that did not include the truth about how she and Nicholas met, nor the fact that they were not really married. Now that Nicholas, himself, did not remember this little detail, Trissa was the only one in the world who knew for sure. She intended to keep it that way.
"Hmmmph, if you ask me I'd say she was more accomplice than victim. What does Nicholas say about you going?"
"He doesn't know. He's meeting with Dr. Fitapaldi this morning. I thought I'd just go and not bother them."
"I bet he won't like it. Not one bit. Lorenzo wouldn't either, if he knew." She brushed Trissa's hair behind her ears and tried a beaded French beret. It gave her a Continental look that was interesting but inappropriate for a funeral. "At least, let me go with you."
"You know Roger needs you this morning. He's more worried than he lets on about those heart tests"
"Yes, poor Roger pretends to be brave, but underneath he's such a softy." Augusta flicked her fingers distractedly through Trissa's hair, smoothing it for the next hat. She was worried too and trying to hide it.
"Anyway, Beverly is going to drive me. I'll be all right."
"Beverly? Well, I guess she does have the experience being she's a whatchamacallit."
"Grief consultant." Trissa opened one of the boxes and discovered a broad-brimmed black straw sailor with a stiff grosgrain bow in the back. Augusta nodded enthusiastically as she lifted it out and placed it on her head.
"Perfect. I knew we'd find something." She opened her closet door wide and steered Trissa toward it. There in the full length mirror was a portrait in black that Trissa had difficulty recognizing as herself. Augusta had outfitted her in a prim, black challis dress with a crocheted ecru collar. She had lightly brushed a bit of color on Trissa's cheeks and lips to relieve the starkness of her fair skin against the black. The effect added a dewy look that drew attention to her eyes, which sparkled a deep ultramarine blue today below the brim of the hat.
In sheer black stockings and new trim pumps still shiny from Nicholas' care, Trissa turned left and right and all around to marvel at the young woman in the mirror. "Yes, I'll be quite all right. I doubt that my mother will even recognize me," she said at last.
"Ahh, shame on the mother who doesn't know her own daughter, that's what I say."
"And what about the husband who doesn't know his own wife?" asked Cole in a low, solemn voice from the doorway. "May I come in?"
"Oh, Nicholas, look at you," Augusta said. She took his hand and drew him into the room, making him turn for them so they could see all sides of his sharp, black suit and crisp white shirt.
"It's Maurice's tie," Cole said with a grin that was both pleased and boyishly bashful.
"Honey, that tie never had it so good. It will refuse to be seen around Maurice's neck again. Too much like slumming after this." Augusta adjusted the handkerchief in Cole's coat pocket slightly, then patted his shoulder and turned toward Trissa.
She stood silently by the mirror, her hands fidgeting at her sides. She didn't know what to say. Her heart was so flooded with love and worry for him that it closed her throat. She couldn't let him go with her, yet she remembered that when she first started dressing this morning, she had doubted her legs would support her without him there to bolster her.
"I overheard Beverly in the kitchen. I told her I would take her place."
"No."
"It's a husband's duty, Trissa."
"But, you have no car." It was an unsolved mystery, where Nicholas's car had disappeared to since the night he'd gone to meet her father.
"I asked Fitapaldi to drive us." He shrugged and smiled wryly. "It may start a new trend. Plan ahead to avoid emotional distress. Take along your own personal psychiatrist."
Trissa looked past Cole to see Augusta nodding. "I think it's a very good idea. Quite the best solution I've heard all morning for this sad business."
Trissa sighed her defeat. "All right. If you're sure you feel up to it." She spoke little as the plans were made. They joined Fitapaldi in the kitchen, and the two men discussed the various times they could join the funeral services -- at the funeral parlor, the church, the graveside. Trissa absently buttered the toast which was the least Augusta would allow her to eat before leaving the house. The brim