desk and flipped open her computer.
An hour later, she had a list of second hand furniture shops she’d visit that day.
She was to arrive at the church at ten. The stores opened at the same time, and she planned to be at one. Surfing the web had uncovered many treasures. Excitement tightened her chest when she found a site of Manhattan thrift shops, flea markets and vintage clothing.
Pay dirt.
Grabbing her notebook, she scribbled down all the addresses and then pulled out her new subway map and planned her day. At least the time spent was productive and by the time morning light dawned, she was ready for battle.
She’d heard the term,
Retail Therapy
. Fit perfectly.
Now her biggest worry was escaping a ride with her parents to the church. She had a plan.
Damn, she was getting good at them lately.
After her shower, she readied for the day. Sensible shoes on her feet, her bag ready, cash on hand, she ripped a clean sheet from her notebook.
Mom, too excited. I’ll meet you at the church.
Dropping it on the middle of her freshly made bed where it wouldn’t be missed. She made sure she had her cell phone and any other essentials that hadn’t been in her bags and delivered to her new apartment the day before.
Stealthily she inched her bedroom door opened. Waited, nothing but silence greeted her. Just as carefully, she closed it. Turned and almost ran into Carla. Sucking in a breath, she debated what to say.
The housekeeper leaned in, her words barely discernible as she whispered them in her ear. “Your parents are still in bed, hurry while you have the chance.”
Shock billowed up from her soul. Carla knew. Throwing her arms around the woman, she whispered a quick thank you. Without a backward glance, she softly skipped down the stairs.
Outside their brownstone home, she let the fresh air fill her lungs.
Half-hour later, probably longer, she entered the Java Café for a much needed cuppa. And by nine on the nose she was entering the first store on the list—one of the early openers.
Where to start? She let her glance wander the room. As with the subway, she was new to this. She’d never purchased a stick of furniture in her life.
For an educated woman, she was sure ignorant of the most elemental things in the majority of people’s lives.
Might as well browse, eventually she’d see something that piqued her interest. Wasn’t that the fun of bargain hunting?
She noted her watch and realized it was time for her to be at the wedding, what would her parents be doing? Her friends would fill her in on the details that night. They were going to order in Chinese at her new place and celebrate.
A table, that’s the ticket. No, first, a bed. She could hardly sleep on the floor. Wait she planned to rent-to-own the bedroom furniture. She was mixed up with all the things to remember twisting and turning in her mind. And sheets… good grief she couldn’t think like this, it would overwhelm her.
A few hours later, her arms bulged with the weight of packages. She entered her building with a new sense of accomplishment. The doorman greeted her with a smile. Her
dogs
were barking. How many blisters did she have to add to the day before?
The manager she’d met with a few days earlier waited on one of the lobby chairs. Cecelia gratefully took the chair opposite.
“Ms. Chandler you look worn out.”
Who?
Then it dawned on her, the woman was using her new name. The one she’d given her earlier when she’d called to set the time to meet. That was something she’d have to get used to.
“I’ve been looking for furniture.”
“Did you find anything?”
“Yes.” Cecelia let a small giggle escape. She reached for her purse. “I have the paperwork for you, the copies of the name change forms, and a cashier’s check for the deposit and first and last month’s rent. I won’t have my bank information until my surname is finalized. As soon as I do, I’ll set up the direct withdrawal for the rent.”
The woman tossed everything into her briefcase, regarded Cecelia with a slight frown. “Do you think you’ll have it soon?”
“I’m sorry it can take one to four weeks for the forms to be processed. Would you like the first two months up front?”
“No, if it doesn’t come through, give me a call and you can either drop the rent off at my office or if I’m in the area, I’ll drop by.”
Cecelia stood and held out her hand. “Thank you for all your help, and for working with me. I do appreciate it.”
“It’s worth it. The look on your face today…actually your overall appearance is lighter. It’s like the weight of the universe has been lifted.”
Exactly. The load had been removed she thought as she watched the manager gather her things then leave. With a sense of adventure, she lifted her packages to go to the elevator for the ride to her new home. She had a few items scheduled to arrive in the next few hours.
Then she’d be entertaining in her new home for the first time. She refused to let a heavy conscience overwhelm her at the thought of everyone waiting at the church. Her friends were prepared to deal with the drama. When the time came, she’d watch her friends’ backs.
Let the adventures begin.
Dear Diary;
Wedding Day
Heat from the tension in the room scorched my beads. It’s a good thing they’re not plastic or they’d melt. It was past ten in the morning, and it was beginning to dawn on Mrs. Wilson her daughter might not show.
Mother Evans was in a fine rage. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t will my train to move. With each lap around the room, her foot came closer to my satin.
“Sandra, where is that daughter of yours?” Mother Evans demanded, her voice solid steel.
“Her note said she was too excited to wait for me and Broderick. We thought she’d be here before us.”
I’d often heard Heidi use the term wringing her hands, but until I saw Cecie’s mother doing it, I hadn’t known what she meant.
A snort met Mrs. Wilson’s words. “Where do you think she could be?”
“I don’t know, Margaret. Don’t you think I’d tell you if I knew. I’m afraid she’s been in an accident.”
Another snort came out of Mother Evans. Heidi said snorting wasn’t very lady like. I’d never seen any indication the groom’s mother was a lady so that made sense.
“Have you called her cell phone?” Margaret Evans made the question sound as if she thought Cecie’s mother was too stupid to think of calling.
Again, the air crackled with tension, my bolero tightened in dread. Sandra Wilson’s face turned an unbecoming shade of burgundy. “I’m not an idiot, Margaret. Of course I did, and she’s not answering.”
For a moment, I thought one of them would haul off and hit the other. A reprieve came when one of Cecie’s friends knocked on the door and entered.
“Mrs. Wilson, we’re all ready in the attendant room. I was just wondering if Cecie needs any help.” Skye inquired innocently. Apparently oblivious to the fact she had just walked into a raging inferno of emotions.
I was so proud of her. No one would know she knew the bride wouldn’t show.
“Cecie’s not here,” Mrs. Wilson shouted.
God love Skye, she actually backed up a step, a hand over her heart. How I wish I could have applauded her performance. Instead, my beads scrunched in delight.
“What do you mean? I called this morning and she said she was about to leave. We all thought she was in here getting ready this whole time.”
“Sandra?” Mother Evans snorted again as her brow rose an inch.
Maybe the woman had a problem with her nose. Could human’s have a problem like that? I’d confer with some of my sisters when Carla returned me to Heidi’s.
A knock heralded another visitor. Carla entered with a white envelope in her hand. She wasn’t the actress Skye was. I noticed her sly look in the younger woman’s direction before she handed the note to Mrs. Wilson.
Cecie’s mother ripped it open and quickly read. Then her brow crinkled and she read it again more slowly as if she didn’t understand the words the first time.
“Cecie’s not coming.” Bewildered she looked at her daughter’s friend. Skye just shrugged in an ‘I don’t know anything’ kind of way.
Mother Evans squawked—I mean an out and out sound like some type of screech. I’m not sure what kind of creature or human would make that sound, but it was something I’d never experienced in my existence.
“Calm down, Margaret. I can’t think.” Mrs. Wilson turned to Skye and waved the white letter under her nose. “Cecelia tells her friends everything. What do you know about this?”
“Last night when we dropped her at your house she promised she’d see us all today.” Which I knew was true, since the girls had spoken of getting together to celebrate this evening at the new apartment.
I wanted to go with them almost as much as I wanted to go home to Heidi.
Mrs. Wilson was skeptical. I could tell she was about to call Skye a liar. Instead, she sucked in a huge breath and then instructed in her most imperious tone. “Go question the other girls and then tell me if they know anything.”
Skye left without replying. Margaret Evans was not going to let this slight against her son go without a scene.
“Who’s going to go in and tell Chandler what your daughter did?”
Sandra Wilson swung around from where she’d been staring out the window. “I don’t give a rat’s ass. You do it.”
Margaret’s mouth dropped open, then she closed it with a snap that sounded like a gunshot around the room. Even my ribbons shook. “How dare…”
“Oh, I dare, if it wasn’t for the fact Chandler never cared for Cecie, she’d be here.”
The snorting was now to the stage it was old, and I wanted to smack the woman if she did it again. Unfortunately, that was beyond my capabilities. Margaret Evans marched across the room to stand nose to nose with Sandra. “The two families have a contract.”
“And Cecie and Chandler have never had a say in anything. How did you feel? I know I hated it. I damn well wish I’d had the guts to do exactly what my daughter is doing. Maybe then I’d be happy in my marriage.”
I thought she was done with her speech. Mrs. Margaret Evans was still trying to digest Sandra’s words when she continued, “I love my daughter. She’s the only thing that has made all these years worthwhile.”
Indignantly, Margaret spat out her rebuttal, “I love my son too. He doesn’t deserve this slight. Cecelia is going to pay.”
Sandra stood on her tiptoes to allow her to be even with the other woman. If I could have, I would have laughed at the sight. Her words startled even me, and my bodice lace ruffled in response.
“Oh, stuff a sock in it, Margaret.”
Sandra Wilson stepped around the shocked woman and strode from the room. This left the upset woman scrutinizing me. She circled around me reminding me of the first day when the three women had done the same, like a running stitch around my hem.
I did not like the speculative look in her eye.
“I know just how to get back at the Wilsons.” She ran her hand over my bodice. “Their pocket book.”
I cringed at the contact. Her hand burned the delicate material. Again, I was thankful my beading wasn’t plastic as it would have been in a less costly gown.