but that seemed silly. Sarah knew what she was looking for.
Sarah answered her phone, perky as ever, and for a second Martha considered hanging up. But then she thought better of it.
“Hi, it’s Martha Coffey.”
“Martha! How are you? I’m so glad to hear from you.”
Martha smiled before she could help it. She told Sarah that she was ready to start looking again.
“I’m so glad to hear that,” she said.
“Things are really busy now,” Martha said. “I have a new job, and I’m the maid of honor in my cousin’s wedding. And there’s just a lot of stuff going on with my family at the moment.”
Sarah didn’t ask about specifics, and Martha figured she didn’t want to pry. They made a date for the next weekend.
“I’m really looking forward to it,” Sarah said.
“Me too.”
MARTHA WAS BEYOND EXCITED FOR Cathy’s wedding. Every day, she called or e-mailed Cathy with an idea for the bridesmaid dresses or the ceremony. Cathy told her that she was thinking simple—an outdoor ceremony somewhere.
“Just because it’s simple doesn’t mean it can’t be lovely,” Martha said. She didn’t want her cousin to get married in a campground somewhere with Porta-Potties and hot dogs.
Martha talked about the wedding often at home. She figured the more that she talked about it, the better. She didn’t want Claire to feel awkward about it, to feel strange discussing someone else’s wedding when hers was canceled. Martha thought the more they discussed it, the easier it would be.
Cathy wanted to do it soon. “We’re thinking April,” she said.
“April? That’s not enough time,” Martha said. She was already panicked.
“I think you’re imagining the wedding a little differently than we are,” Cathy said. She said it gently, as though she knew she’d be letting Martha down if she admitted this.
“Different how?”
“We just want it a little more casual than your typical wedding. You know, just a fun party but nothing crazy.”
“Well, okay. Have you thought about what you want the bridesmaids to wear?”
“You can wear whatever you want.”
“You mean, like all wear a black dress or something?” Martha hated this new trend where brides let the bridesmaids pick their own black dresses. If it was your one day to tell people what to wear, wouldn’t you take advantage of that?
“No, it doesn’t even have to be black. Just wear a dress that makes you happy.”
“Makes me happy?” Ever since the engagement, Cathy had talked a lot about letting yourself be happy. Martha figured it was a good sign, but it was still a little annoying.
“Yeah. Just wear something you feel good in. It’s just going to be you, Claire, and my friend Carol anyway. You’ll all look great.”
“Um, okay. Hey, how about this? Why don’t I look into getting the dresses from J.Crew? They have cute bridesmaid dresses, I promise. And I can probably still get my discount, because I’m really good friends with the manager there now. I’ll just get Carol’s measurements and we’ll be all set.”
“I guess that would be okay,” Cathy said. “Whatever you guys want.”
Martha was relieved. She could at least do this for her cousin, who was apparently under the impression that weddings were the same as potluck picnics.
“I’ll pick out something really pretty,” she promised.
“Whatever you want,” Cathy said.
ON WEDNESDAY, MARTHA GOT HOME from the Cranstons’ and found a package waiting for her. “Bets sent something for you,” Weezy said. “I’m not sure what it is.”
Martha tore into the package. It wasn’t even her birthday. What could Bets have sent? Maybe some sort of congratulations present for the new job? Inside was a little statue of a saint and a note. Martha read Bets’s letter a few times, trying to understand.
“What is it?” Weezy asked.
“It’s a statue of Saint Jude. She says to bury him in my closet and that it will help a husband find me. She said that a few of her friends have seen it work for their grandchildren.”
“Oh lord.” Weezy closed her eyes. “Your grandmother is a real piece of work.”
“I thought Saint Jude was the cancer saint. No?” Claire asked.
“There’s no such thing as a cancer saint,” Martha said. “The note said he was the saint of lost causes.”
“Is she kidding?” Claire said. “How rude is that?”
“She’s probably just trying to be helpful,” Martha said. Bets was old, and Martha figured she no longer knew what was insulting and what wasn’t.
“Honestly, girls. Your grandmother doesn’t know what she’s doing or saying half the time.”
“She probably thought it was a nice thing to send,” Claire