Gail Bowen - The Glass Coffin

By the time Gaia Powell, the photographer, arrived, we had our masks in place. Inwardly, the members of Jill’s wedding party might be racked by panic, uncertainty, fury, jealousy, hatred, or terror, but outwardly we were picture perfect. Gaia, a lanky young woman in overalls, gave us the once over and announced that this shoot was going to be a breeze. Jill was clearly not a Bridezilla who obsessed about every detail, and we had a seriously edgy look going for us.

It was the year of the strapless dress, and Jill’s was an exquisite, classic cream satin that brought out the warmth of her skin and the highlights in her sleeked-back auburn hair. The blood had left a faint pink stain on the camellias, but Rapti had tucked the flowers behind Jill’s ear so skilfully that the imperfect petals were hidden. The dresses for Jill’s attendants were black, Bryn’s choice. I’d been dubious about a colour I’d always associated with funerals, but the gowns were stunning. Bryn’s and mine were strapless sheaths with matching stoles lined in cream; Taylor’s dress had a simple cream top and a full black satin skirt. Urban chic.

For the first ten minutes, Gaia praised the practised ease with which we moved in and out of our poses, but when Tracy Lowell came through the front door, our poise shattered. Bryn and Taylor were oblivious, but the rest of us suddenly became as tentative as people who had been blindfolded and told to walk over a floor littered with razor blades.

From the outset, Tracy’s behaviour was bizarre. She was wearing an outfit that could only be described as bridal: a simple white silk shift, matching pumps, pearls, and, in case anyone had missed the intent, a white-lace mantilla draped artfully over her dark hair. Claudia took one look at her sister-in-law and growled, “What the hell are you doing? Get back to the hotel and change. I mean it.”

Tracy dimpled innocently. “I thought I’d bring the happy couple luck by wearing something old.”

“You must be insane,” Claudia said.

I tried to lower the emotional thermostat. “It’s a lovely dress,” I said, “but the mantilla might be prettier draped around your shoulders.”

Claudia glared at me. “She could drape it around her ass, and she’d still be wearing the dress Annie wore when she married Evan.”

My heart sank. Tracy must be crazy. I shot a quick glance at Jill to see her reaction. Predictably, she had rushed to Bryn, who was standing in front of the pier glass between the long windows in the hall, wholly absorbed in her mirror image.

“I’m sure Tracy would change if you asked her to,” Jill said gently.

“It’s just a dress,” Bryn said tonelessly to her reflection. Her gaze shifted to her aunt. “But, Tracy, I wish you’d let me have those pearls. I like having things that belong to people. Not just material things – secrets too.”

Without hesitation, Tracy undid the clasp of her necklace and handed the pearls to her niece.

Bryn held the necklace against her throat. “Perfect,” she said. Jill moved behind her stepdaughter-to-be and fastened the pearls. As she checked the mirror to make sure that the effect was indeed perfect, Jill’s hands dropped to Bryn’s shoulders. The gesture was one of such unaffected tenderness that Gaia Powell was beaming as she snapped the shot. Mother Love.

I turned away. I’d spent a lifetime watching Jill squander her emotional capital. Now she was turning her life inside out for a girl who didn’t give a rat’s ass for her. Suddenly, I was sick of the whole thing. The hours before the ceremony were now down to single digits. My fantasy that Gabe Leventhal was going to rescue the situation was looking more and more like the plotline for a B movie. In all likelihood, the cold light of day had brought Gabe fresh perspective and he’d decided he didn’t want any part of the wedding or of me and hit the road.

When Gaia called me over to join Jill for the traditional photos of the bride and her matron of honour, my legs were leaden. As I smoothed an indiscernible wrinkle in one of the panels that formed Jill’s sculptured bodice, I tried a smile.

Gaia shook her curls impatiently. “Come on, Joanne, your friend is getting married, not drawn and quartered.”

I took another crack at it, but Gaia’s grimace made it clear I was still short of the mark. “AA’ s got a great expression,” she said. “ ‘Fake it until you make it.’ How about a nice fake smile, Joanne?”

Jill raised her hand in a halt gesture. “Maybe just give us a moment, Gaia,” she said. “Why don’t you get some pictures of the kids with the dog?”

“You’re paying the bill,” Gaia said, and she wandered off with her camera.

As soon as we were alone, Jill turned to me. “Jo, I need you to help me get through this. I know this isn’t a great romance. I even know that Bryn has certain…,” she averted her eyes, “certain gaps in her emotional makeup. But you’re the one who told me that in every relationship there has to be a gardener and a flower. I’m prepared to be the gardener here. Bryn hasn’t had an easy life. She deserves a chance to be hopeful and young.”

“All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy,” I said.

“Then let me help Bryn,” Jill said. She slid her arms around me, and a flash exploded.

Gaia cheered. “That’s the shot I was going for,” she said. “Only three more Very Special Moments, and we’re out of here.”

We drove to the gallery under a dark and threatening sky. As we passed through the familiar streets, I stared out the window, feeling thoroughly miserable. Jill didn’t seem to be doing much better. Surrounded by the soft folds of her dark green hood, her face appeared pale and tense. “Hey,” I said, “remember ‘Fake it until you make it’?”

“Easier said than done,” Jill said, continuing to stare straight ahead.

Tracy had insisted that Bryn ride with her and Claudia. In Bryn’s absence, Angus reverted to his usual raucous self, and he was amusing his sister by devising a series of inventive and excruciating tortures for Danny Jacobs. It was hard not to be drawn into their fun, but Jill’s smile was remote, like that of someone suffering from an illness. I patted her hand and turned away, relieved the drive to the gallery was a short one.

Felix Schiff was waiting for us under the portico. He was holding an umbrella, and as soon as he spotted our limo, he sprinted towards us. When the limo driver opened the passenger door, Felix positioned the umbrella carefully. “I thought this might keep the snow off your hair,” he said.

“You’re a good soul,” Jill said.

Felix’s expression was wistful. “Maybe once upon a time,” he said. Then he offered Jill his hand. “Time to go,” he said.

Dizzy with the adventure of it all, Taylor raced ahead into the building and Angus plodded after her. I stayed in the limo, wondering and delaying the inevitable. When Felix came back for me, I motioned him inside. He closed the umbrella, slid in, and crouched on one of the jump seats.

“Is there a problem?” he asked.

“I think there may be,” I said. “Have you heard from Gabe?”

Felix gazed out the window of the limo. “Why would he call me?”

“Because you two go way back. Gabe and I watched the ending of Black Spikes and Slow Waves together last night. I saw you in your flaming youth.”

“That particular time in my life is nothing to joke about,” Felix said stiffly.

“Then fill me in,” I said. “Felix, you’re the only person I trust who has a link to Gabe. This just doesn’t make sense. According to Evan, Gabe has bowed out of the wedding because he’s a hypochondriac. He’s supposed to be so fearful that he flew home to New York to be with his doctor, yet last night he was the poster boy for living with gusto: smoking cigars, enjoying his wine, making plans for the future. You saw him. Do you believe he panicked and left town because he had a flutter?”