No. Stay out of it. It's his life; let him ruin it himself. Then again, he'd been awfully subdued recently. Maybe this was more than just prenuptial jitters. I'd never been able to figure out what he saw in Samantha. And they weren't billing and cooing much anymore. Maybe, subconsciously, he wanted out.
Monday, July 18
Among her many failings, Samantha was not only a morning person but an intolerant and inconsiderate one. At least Eileen saved most of her crises for the afternoon. And she would never have awakened me at dawn the morning after a party. All right, it was eight o'clock, but I'd been up until well past one, looking after Rob. And Mother--the traitor--let her in and insisted I get up and talk to her. I found the two brides calmly sipping tea when I stumbled downstairs to the kitchen.
"Meg," Samantha said. "See if you can locate Michael Waterston. We need to schedule a fitting for Ashley. Today if possible, and if not, first thing tomorrow."
"Ashley?" I said groggily. "I didn't know we had an Ashley." Samantha looked at me as if I were feebleminded. I counted them off on my fingers: "Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer, Kimberly, Tiffany, Heather, Melissa, and Blair. I'm right; we don't have an Ashley." I nodded triumphantly, turned to the refrigerator, and began rooting around for a diet soda to wash down my aspirin. It was already too hot for coffee.
"Heather will be unable to participate," Samantha said, in a brittle tone. "Ashley has very graciously agreed to take her place."
"That's rather inconsiderate of her," I grumbled. "Heather, I mean, not Ashley. Dropping out at the last minute like this. What happened? She was at the party last night, wasn't she?"
"Yes, I think so," Samantha said, tight-lipped. Suddenly, memory returned. Heather. Of course. The she-beast in the red dress.
"I'm sure she was," I said. "Wearing that rather tacky strapless red dress."
"Yes," Samantha said, with a thin, satisfied smile. "It was rather tacky, wasn't it?" And I very much doubt if she meant the dress. Ah, well; I hadn't really expected Rob's little encounter with the Lady in Red to go unnoticed.
"Do you think Ashley's approximately the same size as Heather?"
"Oh, yes," Samantha said, very businesslike. "Heather and Tiffany are exactly the same size, and Ashley was Tiffany's roommate in school and they always used to share all their clothes. So the dress should only need minor alterations."
I was impressed. Not eight hours after the event and Samantha had already rounded up not only a replacement bridesmaid but one in a convenient size. And I bet Ashley was a blonde, too.
"Leave it to me," I said.
Samantha gave me Ashley's number and promised me that Ashley could be down at Be-Stitched on half an hour's notice. I strode out of the kitchen, leaving the two of them chatting away. When I was out of sight, I grabbed a lawn chair and Dad's wide-brimmed gardening hat and went down to the end of the driveway, where I plunked myself down in the lawn chair with the hat over my face and fell asleep.
Actually, I only intended to sit and think until Michael and Spike came along on their usual morning walk, but the next thing I knew my shoulder was being shaken and I heard Michael's voice. "Meg! Are you all right?"
"Morning," I said, "I thought you'd be coming along soon."
"And you were lying in wait for me. I am immensely flattered. And if you'll only tell me it has absolutely nothing to do with nuptial attire, my happiness will be complete."
"Sink back into the depths of despair, then," I said, getting up and falling into step beside them. "We need to schedule a fitting for a new bridesmaid. Samantha has decided to dispose of her predecessor."
"Not another suspicious death," he said, only half joking.
"No, just a summary dismissal. I suppose it was too much to hope for that Samantha wouldn't hear about last night's escapade."
"At least it's the bridesmaid who's dismissed, not Rob. She wouldn't be casting another bridesmaid if she intended calling off the wedding."
"I'm not sure that would be a tragedy," I muttered. "And anyway, I hope he's not too hungover to do some heavy groveling today."
"Wonder what she said to Heather?"
"I'm impressed; you actually remembered her name. I have a hard time telling them all apart sober, and last night after a couple of drinks I'll be damned if I could remember which one she was."
"I have reason to," Michael said, "I had a run-in with her myself. She's as subtle as a pit bull, and about as appealing. As a matter of fact, it was because of Heather that--oh, damn!"
Spike had slipped his leash again and was running merrily toward the peacock flock in the side yard. We chased him for a while, but it was too hot.