Shelland Conall has always believed herself to be ordinary, and she's never had reason to suspect otherwise. Not until an enigmatic stranger seems to show up at every corner, and he's claiming to be the one that saved her life. Thing is, Shelland do...
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CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
"So I couldn't find my old prom dress," Moms says, bursting into my room with a pile of shiny material in her hands. "But, I did find this."
I pull the hairbrush out of my wet hair, a panic blooming in my gut as she drops the satin train and hold the dress up by each thin strap.
"Mom," I start to say, unsure of exactly what I'm feeling, "I can't wear your dress."
She holds it up a little higher, letting the light catch on the shimmery satin. The material is soft, blush tone, cut with a V-shaped neckline. To add a feminine, almost bohemian touch, the empire waist is lined with a delicate lace detail and again along the shoulder part of the strap—I think my mom once called this a flutter-sleeve. The dress is simple, but absolutely stunning in every sense of the word.
I reach out, fingers brushing along the crème lace sleeve.
It will reveal your wound, the invisible woman whispers inside my head. Reflexively, I pull away. My arm begins to sting as I drop it to my side, now hyperaware of lack of coverage a sleeveless dress would have.
"Oh, honey, it'll be fine. It's not like I'm ever going to wear it again." She smiles, but it no way does it meet with her eyes. The sadness that shows instead twists my heart.
"Mom, I can't wear your old wedding dress to a school dance," I say. I don't mean to make her sad, but the words just come out. I try to soften the unintended blow, adding, "I mean, don't you think everyone will know it isn't a prom dress?"
Mom falters for a few seconds. "I think it will be fine. It's homemade, so it's not as if it looks like it was purchased at a bridal shop. Just wear your hair down and it will tone it down."
My heart pangs in my chest. This dress has been sitting in her closet for over eighteen years. Part of me yearns for the day that she admits she is still in love with Dad. I mean, how can she actually move on without acknowledging that he still has such a stronghold on her heart?
"If you don't want to wear it, that's fine. I just don't have anything else outside of an old cocktail dress and a few questionable Halloween costumes."
I laugh. "Yes, that's perfect! I'll go to winter prom as Carrie! Mrs. Hatfield will sure love denying me entry for that."
Mom scoffs. "Oh, that woman is just too bored for her own good. She's always been more interested in what other people have in their gardens that she forgets to prune her own."
"Thanks, Mom." I put on a smile. I'm still apprehensive about wearing it—not entirely because of the history weaved into its delicate train—but I accept the dress anyway and make my way to the closet. She stays in the doorway, watching as I pull a hanger out, slip the sleeves over the edges, and hook the dress over the top of my closet door.
