A Summer Love Affair, page 18
Michael looked at her expectantly, but Petra realized that she couldn’t speak. She felt weepy, almost as if the dress were a living thing and her decision about its future was of life-or-death importance. Perhaps sensing her dismay, Michael offered her a seat on one of the two folding chairs in the room.
“Many years ago,” he began, “back when I was still at MECA myself, I met a fellow student, a girl named Carly, who had inherited her great-grandmother’s wedding dress, along with a cache of jewelry I would have given my eye teeth to own. When I expressed an interest in seeing it all, she invited me to her apartment. I was absolutely blown away by what she showed me. The dress was gorgeous. My friend thought Matilda, her great-grandmother, had been married in 1928 or so, but she wasn’t sure. The dress had been perfectly preserved for all those years by a distant aunt or cousin, I don’t remember. That person had died, and, somehow, the dress and jewelry had wound up being sent to Carly.” Michael sighed. “Big mistake. This girl had no interest in the work of art she had been gifted. I don’t know why someone like that was in art school unless she thought it was going to be easier than earning an academic degree. No soul. No sense of style. Anyway, I tried to make her understand what a treasure she had in her possession, but she didn’t seem to care. And I was dirt poor at the time so I couldn’t afford to buy any of Matilda’s things. Last I heard of the affair, Carly had sold it all, every bit of Matilda’s stuff, to some shady vintage dealer for next to nothing. The guy probably sold the lot on for a fortune and retired to the Costa del Sol, trust me.”
Petra managed a smile. “That’s a shame,” she said. “When someone shows a lack of respect for the past. For a person who was once as alive as they are.”
Michael nodded. “Another case sticks out in my mind,” he said. “About ten years ago a woman came into my shop; it was then in a suburb of Boston. You could feel the tension emanating from her, the anger. She dumped a big plastic garbage bag at my feet and said she would take whatever I could give her for the contents. Then she told me she’d only recently learned that her mother, long dead, had repeatedly cheated on her father, and now the daughter, this angry woman, was determined to get rid of every vestige of the sham that was her parents’ marriage, and that included an absolutely gorgeous peau de soie gown that had been designed specifically for her mother. Late 1950s style, lovely long sleeves coming to a V shape on the back of the hand. So elegant! I found myself trying to convince her not to be so hasty, to reconsider her decision to trash the dress and the other bits and bobs she’d stuffed into the bag, but her mind was made up. I paid her what the dress was worth to me—a considerable amount—and I’m happy to say it found a good home with a lovely young woman wanting to wear vintage for her wedding.” Michael smiled kindly. “It’s an emotional world in which we’ve chosen to work, Petra.”
“I know. And I honestly don’t know what I want to do about this dress,” Petra admitted. “I’d still have to ask my mother’s permission before I took any step.” She thanked Michael sincerely for his efforts—not only in assessing the condition of the dress—and, dress draped over her arm, made her way back to the car.
As she drove back to Lavender Lane, Petra found herself daydreaming about her own wedding, should it ever come to pass. Would Christopher Ryan, her biological father, agree to walk her down the aisle? Would she want him to; would she want any man to, in effect, hand her over like a piece of property, father to husband? Would she have asked Hugh, her dad, to escort her, knowing his rather endearing old-fashioned attitude about such things?
More important, would she come to regret her choice of husband, cheat on him, divorce him? Would he betray her by running off with his personal assistant or the next-door neighbor? Or would they live happily ever after, if such a thing were ever possible, dying within hours of each other, like those elderly couples you sometimes heard about, married sixty or even seventy years, literally unable to breath without each other?
Tears came to Petra’s eyes as she pulled into the driveway of her family home. She didn’t want to think any more about couples just then, happy or miserable. Sometimes being on one’s own was just simpler.
Sometimes, being on one’s own was enough.
Chapter 40
Elizabeth never objected to a visit from one of her children but this was not normal behavior for Cam. How was she justifying leaving her family so often? What excuse was she offering to Ralph, and how did he feel about her frequent absences from home?
“I asked Cam again what Ralph had to say about my past,” Elizabeth said softly to Petra—Cam was in the house if not with them in the kitchen—“and she told me she hadn’t spoken to him yet. When I asked why, she said something vague about his being under a lot of pressure at work and not wanting to put another burden on his shoulders. I understand her concern for her husband. Still, I find it a bit odd. Or maybe I found her manner when telling me odd. That, and the fact that she’s been spending so much time here this summer. Something feels wrong.”
Petra said, “Oh. Oh?” She turned away and began to fiddle with the apples and bananas in the fruit bowl.
Elizabeth knew when her youngest child was hiding something. Petra wasn’t by nature a liar, and, though she could keep a secret well enough (unlike Jess), it was clear that whatever secret she was keeping at the moment was troubling her.
“You know something I don’t,” Elizabeth said quietly.
Petra nodded. “But I promised Cam I wouldn’t say anything.”
“Fair enough. But if the knowledge is troubling you, you might consider sharing it with someone who—”
“Cam thinks Ralph’s having an affair,” Petra blurted, a look of relief on her face. “Or that’s he’s contemplating having one. Oh, damn. I really didn’t mean to say anything!”
Elizabeth was truly surprised. “What makes her think that Ralph would cheat on her? He’s so obviously honest!”
Petra explained Cam’s concern about Ralph’s long-ago girlfriend. “Lily’s always been a friend to Cam. Honestly, she’s not even sure Lily is aware of Ralph’s—infatuation.”
“Has Cam spoken to Ralph about this?” Elizabeth asked.
“No. I think she’s afraid of what she’ll hear.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “My timing couldn’t have been worse. Dropping the news of my affair on my children when they’re going through crises of their own.”
“Come on, Mom. There’s never a perfect time to share difficult news. Besides, how were you to know Jess’s business partner would back out? And I did promise Cam not to tell you about Ralph. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry. Don’t say anything to Cam about it, please.”
“I won’t. And if she tells me of her own accord I’ll pretend I knew nothing.” Elizabeth sighed. “So many lies and half-truths and secrets.”
“What have I missed?”
It was Cam. Her expression was open, not wary. Clearly, she didn’t suspect her mother and sister of gossiping about her.
“Nothing much,” Elizabeth said brightly. “What’s that, my wedding album?”
Cam nodded. “I hope you don’t mind. I mean, it was just there on a shelf in the den. I guess I was curious about—about Chris. I mean, my memories of him are so vague; I thought that maybe by looking at the pictures of him in here . . . I’m sorry. I’ll take it back to the den.”
“No,” Elizabeth said quickly. “It’s okay, really. Petra, are you okay with this?”
“Yes,” she said, taking a seat at the table. “Frankly, I know I’ve seen the album before, but I can’t really remember what Chris looked like. I guess I never had a reason to pay him any attention. Huh. What’s even stranger is that since I’ve known the truth, that Chris is my father, I haven’t once thought about searching for his picture.”
“Maybe seeing his image now that you know who he is to you is the final step to it all becoming real, irrevocable. Maybe you weren’t ready to do that until now.” Cam smiled. “Just an idea.”
Petra nodded. “And a good one.”
“I haven’t looked at the album since I was planning our thirtieth anniversary party,” Elizabeth admitted. “I had fun choosing photos to display at the party, pictures of Hugh and me as children, then teens, then as young parents, right up to the present.”
“But seeing these photos,” Cam said, tapping the album, “can’t have been much fun. I mean, you were celebrating thirty years with Dad and the other man with whom you’d fallen in love was right there in these pages.”
“You would think so, but I was oddly unmoved by Chris’s image,” Elizabeth explained. “By that time in my life, no doubt partly as a self-protective measure, I had put all thoughts of him out of my daily consciousness. I don’t mean that I had forgotten him and our brief time together. It’s more as if the memories had moved deep into me, gone from my mind to someplace even more interior and protected. I don’t mean that I actively repressed my memories. They just—Retreated to somewhere safe. Does any of that make sense?”
Petra nodded. “I think I understand.”
“I’m not sure I do,” Cam admitted with a small smile, finally opening the album.
On the first page, there was a classic photo of the wedding invitation styled with the bride’s bouquet. On the next page, there was a photo of the score and lyrics for “The Twelfth of Never,” the song to which Hugh and Elizabeth had first danced as husband and wife. Elizabeth couldn’t help but smile as she recalled Hugh’s comment about the song. “It makes no sense,” he had said. “How can there be a twelfth of never? Who comes up with this stuff?” She turned to the third page, and here was a portrait of the bride and groom with the maid of honor and the best man.
“They were so very different,” Cam observed quietly. “Dad and Chris. Not just physically. You can tell they were, I don’t know, opposites attracting somehow.”
Elizabeth nodded. “That’s very true,” she said.
“Chris looks so serious,” Petra observed. “Well, I guess he would. I guess he was sad.”
“But happy for me and for Hugh,” Elizabeth added firmly. “He was unselfish about the happiness of others. And I was happy that day. I won’t deny that. I was young. There I was, the center of everyone’s attention, being congratulated, kissed and hugged, and offered best wishes. Who could withstand all that good will? Anyway, I couldn’t.”
“What ever happened to your maid of honor?” Petra asked. “I don’t remember her being around when I was growing up.”
Elizabeth sighed. “Nothing stays the same, even the things you think will be stable forever. Harriet had been a good friend since grade school. There was no one else I wanted to be my witness that day. And she promised me that I’d be her maid of honor when the time came.”
“So, what happened?” Cam asked.
“Less than a year after my marrying Hugh, Harriet moved to California on a whim—at least, it seemed that way to me—and I lost track of her. We communicated for a while through letters, phone calls, but then, I honestly don’t know how or why it happened, our relationship just sort of petered out.” Elizabeth shook her head. “It’s one of my biggest regrets, not fighting for that friendship.”
Petra put her hand on her mother’s arm. “Maybe it wasn’t worth fighting for,” she suggested gently. “Maybe the friendship had simply run its course.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Elizabeth admitted. “Anyway, what’s done is done. Let’s take a look at the rest of this album.”
There were photographs of the bride and groom standing on their own outside the little stone church where they had been married, Elizabeth holding Hugh’s arm. There were photographs of the bride’s and groom’s parents and other family members, taken at the reception hall. There were photographs of the guests dancing and of them sitting around tables decorated with pretty floral centerpieces. In every photograph, people were smiling. Elizabeth wondered now if Chris had been the only person not entirely swept up in the general feeling of goodwill and hopefulness that most weddings conjure. In truth, she had paid scant attention to him that day, even though just the day before they had shared a poignant moment. She had been too wrapped up in her role as bride, the center of attention, her head turned by all the compliments on her appearance, by all the congratulations she received for having found such a strong, handsome husband, someone who would take good care of her.
“What are you thinking, Mom?” Petra asked when they had perused the entire album.
“When Hugh died,” Elizabeth said quietly, “I knew I needed to tell Chris, supposing he hadn’t already learned of Hugh’s illness and death. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it, so I asked Mrs. Shandy—she had offered to be of help to me in whatever way necessary—to contact a few people who lived at a distance, people Hugh and I hadn’t seen in a long time. Chris was one of those people. Mrs. Shandy sent each one a brief, handwritten note with information on how to make a donation to Hugh’s favorite charity, the Disabled Veterans League. Later, I got a note from the charity telling me that Chris had made a very large donation in Hugh’s memory. But Chris didn’t send a personal note of condolence to me. I never knew what to make of that.”
“But he didn’t harbor hard feelings toward Dad for having, well, for having won out I guess,” Cam said. “He wouldn’t have contributed to the DVL if he had.”
Elizabeth smiled. “It wasn’t Chris’s style to hold a grudge. I suspect he still loved his old friend, even though they hadn’t been in contact for so long. And that distance had been kept for my sake.”
“Did you ever make an attempt to contact Chris after Dad died?” Petra asked. “I mean, after some time had gone by?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I wanted to but, again, I could never bring myself to act. I recognized that my need to reach out to Chris was entirely selfish. I had to ask myself what it was I wanted from him. Consolation? A declaration of undying love? Forgiveness? All were unfair, so I conquered the need.”
“But how could you know for sure that he didn’t want to hear from you?” Petra pressed. “Maybe after Dad died Chris really hoped that you would get in touch, in spite of his not sending a note of condolence. Maybe he was just leaving the decision up to you, like he had been doing all along.”
Elizabeth simply nodded. She had thought through every possibility so many times.
“Were you afraid of what Chris might say to you?” Cam asked. “Afraid that he might refuse to see you or even to talk with you?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth admitted. “And the thought of telling him about Petra terrified me. Because of course, if I was going to contact him, I’d have to tell him about his child.”
“Did you and Dad ever go to couple’s therapy?” Petra asked suddenly.
“I never asked him to,” Elizabeth told her daughters, with a laugh. “I knew he’d say no, tell me I was nutty for thinking something was wrong between us. Then he would have bought me flowers or jewelry or chocolates, genuinely sure the gift would magically lift my spirits and cure everything that ailed me.”
“You assumed all that,” Cam noted. To Elizabeth, her tone sounded slightly accusatory.
“Yes,” Elizabeth admitted. “Because it had happened before, that pattern of appeasement, and at that point, before the affair, nothing about Hugh had changed. As his wife, I knew that for sure.”
Elizabeth was beginning to feel worn out by her daughters’ questioning. Still, she felt she owed them what truthful answers she could supply.
“Why didn’t you ever ask for a divorce?” Cam went on. “I know divorce is an ugly thing and sometimes the process is so drawn-out, but . . .”
Elizabeth put her hand to her forehead. How to explain something she didn’t fully understand herself, even after all these years?
“A divorce isn’t really what I wanted,” she began, but then shook her head. “Maybe it was. Honestly, I don’t know what I wanted, like I told Petra the other day. I was living in the moment as much as it was possible for as long as it was possible.”
“Was the affair a way of punishing Dad?” Petra asked. Her tone was not accusatory. “For his not really knowing you?”
“Absolutely not,” Elizabeth said firmly. “You can be sure I asked myself that question over and over, and the answer was and still is the same. I might have felt stifled by your father, misunderstood, but I never felt the need to punish him. He did nothing wrong. He was just being Hugh. Maybe the fault was with me, after all, for not being able to appreciate him for the good, straightforward, loving person he was. Another woman, someone unlike me, might in the long run have been a far better match for him.”
Cam put her hand over her mother’s. “I doubt Dad would say that. He was head over heels in love with you. Everyone could see that.”
Elizabeth smiled ruefully. “I know. And knowing that added terribly to the guilt. But I’m not asking for pity. I don’t want or deserve it. Like I told you, it was only after Petra was born that I realized if I was unhappy in the marriage and with my own behaviors, it was up to me to make a change. I spoke up for myself, and after a bit of a struggle, Hugh listened.” Elizabeth sighed. “I often wondered what would have happened if I’d spoken up long before that, if I had trusted myself and trusted Hugh enough to demand a change in our marriage. If I had spoken up before Chris and I were virtually thrust together, we might never have acted on our love for each other. We might never have betrayed Hugh.” Elizabeth reached out to take Petra’s hand. “But then I might never have had my third child. And that is unimaginable.”
“What-ifs can be dangerous if pursued too far,” Petra said quietly.
Cam nodded. “But tell me one person who doesn’t indulge in what-ifs.”
Elizabeth rose from the table. “How about I open a bottle of wine and put out some cheeses and the baguette I bought earlier at Chez Claudine? We could sit out in the backyard. And maybe leave the past in the past for an hour or two.”
