The Hollow Page 0,112

ask what made you leave I Do and New York, open here?"

"Oh, Julie and I talked about it endlessly over the years. We've been friends since our college days. She found this place, called me and said, 'Nat, this is it.' She was right. I thought she was crazy. I thought I was crazy, but she was right." Natalie angled her head. "Do you know what it's like when you find the customer exactly what she wants- exactly what's right. The look on her face, the tone in her voice?"

"Yes, I do."

"Triple it when it's your own place. Should I take you to the dressing room?"

"Yes, thanks."

There was tea in delicate china cups in a spacious room with a tall triple mirror and chairs with needlepoint cushions. Paper-thin cookies waited on a silver tray while blush pink lilies and white roses scented the air.

Layla sat, sipped, while Quinn worked her way through the selections.

"It doesn't suck." Cybil pursed her lips as Quinn turned in front of the mirror. "But it's too fussy for you. Too much..." She circled her hand. "Poof," she decided.

"I like the beadwork. It's all sparkly."

"No," was all Layla said, and Quinn sighed.

"Next."

"Better," Cybil decided. "And I'm not just saying that because it's the one I picked out. But if we're considering this the most important dress of your life, it's still not ringing the bell. I think it's too dignified-not quite enough fun."

"But I look so elegant." Quinn turned, her eyes shining as she watched herself in the triple glass. "Almost, I don't know, regal. Layla?"

"You can carry it with your height and build, and the lines are classic. No."

"But-" Quinn blew out a breath that vibrated her lips.

After two more tries and rejections, Quinn took a tea break in her bra and panties. "Maybe we should elope. We could go to Vegas, have an Elvis impersonator marry us. That could be fun."

"Your mother would kill you," Cybil reminded her as she broke one of the delicate cookies in two and offered Quinn half. "So would Frannie," she added, referring to Cal's mother.

"Maybe I'm just not built for the gown kind of thing. Maybe a cocktail dress is a better idea. We don't have to go so formal and fussy," she said as she set down the tea and picked another gown at random. "This skirt is probably going to make my ass look ten feet square." Her glance at Layla was apologetic. "Sorry, this one's your pick."

"It's your pick that counts. It's ruching-called a pickup skirt," Layla explained.

"Or we could just go for completely casual, a backyard wedding and reception. All this is just trappings." She spoke to Cybil as Layla helped her into the dress. "I love Cal. I want to marry Cal. I want the day to be a celebration of that, of what we are to each other, and to what the six of us have accomplished. I want it to symbolize our commitment, and our happiness, with a kick-ass party. I mean, for God's sake, with all we've faced, and are going to face, one stupid dress doesn't mean a thing."

As Layla stepped back, she turned around. "Oh my God." Breathless, she stared at herself. The heart-shaped bodice of the strapless gown showed off strong, toned shoulders and arms, and glittered with a sprinkle of cut-glass beads. The skirt fell from a trim waist in soft ruches of taffeta accented with pearls.

With her fingertips, Quinn touched the skirt very lightly "Cyb?"

"Well, God." Cybil knuckled a tear away. "I didn't expect to react this way. Jesus, Q, it's perfect. You're perfect."

"Please tell me it doesn't make my ass look ten feet square. Lie if you must."

"Your ass looks great. Damn, I need a tissue."

"Remember everything I just said about the dress and the trappings not being important? Now forget I said any of that. Layla." Quinn closed her eyes, crossed her fingers. "What do you think?"

"I don't have to tell you. You know it's yours."

SPRING BROUGHT COLOR TO THE HOLLOW WITH greening willows reflected in the pond at the park, with the redbuds and wild dogwoods blooming in the woods, along the roadsides. The days lengthened and warmed in a teasing preview of the summer to come.

With spring, porches gleamed with fresh paint and gardens shot out a riot of blooms. Lawnmowers hummed and buzzed until the smell of freshly cut grass sweetened the air. Kids played baseball, and men cleaned their barbecue grills.

And with spring, the dreams came harder.

Fox woke in