The Last Night in London by Karen White (reading list .TXT) 📕

down the steps, and ran most of the way back to my father’s house while the sky hung heavy above me with the threat of inclement weather.

—

Knoxie made a beautiful bride. She wore the same wedding gown that our grandmother and Aunt Cassie had worn, but not our own mama—she’d eloped. Part of the family history, all stored in that one dress of ivory satin and Belgian lace, and as I looked at the glowing bride and groom, I took it as a harbinger of a long and fruitful marriage.

I stood next to my sister as she said her vows and felt Colin’s eyes on me in all of my purple taffeta and lime green nail polish splendor. I wondered if he could still love me with that image now permanently emblazoned on his brain.

For the reception, the wedding party drove to the old bowling alley in the funeral home limousine—the only one available for rent in Walton. Aunt Cassie declared it too much of a squeeze for everyone, including all the girls with their crinolines and heavy coats, and invited Colin and me to sit in the backseat of Sam’s double-cab pickup truck.

It seemed as if Cassie and Sam were putting Colin through his paces, and when he managed to climb into the truck without grunting or asking where to put his feet, I imagined them giving each other a mental high five.

Aunt Cassie sat in the middle of the front bench seat so Sam could put his right arm around her shoulders while he drove with his left hand, and it seemed only natural that Colin would do the same in the backseat. I tried to remain unaware of his arm and his hand and the whole side of his body during the short ride, but by the time we reached the parking lot, my head had found its way onto his shoulder, and my nose might even have been pressed close to the side of his neck. On the radio, Hank Williams Junior crooned about a tear in his beer, and Colin was actually tapping his fingers in rhythm against my arm.

Without warning, Aunt Cassie turned her head to look into the backseat. “Don’t forget, you have your appointment with Dr. Grey next week. Although you’ve been home for months and you could have gone way before now.”

I sat straight up. “Seriously? Do we need to talk about that now?”

“I just didn’t want you to forget. I’ve also been meaning to tell you that my business partner and I have been talking about expanding the agency and taking it overseas. We already have clients in Ireland and England, and we’re thinking of opening up an office in London. ‘Atlanta, New York, London’ looks good on business cards, don’t you think?”

“I’m not . . .”

“That way, if you’d like a more permanent home base, you’d have a job that gives you the freedom to freelance when you want and more regular hours when you don’t. It would be nice, don’t you think? And then you and Colin . . .”

I hit the “down” button on my window so that cold air rushed in, drowning her words.

As Colin helped me out of the truck—not an easy thing to do with someone in voluminous taffeta and dyed-to-match heels—Sam looked up at the sky. “I think it might—”

“Don’t say it,” Cassie and I said in unison.

During the reception, Colin and I seemed to be circling each other like boxers in a ring, not sure when to engage. He appeared relaxed and happy, chatting with everyone, including the circle of admirers who followed him like he was some kind of a rock star. I even saw him sign autographs on cocktail napkins for some of the younger girls. I had to look away, afraid that if my heart kept doing that swelling thing, I’d have to be rushed to the hospital in the snow. Which wasn’t going to fall, anyway, so I should stop worrying.

I busied myself with my maid-of-honor duties, which consisted mostly of making sure Knoxie didn’t need anything and that she didn’t put her chair leg on the skirt of the wedding dress each time she sat down. When she told me to stop fussing, I threatened to release some choice photographs from when she was a teenager if she so much as pulled a thread on Grandma’s wedding gown.

It saddened me that some of the familiar faces from my childhood weren’t there, including Principal Purdy, whose porch I’d painted pink all those years ago, and Senator Thompkins, who’d always delighted the children at community gatherings with his inside-out eyelid trick. And sweet Miss Lena, who’d love to read the juicy bits of her favorite romance novels out loud to anyone who cared to listen. Or didn’t. Her house was now occupied by the new principal of Walton High School and her family, and I missed seeing Miss Lena waving from her front porch as I walked by.

The Sedgewick twins, Selma and Thelma, were there in their outrageous hats, albeit now with walkers and a young, handsome caregiver who strongly resembled Ryan Reynolds. No coincidence, I was sure. Their backs might have been bent, but there was apparently nothing wrong with their eyesight.

The DJ was good, the music mostly danceable, and a rotating disco ball above the converted dance space added a festive flair, but I kept myself busy avoiding eye contact with Colin. He never seemed at a loss for dance partners, so I didn’t have to feel guilty. After the cake cutting, while I was distributing hefty slices of the vanilla cream confection, Aunt Cassie took the plate I was holding, gave it to my old math teacher, Mrs. Crandall, then took my arm and pulled me aside. She kept walking until she’d pushed open a door and dragged me inside what had once been the bowling alley’s shoe room. Rows of shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, shoe sizes still stamped beneath the empty spaces.

“What are you doing, Maddie?”

“I was trying