once again came up empty, which was really annoying because it wasn't as if I wanted some over-the-top wedding dress with lace and flowers and seed-pearl embroidery. I'd had that the first time I got married, and didn't want to go through the experience again.
"I know!" Mom suddenly said, her face lighting up with inspiration. "Sally can make the gown, and this way you'll know it'll fit perfectly. Sketch the design you want, and we can go tomorrow to find the fabric."
"Call Sally first," I suggested, "to make certain she can do it."
Sally had her own troubles right now, what with Jazz being mad because she tried to hit him with her car, and her being mad because he ruined her bedroom by having it redecorated behind her back. They were living apart, after being married for thirty-five years, and they were both miserable. I
was excited by the possibility that she could make the gown, though, because that was the perfect solution. Sally was a whiz with a sewing machine; she'd made Tammy's prom gowns, which had looked gorgeous.
Mom called Sally right then. Sally said of course she could do it, then Mom passed the phone to me and I described the gown I wanted to Sally, who, bless her, said it would be simple to make. It was a simple design, no frou-frou to it at all. The way I envisioned it, the magic would be in the flow of the fabric and the way it fit, and Wyatt wouldn't be able to think of anything except getting me alone and out of the gown.
I was so relieved I could barely stand it. I still had to find the perfect fabric, but finding fabric is much easier than finding the perfect ready-made gown. If I'd been prepared to settle for something that merely looked good I wouldn't have been so worried, but I'm not the best in the world at "settling." Sometimes I have to, but I don't like it.
Over lunch we told Dad and Wyatt how Sally was saving the day. "She needs something to get her mind off Jazz, too," Mom said.
Wyatt's gaze met mine and I saw his expression. It isn't that he doesn't get Mom's and my position on the matter, which is that Jazz deserved being hit with a car for what he did, because I've explained it to him; it's that his cop instincts are outraged. He looks at Sally trying to ram Jazz with her car as attempted murder, even though Jazz jumped out of the way and wasn't hurt, and he thinks Jazz should have reported the incident to the police and pressed charges against her. Sometimes I think his sense of right and wrong is a little warped by all those criminal justice classes he took in college.
He didn't say anything, but I knew he wasn't happy about Sally making my dress; I also knew he'd have plenty to say when we were alone, but he wasn't going to start an argument in front of my parents, especially when it was about Mom's best friend. The glint in his eyes, though, told me we'd be discussing it plenty when we were alone.
I didn't mind. I was in an unassailable position. No matter what decision was made about any part of our wedding, it was All His Fault, because his deadline was what had precipitated the rush. I just love unassailable positions—so long as I'm the one occupying them.
He barely waited until I was buckled into the seat of the Avalanche before he attacked. "Can't you find someone else to make your wedding dress?"
"There isn't enough time," I said sweetly.
He saw right away where that was going, and detoured. "She tried to kill her husband."
I gave a wave of my hand. "I don't see the connection between that and making my dress. And I've told you: she didn't try to kill him, she just wanted to maim him a little."
He shot me an unreadable glance. "Two days ago I watched a videotape of someone trying to hit you with a car. Don't talk to me about 'maiming a little.' A car is deadly. She was going so fast she couldn't stop before she hit the house. If Jazz hadn't jumped out of the way, he'd have been pinned between the car and the house. Do I have to find scene photographs to show you the
"I know!" Mom suddenly said, her face lighting up with inspiration. "Sally can make the gown, and this way you'll know it'll fit perfectly. Sketch the design you want, and we can go tomorrow to find the fabric."
"Call Sally first," I suggested, "to make certain she can do it."
Sally had her own troubles right now, what with Jazz being mad because she tried to hit him with her car, and her being mad because he ruined her bedroom by having it redecorated behind her back. They were living apart, after being married for thirty-five years, and they were both miserable. I
was excited by the possibility that she could make the gown, though, because that was the perfect solution. Sally was a whiz with a sewing machine; she'd made Tammy's prom gowns, which had looked gorgeous.
Mom called Sally right then. Sally said of course she could do it, then Mom passed the phone to me and I described the gown I wanted to Sally, who, bless her, said it would be simple to make. It was a simple design, no frou-frou to it at all. The way I envisioned it, the magic would be in the flow of the fabric and the way it fit, and Wyatt wouldn't be able to think of anything except getting me alone and out of the gown.
I was so relieved I could barely stand it. I still had to find the perfect fabric, but finding fabric is much easier than finding the perfect ready-made gown. If I'd been prepared to settle for something that merely looked good I wouldn't have been so worried, but I'm not the best in the world at "settling." Sometimes I have to, but I don't like it.
Over lunch we told Dad and Wyatt how Sally was saving the day. "She needs something to get her mind off Jazz, too," Mom said.
Wyatt's gaze met mine and I saw his expression. It isn't that he doesn't get Mom's and my position on the matter, which is that Jazz deserved being hit with a car for what he did, because I've explained it to him; it's that his cop instincts are outraged. He looks at Sally trying to ram Jazz with her car as attempted murder, even though Jazz jumped out of the way and wasn't hurt, and he thinks Jazz should have reported the incident to the police and pressed charges against her. Sometimes I think his sense of right and wrong is a little warped by all those criminal justice classes he took in college.
He didn't say anything, but I knew he wasn't happy about Sally making my dress; I also knew he'd have plenty to say when we were alone, but he wasn't going to start an argument in front of my parents, especially when it was about Mom's best friend. The glint in his eyes, though, told me we'd be discussing it plenty when we were alone.
I didn't mind. I was in an unassailable position. No matter what decision was made about any part of our wedding, it was All His Fault, because his deadline was what had precipitated the rush. I just love unassailable positions—so long as I'm the one occupying them.
He barely waited until I was buckled into the seat of the Avalanche before he attacked. "Can't you find someone else to make your wedding dress?"
"There isn't enough time," I said sweetly.
He saw right away where that was going, and detoured. "She tried to kill her husband."
I gave a wave of my hand. "I don't see the connection between that and making my dress. And I've told you: she didn't try to kill him, she just wanted to maim him a little."
He shot me an unreadable glance. "Two days ago I watched a videotape of someone trying to hit you with a car. Don't talk to me about 'maiming a little.' A car is deadly. She was going so fast she couldn't stop before she hit the house. If Jazz hadn't jumped out of the way, he'd have been pinned between the car and the house. Do I have to find scene photographs to show you the
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