A Bone To Pick

things I wasn’t wearing currently, heavy winter coats, my few cocktail and evening dresses… and my bridesmaid dresses. There were four of them: a lavender ruffled horror from Sally Saxby’s wedding, Linda Erhardt’s floral chiffon, a red velvet with white “fur” trim from my college roommate’s Christmas “nuptials,” and a somewhat better pink sheath from Franny Vargas’s spring marriage. The lavender had made me look as if I’d been bushwhacked by a Barbie doll, the floral chiffon was not bad but in blondes’ colors, the red velvet had made me look like Dolly Parton in the chest but otherwise we’d all looked like Santa’s helpers, and the pink sheath I’d had cut to knee length and had actually worn to some parties over the years.

I’d worn jeans to Amina’s first, runaway wedding.

That had been the most useful bridesmaid’s outfit of all.

Now that I had worked myself into an absolutely great mood, what with thinking of Phillip and reviewing my history as a bridesmaid, I decided I’d better get myself in gear and go do things.

What did I need to do besides go by Great Day?

I had to go check on Madeleine and the kittens. I had to go by Mother’s office; she’d asked me to on the message left on my machine, and I hadn’t done it yet. I felt an urge to go check on the skull, but I decided I could be pretty sure it hadn’t gone anywhere.

“Stupid,” I muttered at my mirror as I braided my hair. I slapped on a little makeup and pulled on my oldest jeans and a sleeveless T-shirt. I might have to go by Mother’s office, but I wasn’t going to look like a junior executive. All her salespeople were sure I would go to work for Mother someday, completely disrupting their food chain. Actually, showing houses seemed like an attractive way to pass the time, and now that I had my own money- almost-I really might think about looking into it seriously.

But of course I didn’t have to work for Mother. I gave the mirror a wicked grin, picturing the furor for a happy second, before I lapsed back to reality. Wrapping the band around the end of the braid to secure it, I admitted to myself that of course I would work for Mother if I did decide to take the plunge and switch jobs. But I’d miss the library, I told myself as I checked my purse to make sure I had everything. No I wouldn’t, I realized suddenly. I’d miss the books. Not the job or the people.

The prospect of possibly resigning kept me entertained until I got to Great Day.

Amina’s father was a bookkeeper, and of course he did the books for his wife’s business. He was there when I came in, the bell over the door tinkling to announce my arrival. Miss Joe Nell was using some kind of hand-held steamer to get the wrinkles out of a newly arrived dress. She was a very attractive, fair woman in her middle forties. She’d been young when she had Amina, her only daughter. Amina’s younger brother was still in graduate school. Miss Joe Nell was very religious, and, when my mother and father had gotten divorced when I was a teenager, one of my many fears was that Miss Joe Nell would disapprove of the divorce so much she wouldn’t let me stay with Amina anymore. But Miss Joe Nell was a loving woman and sympathetic, too; my worry had been banished quickly.

Now she put down the steamer and gave me a hug.

“I just hope Amina’s doing the right thing,” she whispered.

“Well, I’m sure she is,” I said with a confidence I was far from feeling. “I’m sure he’s a good man.”

“Oh, it’s not him I worry about so much,” Miss Joe Nell said, to my surprise. “It’s Amina.”

“We just hope she’s really ready to settle this time,” rumbled Mr. Day. He sang bass in the church choir, had for twenty years, and would until he could sing no more.

“I hope so, too,” I admitted. And we all three looked at one another rather dolefully for a long second.

“Now, what kind of dress does Amina want me to try on?” I asked briskly.

Miss Joe Nell shook herself visibly and led me over to the formal dresses. “Let’s see,” she said. “Her dress, like I said, is mint green, with some white beading. I have it here, she tried on several things when she was home for your mother’s wedding. I thought she was just sort of dreaming and planning, but I bet she had a little idea back then that they would move the date up.”

The dress was beautiful. Amina would look like an American dream in it.

“So we can coordinate my dress easily,” I said in an optimistic tone.

“Well, I looked at what we have in your size, and I found a few things that would look lovely with this shade of green. Even if you pick a solid in a different color, your bouquet could have green ribbons that would sort of tie it together…”

And we were off and running, deep in wedding talk.

I was glad I’d braided my hair that morning, because by the time I’d finished hauling dresses off and on it would have been a crow’s nest otherwise. As it was, loose hairs crackling with electricity were floating around my face by the time I was done. One of the dresses became me and would coordinate, and, though I doubted I would ever have occasion to wear it again, I bought it. Mrs. Day tried to tell me she would pay for it, but I knew my bridesmaid’s duty. Finally she let me have it at cost, and we both were satisfied. Amina’s dress had long, see- through sleeves and solid cuffs, a simple neckline, beaded bodice, and a full skirt, plain enough to set off the bridal bouquet but fancy enough to be festive. My dress had short sleeves but the same neckline, and it was peach with a mint green cummerbund. I could get some heels dyed to match-in fact, I thought the heels I’d had dyed to match Linda Erhardt’s bridesmaid’s dress might do. I promised Miss Joe Nell I’d bring them by the store to check, since my dress had to remain at Great Day to have its hem raised.

And it had only taken an hour and a half, I discovered when I got back in my car. I remembered when I’d gone dress hunting with Sally Saxby and her mother, and four other bridesmaids. The expedition had consumed a whole very long day. It had taken me awhile to feel as fond of Sally as I had before we went dress hunting in Atlanta.

Of course, now Sally had been Mrs. Hunter for ten years and had a son almost as tall as me, and a daughter who took piano lessons.

No, I would not be depressed. The dress had been found, that was a good thing. I was going by the office, that was another good thing. Then I would go see the cats at the new house, as I was trying to think of it. Then I would treat myself to lunch somewhere good.

When I turned into the rear parking lot of my mother’s office, I noticed no one dared to park in her space though she was actually out of the country. I pulled into it neatly, making a mental note to tell Mother this little fact. Mother, thinking “Teagarden Homes” was too long to fit on a Sold sign, had instead named her business Select Realty. Of course this was a blatant attempt to appeal to the “up” side of the market, and it seemed to have worked. Mother was a go-get’em realtor who never let business call her if she could get out there and beat the bushes for it first. She wanted every realtor she hired to be just as aggressive, and she didn’t care what the applicant looked like as long as the right attitude came across. An injudicious rival had compared Select realtors to a school of sharks, in my hearing. Marching up the sidewalk to the old home Mother had bought and renovated beautifully, I found myself wondering if my mother would consider me a suitable employee.

Everyone who worked at Select Realty dressed to the nines, so I was fairly conspicuous, and I realized my choice of jeans and T-shirt had been a mistake. I had wanted to look as unlike a realtor as I could, and I had succeeded in looking like an outdated hippie.

Patty Cloud, at the front desk, was wearing a suit that cost as much as a week’s salary from the library. And this was the receptionist.

“Aurora, how good to see you!” she said with a practiced smile. Patty was at least four years younger than me, but the suit and the artificial ease made her seem as much older.

Eileen Norris passed through the reception area to drop some papers labeled with a Post-it note on Patty’s desk, and stopped in her tracks when she recognized me.

“My God, child, you look like something the cat dragged in!” Eileen bellowed. She was a suspiciously dark- haired woman about forty-five, with expensive clothes from the very best big women’s store. Her makeup was heavy but well done, her perfume was intrusive but attractive, and she was one of the most overwhelming women I’d ever met. Eileen was something of a town character in Lawrenceton, and she could talk you into buying a house quicker than you could take an aspirin.

I wasn’t exactly pleased with her greeting, but I’d made an error in judgment, and Eileen was not one to let that go by.

“I’m just dropping in to deliver a message. Mother is extending her honeymoon a little.”

“I’m so glad she is,” Eileen boomed. “That woman hadn’t taken a vacation in a coon’s age. I bet she’s having a real good time.”

“No doubt about it.”