SISTERS & HUSBANDS

by Connie Briscoe

Chapter 1

One Month Earlier

Exactly four more weeks before her wedding day

and Beverly couldn’t believe how calm she felt. She stepped onto

the carpeted platform at Vanessa’s Bridal Boutique on a balmy

Saturday afternoon in early June and was startled at what she

saw staring back from the three-way mirror—a svelte but healthylooking

woman, thanks to recent workouts at the gym, appearing

fabulous in a strapless beaded ivory-colored satin gown.

The dress was feminine but not frilly—she couldn’t stand

frilliness—and youthful but not too young—she was, after all,

going to be a thirty-nine-year-old bride. It was a staggering transformation

from her usual self, dressed casually in blue jeans or

shorts, or a simple skirt and top for the offi ce at the newspaper

where she worked. At this moment, she was the picture of elegant

serenity.

The same couldn’t be said for her mother, standing just below,

arms folded rigidly across her gray linen suit jacket, eyes narrowed

tightly as she scrutinized every movement of the seamstress.

Mama looked perturbed enough for all three of them, and

she could be quite intimidating when she got in that state. It was

a wonder the seamstress hadn’t swallowed the pins dangling from

her lips.

“Shouldn’t it be a little higher off the ground?” Mama asked

testily.

The seamstress, a petite Latina named Isabella who looked

to be in her late twenties, paused, stood up, and removed the

straight pins from her mouth. It was a small fi tting room at the

rear of the Baltimore bridal boutique, with just enough space for

the platform and three-way mirror, a couch, a coffee table piled

high with back issues of Brides magazine, and a rack of coralcolored

bridesmaid gowns. The air was fi lled with lint from fabrics

of all kinds—silk, satin, brocade, lace—and aligned along

one wall were a half-dozen pairs of well-worn white heels in various

sizes and heights.

“A lot of brides prefer their gowns just touching the ground,”

Isabella said with a slight accent and studied patience. “For a

more graceful look.” She shrugged. “But I can make it long or

short, whatever you wish.”

“I like it like this,” Beverly said fi rmly. “It’s perfect.”

Mama touched her chin thoughtfully. “Are you sure? I worry

that the hemline will get dirty.”

“It’s not like I’ll be running down the street in the dress, Ma.”

“Hmm. Go ahead, then, if that’s what you want.”

Isabella stuck the pins in her mouth and got back down to

business.

“I still can’t believe you’re standing here for your fi rst fi tting only

a month before your wedding day,” Mama said for the third time

that afternoon. “When your sisters got married they had—”

“Ma, please. We’re not having a gigantic over-the-top affair

like they did. It’s just family and close friends. Now why

don’t you sit down and relax?” She and Julian had agreed that

they didn’t want one of those three-hundred-guest gazilliondollar

extravaganzas that left everyone in debt for years to come.

Instead, they would go for something more intimate, with around

a hundred people.

“I’m fi ne.” Mama smacked her lips, glanced at her watch,

peeked behind the curtain toward the entrance to the bridal

shop, and whipped her cell phone out of her purse practically all

at once, which told Beverly she was not fi ne. Not even close.

“Who are you calling, Ma?”

“Your sisters,” Mama said, dialing anxiously. “They’re already

fi fteen minutes late. I want to make sure everyone gets here for

their fi tting before I leave to go see the fl orist about the fl owers for

decorating the reception area.”

As if on cue, Beverly heard the front door of the boutique

squeak open, and a few seconds later, her oldest sister rushed

into the fi tting room looking slim and chic in a buttery yellow

pantsuit and a pair of cute black patent-leather sandals. Beverly

always found it hard to believe that Evelyn was forty-seven

years old. People often thought that Evelyn was younger than

their middle sister, Charmaine, who had just turned forty-fi ve.

Of course, being asked if she was the oldest always thoroughly

pissed Charmaine off.

Beverly suspected that Evelyn’s youthful looks had to do with

the way she always managed to seem so calm and collected, so

sure of herself. Beverly liked to joke that a tornado could strike,

tossing and turning everything and everyone in its path, and

when it was over, Evelyn would be standing with her neat pixie

haircut and little designer suit perfectly in place. Even now, as

Evelyn darted into the fi tting room, she looked totally put together,

as if she were about to take a front-row seat near the runway

at a fashion show in New York or Paris.

“Sorry to be so late,” Evelyn said. “Traffi c was backed up coming

into Baltimore like you wouldn’t believe.” Evelyn eyed Beverly,

placed her hands on her hips, and smiled broadly. “You look absolutely

stunning in that dress, girl. It’s gorgeous.”

Beverly smiled. “Thanks.”

“Designer?”

“Uh, no name that you would recognize, Evelyn.”

Evelyn cocked her head to the side. “Isn’t it a little too long?”

Beverly threw her hands in the air.

“That’s what I told her,” Mama said as she paced the fl oor and

dialed another number on her cell phone.

The seamstress paused again, looking bewildered.

“Just ignore them and continue, please,” Beverly said to Isabella.

“The length is fi ne,” she said with pointed fi nality to everyone

else.

“If you say so,” Evelyn said, looking doubtful. “Don’t mind me,

then. Who are you calling, Ma?”

“Charmaine,” Mama said as she put the phone to her ear.

“Oh, I meant to tell you,” Evelyn said as she placed her Fendi

handbag on the coffee table. “Charmaine called just before I left

the house. She’s running late because Valerie called crying and

carrying on.”

“Uh-oh,” Mama said. She snapped her cell phone shut.

“What happened?” Beverly asked.

“Valerie and Otis had a big blowup last night, and now Valerie’s

too upset to come here today. She wants to be fi tted another time.”

Mama sighed loudly.

“That sounds serious,” Beverly said, frowning. “Wonder why

she didn’t call me.” Valerie was Beverly’s somewhat kooky, motormouth,

astrology-loving best friend, and they told each other just

about everything.

“She probably didn’t want to upset you by talking about having

a big fi ght with her fi ancé on the day you’re being fi tted for

your wedding dress,” Mama said. “She’s trying to be a good friend

to you.”

And she might also be embarrassed, Beverly thought. Valerie

was forty-one years old and had been itching to get married again

ever since her fi rst marriage right after high school fi zzled within

two years. She and Valerie had both recently gotten engaged at

about the same time and had originally planned a double wedding.

Then about a week ago, Valerie changed her mind about

them getting married together, saying she thought the whole idea

was too corny for a couple of mature brides.

Beverly had suspected that Valerie was actually worried that

Beverly would call off her wedding at the last minute. Valerie’s

decision not to have a double wedding had disappointed Beverly

at fi rst, but she got over it. How could she argue? She had broken

off no less than two previous engagements—one about fi ve

years ago, the other a year before she met Julian. So Beverly and

Valerie decided that Beverly would get married at the end of June,

and Valerie would walk down the aisle a few weeks later. Now

it looked as if Valerie’s wedding might be the one called off, and

Valerie was too ashamed to tell her.

“I agree with Ma,” Evelyn said. “She’s trying to be considerate

of you.”

Beverly nodded with understanding. “She’s probably crushed.

I’ll have to call her as soon as we’re done here.”

“Girls, my heart goes out to Valerie,” Mama said. “But I don’t

think this is the time or the place to dwell on that. This is Beverly’s

moment. We should think happy, positive thoughts. And you

need to get into your dress, Evelyn. It’s up there on the rack.”

The seamstress paused and stood to help Evelyn pick her gown

out from among the three coral satin bridesmaid gowns hanging

on a rack.

“Ma is so jittery,” Beverly said to Evelyn. “I think she’s afraid

I’ll chicken out.”

“Can you blame her?” Evelyn asked, folding her dress over her

arm. “You have commitment issues.”

Beverly’s hands fl ew to her waist indignantly. “I don’t need you

to tell me that.”

 “Anyone who’s thirty-nine years old and never been married

has commitment issues,” Evelyn said. “You’re as bad as Julia

Roberts in Runaway Bride.”

“Did you hear me?” Beverly asked. “I’m agreeing with you. At

least I’m doing something about it. I’m committing for real this

time. And I need to remind you, I never waited until days or

hours before the wedding to call it off.”

“No, only two weeks,” Evelyn said sarcastically, just before

ducking behind the curtain leading into the dressing room.

“The last one was eleven days before,” Mama added.

Beverly smiled guiltily. “That’s better than going through with

it if I’m not sure.”

Mama nodded. “I agree. It’s still nerve-racking. Not to mention

expensive. Be glad you have such a loving father.”

Now that made Beverly feel bad. Both times she had backed

out before, her parents lost a couple of thousand nonrefundable

dollars that they had put down on the reception hall. Beverly

had offered to reimburse them, but her father refused to take

her money, saying he’d rather lose a few bucks than have his

daughter marry the wrong man. Still, her folks were in their

mid-seventies and living on retirement plans. They didn’t need

a confused daughter wasting their money. “Sorry about that,

Ma, but you don’t have to worry this time. Julian’s a keeper.”

“It’s not Julian I’m worried about,” Mama said, giving Beverly a

pointed look. “I can see how much he loves you.”

“I’m defi nitely not going to change my mind this time. I think

I fi nally got it right. No, I know I did.”

“I sure hope so,” Mama said.

Isabella stepped back. “All done. What do you think? Everything

okay?”

Beverly twirled around slowly as her mother looked on

proudly.

“It’s beautiful,” Mama said.

 “I’m defi nitely feeling this,” Beverly said as she admired the

dress. “You do outstanding work, Isabella.”

“So how many more fi ttings today?” Isabella asked as Beverly

stepped down from the podium.

“We have her two sisters for the bridesmaid dresses,” Mama explained.

“Evelyn just went into the dressing room, and Charmaine

is on her way. Unfortunately the matron of honor won’t be coming.

We’ll have to reschedule her.”

Evelyn exited the dressing room in her bridesmaid gown and

stepped up onto the podium as Beverly went in to change. Beverly

walked out a few minutes later in jeans and a blue-and-whitestriped

top just as Charmaine parted the curtains and blew into

the fi tting room wearing a black form-hugging skirt slit up to the

thigh.

Beverly always thought of Charmaine as a force of nature. One

didn’t just see Charmaine or hear her talk. You felt her, breathed

her, experienced her. Beverly suspected that today would be

no exception as Charmaine placed her hands on her hips and

struck a pose in the entryway, à la Dorothy Dandridge or Marilyn

Monroe.

“I’m here, ladies!”