Our Bridal Shop

Chapter 22 - Charlotte

Had Rachel Lee Copeland said Charlotte's husband sprouted a third leg, big breasts, and an ethereal presence and became the lady ghost haunting Columbus, Mississippi, Charlotte would have believed her more than the words straight out of the actress's mouth.

"Nash was an absolute delight. You're one lucky woman, Charlotte."

She knew the woman had high-caliber acting skills, but this was downright Oscar-worthy. Even Freesia had the wherewithal to sit down in the bawling and stonewalling chair, her mouth wide enough to catch a fly. Truth be told, Rachel Lee Copeland had just told her to expect a call from her L.A. stylist, her publicist, "Oh! And Jon Yu—a friend of mine who has his pulse on the intersection of fashion and philanthropy around the world. Entire villages self-susstaining on the craft of empowered native women."

Charlotte was pretty sure her GPS would never find that intersection. Her brain backtracked to Nash and delight. Couldn't find that intersection either.

The bridal party, sans Julia, who was already off on her honeymoon, had gathered at Match Made in Devon to turn in their dresses. The idea had been Rachel's, born fresh on the heels of a wedding party toast of Bourbon-peach sweet tea in mason jars. Auction off the dresses that had caused a buzz on social media, proceeds to a bridal charity, publicity back to the little shop in Mississippi that had made it possible. Since no female on the planet ever wore bridesmaid dresses again, despite good intentions, it might even start a movement of giving. Charlotte had never heard of anything so blessed and bridal.

"It'll be huge," said Rachel. "You'll have so much business, you'll practically have to move in here."

Charlotte doubted Nash would be a delight after he heard that nugget.

While Alex gathered the dresses and tagged them to send to the dry cleaners, Rachel pressed Freesia for her plans.

Freesia stood, circled the armchair, toyed with the piping detail around its edge. Never had she seemed so uncertain, so hesitant of her thoughts. Her gaze connected first with Charlotte then Alex. Collectively, the May Experiment ended today. Independently, their paths were anyone's guess.

"I might stay here awhile, start a collection of bridal gowns, see what happens," said Freesia. "I want to name each one for a strong woman I've met on my travels."

"Inspired," said Julia's twin, Sierra.

Without her verbal gymnastics partner, the comment lacked zing but captured what they were thinking. They all nodded.

"And the first dress?" asked Rachel. "What will it be called?"

"Alex."

If there was hesitation in Freesia's answer, Charlotte didn't hear it. Not even a blink—except when Charlotte had to remove something from her eye that wasn't really there. She felt like Nash had parked his 250 Cummons Turbo diesel right on her vocal cords.

Alex pressed her lips together, made that frowny-face smile like she used to when Charlotte tried on every bit of her big sister's clothes, left them in a heap on the bed, then followed it with something syrupy about being the best sister in the world.That this time Alex's true smile wasn't directed at her but the woman she had once called "Daddy's bastard child" was better than a sugar-dusted confectionary from heaven's bakery.

The bridesmaids said their goodbyes and met The Silver Swarm on their way into the shop. It was a visual clash of silk faille and polyester, svelte and frump. Oh, and one cotton shirt with a sketch of the Virgin Mary with the caption Mary is My Homegirl. They carried cardboard boxes and directed the Devon High School wrestling team up the stairs with the rest—from the looks of it, at least three dozen containers of various sizes.

Charlotte took a few steps and stopped next to Freesia.

"What on earth?" asked Charlotte.

Alex joined them, arms folded, surveying the parade of brawn and bouffant.

"It was long past time to turn the second floor back to being perfectly imperfect."

Freesia said, "Does this mean...?"

"A lot of hard work to take this place beyond breaking even?" Alex said. "Yeah."

"And a red bandana knotted into a circle?" Charlotte heard the hope in her voice. The artifact represented better days when her and Nash were moving toward something, together, not in parallel lines. When delight would have been the precise word she used to describe him, precisely the zing she needed.

Alex nodded. Smiled, too. She was doing that more now. Like Mama's pair of sparkly earrings after they'd been buried in a drawer.

Charlotte felt like she'd won the Powerball. As close as she could come without ever playing. She made a big celebration of the news. Hollered, "Match Made in Devon is open for business!" Turned up the music until the voices attached to every single lady, every two-hundred-pound jock, and every last octogenarian was singing.

Whoa-uh-oh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh-oh.

Charlotte Evangeline March Strickland knew at that moment that urban legends were based on a little sliver of real life. Husbands could surprise. Half-sisters, once strangers, could stitch the first threads of friendship. Hollywood-style dreams could come true. Only one more thing would put a ring on that bitch of a fantasy.

Sprouting big breasts? She'd take that in a heartbeat.