Shakespeares Christmas Page 0,8

they wouldn't want me to.

"She'll have to come to the rehearsal, right?"

My mother and my sister looked anxiously at each other.

"We think she will," Varena said. "But Dill can't seem to tell me what that woman will do."

Dill (Dillard) Kingery's mother was still in Dill's hometown, which I thought was Pine Bluff.

"How long have you been dating Dill?" I asked.

"Seven years," Varena said, smiling brightly. This, too, was obviously a question that had been asked many times since Varena and Dill had announced their engagement.

"Dill is older than you?"

"Yeah, he's even older than you," my sister said.

Some things never change.

We heard my father's yell from the front door. "One a you come help me with this damn thing?" he bellowed.

I got there first.

My father, who is stocky and short and bald as an eight ball, had hauled the long table out of the bed of his pickup to the front door and definitely needed help getting it up the steps.

"Hey, pigeon," he said, his smile radiant.

I figured that would fade soon enough, so I hugged him while I could. Then I lifted the front of the table, which he'd propped against the iron railing that bordered the steps up to the front door.

"You sure that's not too heavy for you?" Dad fussed. He had always had the delusion that the attack I'd endured somehow had made me weak internally, that I was now frail in some invisible manner. The fact that I could bench-press 120 pounds, sometimes more, had no influence on this delusion.

"I'm fine," I said.

He picked up the rear of the table, which was the kind with metal legs that fold underneath for easy carrying. With a little maneuvering, we got it up the steps and into the living room. While I held the table on its side, he pulled out the metal legs and locked them into place. We swung the table upright. The whole time he worried out loud about me doing too much, straining myself.

I began to get that tight, hot feeling behind my eyes.

My mother appeared in the nick of time with yet another spotless white tablecloth. Without speaking she shook it out. I took the loose end, and together we spread it evenly over the table. My father talked the whole time, about the number of wedding presents Varena and Dill had gotten, about the number of wedding invitations they'd sent, about the acceptances they'd received, about the reception ...

I eyed him covertly while we transferred some of the crowded presents to the new table. Dad didn't look good. His face seemed redder than it should have been, his legs seemed to be giving him pain, and his hands shook a little. I knew he'd been diagnosed with high blood pressure and arthritis.

There was an awkward pause, once we'd gotten our little task accomplished.

"Ride over to my apartment with me and see the dress," Varena offered.

"OK."

We got in Varena's car for the short drive over to her apartment, which was a small yellow cottage to the side of a big old yellow house where Emory and Meredith Osborn lived with their little girl and a new baby, Varena explained.

"When the Osborns bought this house from old Mrs. Smitherton - she had to go into Dogwood Manor, did I tell you? - I was worried they'd raise the rent, but they didn't. I like them both, not that I see them that much. The little girl is cute, always got a bow in her hair. She plays with Anna sometimes. Meredith keeps Anna and the O'Sheas' little girl after school, now and then."

I thought I remembered that the O'Sheas were the Presbyterian minister and his wife. They'd come after I'd begun living in Shakespeare.

Varena was chattering away, as if she could hardly wait to fill me in on all the details of her life. Or as if she were uncomfortable with me.

We pulled into the driveway and passed the larger house to park in front of Varena's place. It was a copy of the house in miniature, done in pale yellow siding with dark green shutters and white trim.

A little girl was playing the yard, a thin child with long brown hair. Sure enough, a perky red-and-green bow was clipped right above her bangs. On this cold day, she was wearing a sweatsuit topped by a coat and earmuffs, but still she looked chilly. She waved as Varena got out of her car.

"Hey, Miss Varena," she called politely. She held a ball in her