and groom depart. Event end, eleven.” Parker checked her watch again. “Let’s get it done. Emma and Laurel need to change. Everyone remember their headsets.”
Parker’s phone vibrated, and she glanced at the readout. “MOB. Again. Fourth call this morning.”
“Have fun with that,” Mac said and escaped.
She scouted room by room, staying out of the way of Emma and her crew as they swarmed over the house with flowers, ribbons, voile. She took shots of Laurel’s cake, Emma’s arrangements, framed others in her head.
It was a routine she never allowed to become routine. She knew once it became rote, she’d miss shots, opportunities, bog down on fresh angles and ideas. And whenever she felt herself dulling, she thought of a blue butterfly landing on a dandelion.
The air smelled of roses and lilies and rang with voices and footfalls. Light streamed through the tall windows in lovely beams and shafts, and glittered on the gold and silver ribbons.
“Headset, Mac!” Parker rushed down the main staircase. “The bride’s arriving.”
As Parker hurried down to meet the bride, Mac jogged up. She swung out on the front terrace, ignoring the cold as the white limo sailed down the drive. As it eased to a stop she shifted her angle, set, and waited.
Maid of honor, mother of the bride. “Move, move, just a little,” she muttered. Alison stepped out. The bride wore jeans, Uggs, a battered suede jacket and a bright red scarf. Mac zoomed in, changed stops. “Hey! Alison!”
The bride looked up. Surprise turned to amused delight, and to Mac’s pleasure, Alison threw up both arms, tossed back her head, and laughed.
And there, Mac thought as she caught the moment, was the beginning of the journey.
Within ten minutes, the Bride’s Suite—once Parker’s own bedroom—bustled with people and confusion. Two hairdressers plied their tools and talents, curling, straightening, styling, while others wielded paints and pots.
Utterly female, Mac thought as she moved through the room unobtrusively, the scents, the motions, the sounds. The bride remained the focus—no nerves on this one, Mac determined. Alison was confident, beaming, and currently chattering like a magpie.
The MOB, however, was a different story.
“But you have such beautiful hair! Don’t you think you should leave it down? At least some of it. Maybe—”
“An updo suits the headdress better. Relax, Mom.”
“It’s too warm in here. I think it’s too warm in here. And Mandy should take a quick nap. She’s going to act up, I just know it.”
“She’ll be fine.” Alison glanced toward the flower girl.
“I really think—”
“Ladies!” Parker wheeled in a cart of champagne, with a pretty fruit and cheese tray. “The men are on their way. Alison, your hair’s gorgeous. Absolutely regal.” She poured a flute, offered it to the bride.
“I really don’t think she should drink before the ceremony. She barely ate today, and—”
“Oh, Mrs. McFearson, I’m so glad you’re dressed and ready. You look fabulous. If I could just steal you for a few minutes? I’d love for you to take a look at the Drawing Room before the ceremony. We want to make sure it’s perfect, don’t we? I’ll have her back in no time.” Parker pushed champagne into the MOB’s hand, and steered her out of the room.
Alison said, “Whew!” and laughed.
For the next hour, Mac split herself between the bride’s and groom’s suites. Between perfume and tulle, cuff links and cummerbunds. She eased back into the bride’s domain, circled around the attendants as they dressed and helped one another dress. And found Alison alone, standing in front of her wedding dress.
It was all there, Mac thought as she quietly framed the shot. The wonder, the joy—with just that tiny tug of sorrow. She snapped the image as Alison reached out to brush her fingers over the sparkle of the bodice.
Decisive moment, Mac knew, when everything the woman felt reflected on her face.
Then it passed, and Alison glanced over.
“I didn’t expect to feel this way. I’m so happy. I’m so in love with Rod, so ready to marry him. But there’s this little clutch right here.” She rubbed her fingers just above her heart. “It’s not nerves.”
“Sadness. Just a touch. One phase of your life ends today. You’re allowed to be sad to say good-bye. I know what you need. Wait here.”
A moment later, Mac led Alison’s grandmother over. And once again stepped back.
Youth and age, she thought. Beginnings and endings, connections and constancy. And, love.
She snapped the embrace, but that wasn’t it. She snapped the glitter of tears, and still, no. Then Alison lowered her forehead