For our little girl, it’s worth every cent.
I wrote her the check back in the spring.”
I stood holding the jackets.
I had paid for the lace and worked eleven months for free.
Diane had taken twelve thousand dollars from her husband for the dress.
I couldn’t expose Chloe to more trouble, so I said, “That’s wonderful, Paul,” and returned to my shop.
I sat at my machine for a long time.
I hadn’t expected payment.
What hurt was that Diane had turned a gift into a lie and used that lie to make herself look generous.
The June wedding was held at an old country club, with white roses on every table.
Chloe walked down the aisle on Paul’s arm.
The dress moved like water, and Sam began crying as soon as he saw her.
I cried, too.
Whatever Diane had done, that moment belonged to Chloe and Sam.
I was glad I had made something she would remember.
After the ceremony, I found table 19.
The kitchen door bumped my chair whenever a waiter passed.
Paul’s uncle patted my hand and shouted, “Nice wedding!”
I smiled.
Then came the toasts.
Diane stood in her silver gown, thanked the florist and the band, and spoke about what a beautiful day it was.
A woman at the next table called out.
“Diane, you have to tell us about that dress.
I’ve been in bridal fashion for thirty years, and I’ve never seen handwork like that.
Who made it?”
She was Mrs.
Laurent, a bridal magazine editor and friend of one of Paul’s business partners.
Diane brightened and repeated her Paris story.
Then she looked at me and gave that tiny warning shake again.
I took a sip of water and stayed quiet.
Chloe had heard every word.
She set down her glass, looked at her mother, then across the ballroom toward table 19.
She stood up in her wedding dress and walked to the microphone.
Diane handed it to her with a pleased smile, apparently expecting to be thanked.
Chloe turned toward Mrs.