“Well, what do you think?” Obviously pleased with her choice, Helen smiled broadly, as she stepped back so I could see the entire gown in the mirror.
I stared at my reflection and swooshed gently from side to side. Prepared to find fault, I found none. The skirt wasn’t too full, the bodice was form fitting but not tight, just enough lace, dainty detailing—I loved it. I offered one energetic pirouette in the tiny room and watched as Helen’s eyes lit up as brightly as my own.
“You like?”
“I like!” I felt giddy. Radiantly giddy. “I’m going to show the girls!”
I walked slowly down the hallway leading into the lobby. Knowing Cory and Charlotte as well as I did, their eyes would tell me what they really thought of the gown long before any verbal reaction could.
Charlotte was the first to take notice of my presence in the room. She stared intently but the slow forming smile told me what I needed to know. Cory’s attention left the window briefly as she glanced around the room, her eyes darting back to me as she did a double take.
“Holy wow, Meg! You look totally awesome.” Nodding in approval, she added, “If you didn’t already have a hubby on the line, that gown would get you one!” That was about as serious as Cory knew how to be, and I thanked her for the compliment.
Turning my attention toward Charlotte, I remained silent as she formed her opinion into words.
“Meg, I don’t know what to say. You’re… well, you’re absolutely stunning!” Reaching out, she touched the floating chiffon panels lightly and added, “You’re gorgeous and I’m jealous!”
I smiled and gave her a hug, murmuring, “Thank you.” With a hint of doubt in my voice, I asked, “This is the one, isn’t it?”
“Definitely!”
“Yeah?” Giving myself another once over in the mirror across the lobby, I confidently answered my own question. “Yeah.”
While I arranged to come back for nips and tucks, Cory and Charlotte said their goodbyes and caught a cab home. I had to pick up my grandmother in Willoughby before heading to the nursing home in Brickway. It wasn’t a nursing home really, but more of an informal institution. My Aunt Karen had been there for as long as I could remember and although I often wondered how my grandparents afforded a place such as Cherry Hall, they had raised me with enough respect to never ask.
The ride from Willoughby to Brickway took twenty minutes by cab, not nearly enough time to prepare for what awaited us. The Cherry Hall Facility was a place where financially secure people sent family members who had crossed the imaginary line between unfortunate loved one to burden. Whenever someone new would admit a family member, it was a sad but familiar scene. Tears would be shed, promises would be made and within three months, the visits would be cut in half. Within a year, half again.
“So, how did you make out today, dear? Did you finish your errands?” Gram asked.
“Yes, actually. Of course, I had to try on most of the gowns at Miz Blaine’s, but I did find one I absolutely love. I just hope Brian likes it.”
Normally, Gram would have been very interested in what I had to say, but anything I said on the way to Brickway was small talk she wouldn’t remember when she got home. Chitchat helped prepare her for the sights that saddened her at Cherry Hall.
“Did he go with you to pick it out?”
I knew her reason for asking me this question went beyond idle conversation.
“No.”
Picking imaginary lint from the sleeve of her sweater, she replied, “Well, he should have gone with you because his opinion expired the moment he forced you to choose it yourself.”
I let out an almost silent chuckle. “I know you’re right, Gram.”
Gram was no nonsense. As far back as I could remember, she called things either black or white and although people respected my grandmother for her brutal candor, honesty had a way of attracting enemies along with that respect. She was superstitious beyond reason and in her eyes; things were what they were, and only the imprudent tempted fate. She believed the wise lived in caution while the fool hearted lived in the moment.
As the cab came to a stop in front of Cherry Hall, I took one deep breathe. It was a futile attempt to prepare myself for what waited on the other side of the heavy double doors. I came each week hopeful that conditions had improved, but each week I left with tears stinging my eyes. Images of sick, lonely people and the smell of death and urine followed me home.
My heart ached for the patients. I found their emotional states tragic. They longed for visitors who never came. Some couldn’t get out of their beds. Others hadn’t a clue where they were or even who they were. That would be my Aunt Karen. Although I often thought I saw recognition flash through her eyes when I spoke, Gram assured me it couldn’t be so. She said her daughter didn’t know who she was anymore—let alone who I was.