brandished a pair of scissors, and Tommy glanced at the open drawer. Scissors, packaging tape, some plain envelopes, an assortment of screwdrivers, and a hammer.
“Maybe let me open it?” he suggested. “In case we need the paper or something?”
She frowned, her features sagging with disappointment for a brief moment, then said, “Why not? You’re already treating my home like a crime scene. Although,” her smile returned, “given my almost criminal lack of taste in decor, guess I really can’t complain.”
“You don’t like it?”
“No. Too modern, stiff. No personality. And those pictures on the walls? Yuck.”
Another knock came on the door. Sarah went to open it, returning with TK, who was holding a sheaf of papers.
“Occupation: freelance photographer,” TK read as she walked through the living room. “Employer: self. Hmm, guess that doesn’t help us much.” She glanced around the room and grimaced at the decor. “Apartment: pre-furnished.”
“Thank goodness,” Sarah said. “I was beginning to doubt that I possessed any taste whatsoever.” She pressed against TK, looking over her shoulder. “Does it mention next of kin? An emergency contact?”
TK rifled through the pages. “No. Sorry. It’s blank. And the only reference was your previous landlord—same Altoona address as your old driver’s license.” She handed Sarah the papers and looked past her to where Tommy stood at the table with the package. “What’s that?”
“It was waiting at the mailboxes.” Sarah dropped the rental papers onto the couch. “We were just getting ready to open it.”
“Why isn’t there a postage mark or delivery label?” TK examined the package from every angle. She shook it. Frowned. “This is weird.”
“Trust me,” Sarah said, reaching for the scissors again. “You don’t know weird. Not until you wake up one morning staring at a stranger in the mirror. It’s addressed to me and I’m opening it.” Tommy opened his mouth to protest, and she added, “Carefully.”
With precise movements she slit the tape without cutting the paper, allowing the wrapping to unfold, revealing a white box. She raised the lid. A card fluttered out, past Sarah’s hands. She gasped.
Tommy and TK stared at what lay inside. A wedding gown, carefully folded amid billowing pink tissue paper.
“It’s beautiful,” Sarah said, dropping the lid to reach a hand to the white silk, but pulling back before she could actually touch it. “Is it for me?” She turned to stare at Tommy and TK in turn. “I’m getting married?”
Chapter 11
TK STARED IN horror as Sarah’s expression crashed and burned, morphing from wonder and delight to despair. Thankfully, Tommy was standing right beside her, so when she crumpled, tears streaming, hands clutching at air, he caught her. He helped her over to the couch. She fell, sobbing into his arms.
“I’m getting married? I don’t even know who I am. I can’t remember who he is,” Sarah blubbered. “Someone out there loves me and I can’t, I can’t—”
TK felt bad for Sarah, but was glad to be out of range of the waterworks. Crying wasn’t going to help them complete their objective. She spotted the small white card that had flown free when Sarah unwrapped the dress. She crouched down, retrieved it from beneath the table, and without asking permission, despite the fact that the front said “Sarah” in plain block handwriting, she opened it.
An unforgettable dress for an unforgettable woman.
I’ll be with you. Soon.
Then we’ll be together. Forever.
No signature, just a cloying XOXO. Ugh. TK couldn’t decide if the author was hopelessly sentimental, trying too hard, or controlling and coercive. After all, why would a husband-to-be send the bride her dress? Wasn’t that the one thing the bride got to splurge on and decide for herself?
She pulled the dress out, searching for any labels that might trace it back to its origins.
“Maybe let me open it?” he suggested. “In case we need the paper or something?”
She frowned, her features sagging with disappointment for a brief moment, then said, “Why not? You’re already treating my home like a crime scene. Although,” her smile returned, “given my almost criminal lack of taste in decor, guess I really can’t complain.”
“You don’t like it?”
“No. Too modern, stiff. No personality. And those pictures on the walls? Yuck.”
Another knock came on the door. Sarah went to open it, returning with TK, who was holding a sheaf of papers.
“Occupation: freelance photographer,” TK read as she walked through the living room. “Employer: self. Hmm, guess that doesn’t help us much.” She glanced around the room and grimaced at the decor. “Apartment: pre-furnished.”
“Thank goodness,” Sarah said. “I was beginning to doubt that I possessed any taste whatsoever.” She pressed against TK, looking over her shoulder. “Does it mention next of kin? An emergency contact?”
TK rifled through the pages. “No. Sorry. It’s blank. And the only reference was your previous landlord—same Altoona address as your old driver’s license.” She handed Sarah the papers and looked past her to where Tommy stood at the table with the package. “What’s that?”
“It was waiting at the mailboxes.” Sarah dropped the rental papers onto the couch. “We were just getting ready to open it.”
“Why isn’t there a postage mark or delivery label?” TK examined the package from every angle. She shook it. Frowned. “This is weird.”
“Trust me,” Sarah said, reaching for the scissors again. “You don’t know weird. Not until you wake up one morning staring at a stranger in the mirror. It’s addressed to me and I’m opening it.” Tommy opened his mouth to protest, and she added, “Carefully.”
With precise movements she slit the tape without cutting the paper, allowing the wrapping to unfold, revealing a white box. She raised the lid. A card fluttered out, past Sarah’s hands. She gasped.
Tommy and TK stared at what lay inside. A wedding gown, carefully folded amid billowing pink tissue paper.
“It’s beautiful,” Sarah said, dropping the lid to reach a hand to the white silk, but pulling back before she could actually touch it. “Is it for me?” She turned to stare at Tommy and TK in turn. “I’m getting married?”
Chapter 11
TK STARED IN horror as Sarah’s expression crashed and burned, morphing from wonder and delight to despair. Thankfully, Tommy was standing right beside her, so when she crumpled, tears streaming, hands clutching at air, he caught her. He helped her over to the couch. She fell, sobbing into his arms.
“I’m getting married? I don’t even know who I am. I can’t remember who he is,” Sarah blubbered. “Someone out there loves me and I can’t, I can’t—”
TK felt bad for Sarah, but was glad to be out of range of the waterworks. Crying wasn’t going to help them complete their objective. She spotted the small white card that had flown free when Sarah unwrapped the dress. She crouched down, retrieved it from beneath the table, and without asking permission, despite the fact that the front said “Sarah” in plain block handwriting, she opened it.
An unforgettable dress for an unforgettable woman.
I’ll be with you. Soon.
Then we’ll be together. Forever.
No signature, just a cloying XOXO. Ugh. TK couldn’t decide if the author was hopelessly sentimental, trying too hard, or controlling and coercive. After all, why would a husband-to-be send the bride her dress? Wasn’t that the one thing the bride got to splurge on and decide for herself?
She pulled the dress out, searching for any labels that might trace it back to its origins.
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