Franklin smiled. “And I, for one, have been particularly distressed because I loved you the way you were.”
Abigail emitted a derisive little laugh. “You mean stubborn, self-centered, intolerant, and pushy?”
Franklin reached up to run his hand over her perfectly smooth hair. “And stubborn.”
“I already said that!”
“Yes, but in your case it bears repeating,” he teased.
Abigail bumped him with her elbow.
“But, Abbie, you also have other qualities, good ones. You’re intelligent, generous, energetic, especially on behalf of the many good causes you champion, beautiful—”
“Oh, what do you know? Isn’t your vision about twenty/two hundred?”
“And, of course, witty. If not for you, New Bern parties would be incredibly dull. But, Abbie, this wedding has become an obsession with you. It’s not about Liza anymore, if it ever was. So,” he said quietly, “what is it about?”
“I don’t know.” Abigail paused for a moment. “Or I didn’t. Not until today.”
Abigail looked away from Franklin again, past Margot and me, and focused on Tina’s fuzzy face, directing her confession to the tolerant gaze of those understanding brown eyes.
“This morning, at Byron’s office in Manhattan, we were trying to choose accessories for Liza’s gown. The jeweler sent over a selection of diamond necklaces and chokers for her to try on. I decided, as a surprise, that rather than just rent the jewelry, I’d buy it for Liza. A sort of pre-wedding present.
“But Liza said she didn’t want it. She wants to wear some necklace that Garrett likes, one she made herself that she was wearing the night he proposed. Garrett asked her especially, but I…I’d made up my mind that she should wear diamonds. We argued. Heatedly. Liza accused me of doing this all for myself, of trying to engineer the wedding I wished I’d had but didn’t. It isn’t true. None of this has been for my own benefit, but…I’ve finally realized it wasn’t for Liza’s, either.”
Abigail turned her gaze from Tina and looked into her husband’s eyes, her composure crumpling like crushed tissue paper. “Franklin, I…I called her Susan. I called Liza Susan.”
Franklin’s face fell.
“Oh, Abbie. Abbie, come here.” He gathered her in his arms.
Abigail collapsed on his shoulder and wept.
“Abbie, darling, Susan is gone. You can’t…”
“I know,” Abigail sobbed. “I know. She’s gone. Nothing can change how I treated her when she was alive. The man I loved, loved her more than me. That’s all. It wasn’t Susan’s fault. But I was so jealous, insanely jealous!
“She was my baby sister and she was alone in the world, broke, suffering, and Liza along with her. I could have helped her, but I didn’t,” Abigail cried. “I could have forgiven her, but I didn’t. Not even when I learned she was dying. Not until it was too late to matter. I am a horrible, hateful person!”
Franklin shook his head. “Abbie, that’s not true. You may not have been able to forgive Susan until after her death, but you did forgive her eventually. Some people are never able to do that. And your forgiveness has mattered, so much. Where would Liza be without you? She was angry, bitter, and heading down a dangerous path before you came into her life.”
Abigail raised her head from Franklin’s shoulder. Her eyes were red and there was a telling smear of mascara under her lashes. “Yes, and now she’s angry and bitter again. I’ve made her that way. She hates me, Franklin. She hates me!”
Abigail’s voice dropped almost to a whisper as she tried to stem her tears. “And I don’t blame her. I didn’t…it didn’t start out like this. I love Liza as if she were my own. I love her the way I’ve never loved anyone, except Susan back when we were girls and she was as dear to me as my own heart. I took on this wedding out of a genuine desire to make Liza happy, but somewhere along the line, without realizing it, I forgot that. I started to confuse Liza and Susan, thinking that somehow, if I could just do enough or spend enough, I could make it up to Susan, to everyone. But the more I did, the more I felt the need to do more. It’s not possible, is it, Franklin? There isn’t penance enough in the world to expunge my sins.”
“Abbie, don’t. You’ve forgiven Susan. And God has forgiven you, long ago.”
“I know,” she said quietly. “I believe that. But I can’t forgive myself, Franklin. God is great, but I’m not. I don’t deserve to be forgiven.”
“Abbie.” Franklin’s voice was hoarse and full of grief, feeling Abigail’s pain as if it were his own. It was a sad scene but at the same time, beautiful.
And the two shall become one flesh.
That’s the way it’s supposed to work. Two separate and wholly imperfect beings take a chance, make a pledge, and become one in body and in spirit, rejoicing in each other’s successes, mourning each other’s losses. That’s what we all desire, someone who is so much ourselves and we them that the two halves become one, undistinguishable whole. We long to be known—physically, intellectually, emotionally, and spiritually—and to know another in return.
That is the bond every repetition of the marriage vow is supposed to create. Sometimes it does and sometimes it doesn’t. I’m guessing that among those who know her, not many would have given odds on Abigail finding true love and making a successful marriage. There were times when I’d have been among them.
But looking at her now, weeping and in despair but doing so openly, enfolded in the embrace of a man who loved her beyond logic and in spite of her flaws, it was clear that Abigail and Franklin had found what I’d almost ceased to believe existed: true and lasting love, the kind that time could not tarnish and the cares and trials of life could not dissolve.
I was happy for them but, at the same time, I was also pierced with a stab of jealousy. That surprised me. And shamed me. I’ve never begrudged Abigail anything, not her popularity, or celebrity, or wealth. But that day, for a moment, I begrudged her the love that I longed for but no longer believed was possible, not for me.
As Abigail wept in her husband’s arms and he wept with her, it was that jealousy and shame as much as the sudden sense that Margot and I were intruding on a moment of the deepest intimacy that caused me to tap Margot lightly on the knee and tip my head toward the open door.
Margot left. I followed her, closing the door softly behind me so as not to disturb Abigail and Franklin, though by that point I think they were beyond noticing.
Margot was misty-eyed as we headed toward the stairs.
“That was so beautiful. They’re so in love. I only wish…” Margot sniffled and used the back of her hand to wipe the tears from the corners of her eyes. “Oh, Evelyn. I know you’ll think I’m awful but, just now, I was jealous of Abigail. Isn’t that terrible?”
“No. Why wouldn’t you want what Abigail has? I do. We all do.”
“Do you think we’ll ever get it, a love like that?”
“Sure, you will,” I said, excluding myself from the response. “It’s just a matter of time.”
“Do you think so?”
“Absolutely.”
Margot smiled gratefully and hooked her arm through mine. We descended the stairs, intent on letting ourselves out, but met Hilda, Abigail’s housekeeper, hurrying upstairs with a frightened look in her eyes.
“Oh, Ms. Dixon! Miss Matthews! Have you seen Mr. and Mrs. Spaulding?”
“Yes. They’re upstairs, in the library, but I don’t think they want to be disturbed. Is something wrong?”
Hilda bobbed her head. “Mr. Dixon is on the phone, Mr. Garrett. He’s calling from a hospital in New York, from the emergency room. It’s Liza. She collapsed on the street and was taken away by ambulance.”
I
had my hand on the doorknob, inches from a clean getaway, but Abigail, who swears she’s getting hard of hearing but only seems to suffer from it at convenient intervals, heard my footsteps in the entryway and popped her head out of her office where she’d been poring over a seating chart for the wedding.
“Liza? Where are you off to, darling? It’s nearly time for lunch.”
“It’s all right. I’m not hungry.” Abigail looked concerned so I backtracked. “I’m not hungry right
now
. I had two waffles at breakfast. The weather is so nice that I thought I’d go for a walk. I’ll have a sandwich when I get back.”
She looked doubtful. I rolled my eyes. “Will you quit looking at me like that? I’m just not hungry right this second, all right? I’m sure I will be later, after my walk.”
Her heels tapped on the wooden floorboards as she crossed the entryway and looked into my eyes to see if I was telling the truth, which made me feel terrible because I wasn’t.
“Well…if you’re sure nothing is wrong,” she said. “If there is, you must tell me. Hold nothing back. I mean it, Liza. I’m always ready to talk. Always. Communication is so important in families….”
I groaned.
Since I was released from the hospital—a stay that lasted barely twenty-four hours and probably would have been about twenty hours shorter if Abigail hadn’t insisted that they keep me in for observation—and Abigail began seeing both Reverend Tucker to help deal with her guilt and spiritual issues and Camille Renfrew, a local therapist, to help her deal with…well, everything else, Abigail has been driving me crazy.
I’m glad all this is helping her, really I am. But just because Abigail is feeling the need to “get in touch with her feelings” doesn’t mean everybody needs to go around talking about every single thought and emotion they have every moment of every day. But you can’t tell that to Abigail.
Now that she’s personally invented interpersonal communication, she’s on a mission to win everyone on the planet, particularly me, over to her side. Personally, I prefer the old, caustic, pushy Abigail to this new sincere, sensitive, and touchy-feely Abigail. I told Franklin that, but he just laughed.
“Oh, don’t worry about it, Liza. Your aunt is a woman of extremes, always has been. She’s learning some new things about herself and how to relate to others, and that’s good. But she’ll settle down before long. Some of this newfound sensitivity will stick with her, I’m sure of it, but at the end of the day, Abigail is still Abigail. No amount of counseling is going to change that.
“Why, just last night, I walked into the bathroom and caught her with her face right up to the mirror, examining her wrinkles with a very displeased expression. When I asked her if she wanted to discuss her feelings about aging, she just glared at me and told me to mind my own damned business.”
Franklin laughed again, showing all his teeth. It was nice to see him smile again.
“Trust me, Liza, Abigail will be back to her old self before you know it.”
I hope he’s right.
“Abigail, you’ve got to quit this,” I said. “It’s really getting on my nerves. I’m fine. I’m not mad at you. I don’t resent you. I am not harboring any deep-seated emotional angst toward you or anyone else that I’m unwilling to discuss. I just want to go for a walk. When I get back, I’ll eat something. I promise.”
She smiled, finally satisfied that I’d make good on my promise.
“Liza, dear, when you get back, after you eat, I’m wondering if you’d like to take a look at the seating arrangements? That is, if you want to, if you’re not too tired. I don’t want to put any pressure on you. I just thought you’d be interested.”
“Sure. No problem.”
“Good! I’m just about finished with it, but if you don’t like something, if there’s anyone you’d like moved, then they
will
be moved. After all, this is
your
wedding, Liza. I want everything to be exactly how you want it.”
She looked at me, expectantly. For a moment, I just stood there, forgetting what my line was. Then I remembered.
“It is, Abigail. Everything is exactly as I want it now. It will be a beautiful wedding.”
Abigail beamed and then gave me a big, grateful hug. This is something else she’s learned in therapy—hugging. Frequent, sincere, extended hugging.
Dear God, let Franklin be right. Let the old Abigail come back soon.
“Do you think so, really?” she asked and then answered herself. “Me too. So close to the big day now! Isn’t it exciting!”
I told her it was and started to head out the door, but she laid her hand on my arm, delaying my exit.
“Liza, just one question. I was considering putting Judge and Mrs. Gulden at the same table with Margot and Arnie. Margot’s been seeing such a lot of Arnie these days. Who knows?” she said with a meaningful lift of her eyebrows. “The next wedding might be theirs. If it were, then it certainly wouldn’t hurt a young, up-and-coming attorney with a family to develop a good relationship with the most prominent judge in town. There’s a rumor that Harry’s being considered for a seat on the appellate court.
“On the other hand, I don’t want it to look as if Arnie were trying to curry favor. But I don’t think Harry would think that, do you? After all, I’m the one doing the seating arrangements, not Arnie. So what do you think, dear? Shall I seat Arnie and Margot with the Guldens?”
My eyes and mind glazed over about ten words into her soliloquy, but I refocused in time to say what I always say, “That’s a great idea, Abigail. Let’s go with that.”
I submitted to one more hug before I finally walked through the door and down the sidewalk toward the village on this mid-May morning, six days before my college graduation and thirteen before my wedding.
After my little trip to Columbia Presbyterian Hospital, which Abigail continues to refer to as my “collapse,” I woke to find a half dozen people at my bedside: a doctor, a nurse, Garrett, Evelyn, Franklin, and, of course, Abigail, who kept weeping and begging my forgiveness. Finally, the doctor gave Franklin a look and Franklin suggested that Abigail, and everyone else, go into the waiting room for a little while.
“That’s better,” the doctor said after they left, rubbing his chin while he perused my chart. “More oxygen in here now.”
He finished reading and then looked up at me.
“Well, Miss Burgess, as far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing seriously wrong with you. Your fiancé tells me you’ve lost a lot of weight recently, which isn’t all that unusual for brides-to-be, but you’ve got to knock it off, all right? No more dieting.”
I nodded compliantly. I hadn’t been dieting, but why did he need to know that? It really wasn’t any of his business, and if agreeing with him would get me out of there, then I was determined to be the most agreeable patient he’d ever met.
I picked up the can of liquid dietary whatever it was, the stuff that tastes like a chocolate chalk milkshake, and took a big drink. It almost gagged me but I got it down. The doctor smiled.
“Lack of food was what made you faint, but you also had a racing heart, sweating, overwhelming feelings of fear, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“All of which points to an anxiety attack, another ailment not so uncommon among brides-to-be. You’re the third one I’ve seen this week. April is a big month for anxious brides, though the peak comes in May, right before all the June weddings. You’re a little ahead of the curve.”
He pulled a pad of paper out of his pocket and started scribbling on it.
“This is a prescription for an anti-anxiety medication. Take it until after the wedding. I don’t think you’ll need it after that. You seem like a pretty smart, together person,” he said.
This was a big assumption, given that he’d only just met me and we’d only exchanged a dozen words, but I wasn’t about to disagree.
“I think this will do the trick, but if you’d like, I can get somebody from the psych department to come down here and talk to you. Or I could give you a referral to an outpatient therapist?”
“No, that’s okay. I think I’ve been a little too keyed up about the wedding.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He tore the prescription off the pad and clipped it to my chart. “If your aunt wasn’t quite so…”
“Influential?” I offered.
Knowing Abigail and the size of the donations her foundation made to just about every hospital on the eastern seaboard, I was pretty sure this doctor had already received a call from his hospital administrator informing him who I was and giving him instructions to make sure my influential aunt was very, very satisfied with my care.
“Yeah. Influential. If she wasn’t, I’d let you go right now. But she’s pretty insistent that I keep you here for a day. It’s not such a bad place to spend a day. Rest, watch a little TV, and tomorrow, you’ll be on your way. Just one word of warning: Stay away from the meat loaf. It makes the stuff they served in your high school cafeteria look like filet mignon.” He winked.
“Will do, Doc.”
He scratched his ear and hung the chart back on the end of my bed. “If you really want my advice, the best prescription I could give you would be an elopement, but somehow”—he glanced over his shoulder to the door Abigail had just exited through—“I get the feeling that isn’t an option.”
I shook my head. “Too late. If we eloped now, Abigail would be the one who’d need anti-anxiety drugs.”
“Actually,” the doctor said, tipping his head to one side, “that might not be such a bad idea. Just don’t tell her I said so.”
“Your secret is safe with me.” I picked up the can of chocolate chalk and took another drink. The doctor winked again and waved as he walked out the door.
“See you, Liza.”
“See you, Doc.”
But I never did.