That was when she’d felt the sting of tears.
It hadn’t helped, of course, that all of the dresses had been wrong, or that even ugly dresses were expensive these days, or that, by the end of the afternoon, she’d actually begun to think that a white sundress might be more practical. That had only brought the tears closer. But now Claire was just plain mad. Meghann would ruin this wedding; there was no doubt about it. Her sister was like an airborne virus. Ten seconds in the room with her and you began to feel sick.
“I need to get back to Ali,” Claire said, also for the fourth time.
“You will.”
Claire took a deep breath. Enough was enough. “Look, Meg, about planning my wedding. Honestly, you—”
“We’re here.” Meg tucked the silver Porsche into an empty parking spot on the street. Before Claire could respond, Meghann was out of the car and standing by the meter. “Come on.”
They were in downtown Seattle now. Her sister’s territory. Meg probably wanted to show off her hugely expensive condo.
Claire frowned. They were parked at the base of a long, slowly rising hill. Up ahead—maybe six blocks away—she could see the Public Market. Behind them, also several blocks away, was the ferry terminal. A street musician played a sad tune on a saxophone; the music floated above the traffic noises. To their left, a waterfall of concrete steps spilled down the courtyard of a condo complex. Across the street was a Diamond Parking lot, the stalls mostly empty on this non-game day.
“Do you live here?” Claire asked as she grabbed her bag and climbed out of the sports car. “I always pictured you in some sleek high-rise.”
“I invited you to my place a ton of times.”
“Twice. You invited me over once that day Mama was in town for the el creepo convention and once for Christmas dinner. You canceled the Christmas dinner because you got the flu, and Mama took us out for dinner at Canlis instead.”
Meghann looked surprised by that. “Really? I thought I was always asking you to see my place.”
“You were. You just never set up a day and time. I was always supposed to stop by when I was in town. News flash: I’m never in town.”
“You seem a little hostile today.”
“Do I? I can’t imagine why.” Claire slung her purse strap over her shoulder and fell into step beside Meghann, who was marching uphill like Patton. “We need to talk about the wedding. Your performance this morning—”
“Here,” Meghann said, stopping suddenly in front of a narrow white door flanked by windows on either side. A small iron-scrolled sign read: By Design. A man in a severe black suit was busily undressing a mannequin behind the glass. He saw Meghann and waved her in.
“What is this place?”
“You said I could plan your wedding, right?”
“Actually, that’s what I’ve been trying to discuss with you. Unfortunately, your listening skills are seriously underdeveloped.”
Meg opened the door and went inside.
Claire hesitated.
“Come on.” Meghann waited for her in front of an elevator.
Claire followed.
A second later, the elevator pinged and the doors slid open. They went in; the doors closed.
Finally, Meghann said, “I’m sorry about this morning. I know I screwed up.”
“Sleeping is one thing. Snoring is another.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Claire sighed. “It’s the story of our lives, Meg. Don’t you get tired of it? One of us is always sorry about something, but we never—”
The elevator doors opened.
Claire gasped.
Meg had to lay a hand on her shoulder and gently shove her forward. She stumbled over the off-kilter threshold and into the store.
Only it wasn’t a store. That was like calling Disneyland a carnival.
There were mannequins everywhere, poised perfectly, and dressed in the most beautiful wedding dresses Claire had ever seen. “Oh, my God,” she breathed, stepping forward. The gown in front of her was an off-the-shoulder creation, nipped at the waist. Ivory silk charmeuse fell in folds to the floor. Claire felt the fabric—softer than anything she’d ever touched—and peeked at the price tag. It read: Escada $4,200.
She let go of it suddenly and turned to Meghann. “Let’s go.” Her throat felt tight. She was a little girl again, standing in the hallway of a friend’s house, watching a family have dinner together.
Meg grabbed her wrist, wouldn’t let her go. “I want you to try on dresses here.”
“I can’t. I know you’re just being you, Meg. But this … hurts a little. I work at a campground.”