The Words We Whisper by Mary Ellen Taylor

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

ZARA

Richmond, Virginia

Monday, June 7, 8:45 a.m.

Gina popped in for a half hour in the morning, sipping tea, chatting, and leaving Zara to feed and bathe Nonna. After Amanda arrived, Zara took her dogs for a long morning walk and then geared herself up for the early-morning attic expedition.

“Your grandmother is glad to have you here,” Amanda said as she unloaded the dishwasher.

Zara raised her coffee cup to her lips as she stared toward the attic stairs. “How can you tell?”

“She’s been in such a good mood.”

“This is a good mood?” Zara asked.

“She’s been really fretful the last few weeks. I’ve asked her over and over what’s bothering her, but she won’t say. She’s barely come out of her room. But you’re here, and she’s her normal feisty self.”

“Do you think she’s been worried about her latest medical report?” Zara asked.

“Could be. But she’s not been fretful about dying since your granddaddy passed.”

“Maybe she’ll tell me.”

“I hope so. I like your grandmother a lot. She’s always been good to me, and I want to see her happy.”

“Well, if I’m going to keep her happy, I need to get into that attic. That junk isn’t going to clear itself out.”

Zara drank the last of her coffee and climbed up the stairs to the attic. This third layer took her past her own childhood, to the days when her mother was younger. Of her two parents, Zara favored her father’s appearance the most. They both shared dark curly hair and an olive skin tone. Gina favored her mother and, like Nonna, had blonde curls and pale skin.

She found boxes of clothes that had belonged to Nonna. Each box was carefully marked by the year, and when she peeked inside, she saw that the clothes were wrapped in tissue.

It took seven trips up and down the attic stairs to retrieve boxes that she set in the garage. In the attic, she found a white box that was meticulously labeled: Anna Mitchell’s wedding dress, 1991.

Her mother had been twenty-two when she had married her father, who had been in his midforties. He had been the dedicated heart surgeon, and she had been the new young administrative assistant. It was a classic tale. Older man, younger woman. Zara had been born eight months after the wedding. Her mother had never claimed the dress after the ceremony, which likely hinted of a marriage that had begun failing almost immediately. Richard and Anna Mitchell had been married only five years.

As Nonna told it, Richard had seen Zara’s mother as a pleasant distraction, a bright light in a world of green scrubs, masks, and gloves. However, as much as he’d loved the frivolity Anna had brought to his life, his true love had been his work.

Zara carried the dress to the garage. Curious about the garment she had never seen, she quickly washed her hands and returned to the box with a pair of scissors. Carefully, she unsealed the yellowing tape and pried open the cardboard.

Inside, there was a thick layer of tissue, which she carefully peeled like the petals of a flower. When she reached the soft satin dress slightly yellowed by time, she lifted it and held it up to the light.

Nonna had designed and made the dress in the 1950s glam style of Ava Gardner and Sophia Loren. As Zara studied the dozens of covered buttons that ran up the bodice and the lace-trimmed neckline designed to skim across the chest and shoulders, she could not imagine her mother wearing this. The woman she remembered had worn primarily pink and baby blue, her hair always blown out, curled, and smelling of jasmine shampoo.

Nonna’s bell rang, and Zara quickly tucked the dress in the box and carried it with her. Nonna was sitting in her bed, her legs swung over the side. “Do you not hear well? Should we call a doctor and have your ears checked?”

“I hear fine,” Zara said. “But you could exercise a bit more patience.” She set the box down and helped her stand and settle her hands on the walker.

“At my age, patience is a luxury I cannot afford.”

Many of her clients joked about the ticking clock that grew louder and louder each day. She never took the jests at face value but understood it was their way of venting their fears and perhaps trying to convince themselves that they were not worried.

After Nonna’s morning bath routine was complete, Zara helped her into a loose-fitting light-blue dress that skimmed her calves. She unraveled her thin white hair.

Nonna regarded the image looking back in the mirror. “Where is Gina? She knows how to do my hair properly.”

“She was here early this morning. Drank coffee and promised to return. Apparently, she’s preparing for the summer clearance sale at the shop. But I called your hairdresser, and Delores will be here at three.”

“My normal time is nine. And Nicolas is coming at eleven. I can’t have him see me like this.”

“We’re basically homebound now, Delores is working you in, and I’ll do your hair.”

Nonna shook her head. “Can Gina do it?”

“She’s not here.”

“Then I will make the best of it.”

Zara shifted the conversation. “I found several boxes of old dresses in the attic and Mom’s wedding dress. I know Gina would love to have them.”

“They should all be in perfect condition.”

“They are.”

Nonna regarded Zara for a long moment, as if, again, she had slipped into the past. “Is she still seeing Jeff?”

“Yeah. What is his story?” Zara brushed out Nonna’s thinning white hair until it was smooth.

“He’s much like your father. He has given his heart to his work and sees your sister as a pleasant distraction.”

“How can you tell by looking at him?”

“Some men are consumed by a hunger no one else can fulfill. This desire is what fuels their soul and gives them a reason to breathe. The woman is merely an object to bed.”

“But it wasn’t like that with you and Papa, was it?”

“He was a very loyal man. He put his own needs aside for family. But he was very driven.”

“You never really explained how you met Papa.”

“It was a long time ago.” She looked in the mirror past herself to the white box. “I hoped for your father’s sake that he had found someone to love. Anna was pleasant enough, whereas Gina’s mother, Brenda, was more demanding. I rather liked Brenda and was sad when she passed.”

“Were you sad when my mother died?”

“She was young, and it’s always a tragedy when the young die. And I was sad for you.”

“You didn’t like her.”

“I hoped having you would help her grow up. But it did not.”

“If I close my eyes, I can imagine my mother’s perfume and how soft her skin was.”

“She wore an Italian perfume on the day she married your father. They had a lovely garden wedding here at the house. Last minute, of course. The gown was a dress I’d already made, and I quickly tailored it for Anna’s body.”

“Did you know Mom was pregnant with me?”

“No.”

“You didn’t question the quick wedding?”

“Your father was impulsive.” Nonna nodded to her dressing table. “There, the vial with the dove on top. Get it for me.”

Zara picked up the bottle and removed the stopper. Inhaling deeply, she closed her eyes and was immediately transported to a sunny afternoon when she was in her mother’s lap, sitting in a rocking chair. “I can almost see her.” Tears tightened her throat. “Most days I can’t remember what she looked like.”

“You have pictures.”

“A few, but for some reason they never really captured her. But this scent does.”

“Keep it.”

“Why do you have it?”

“I was the one who introduced your mother to the perfume. I stopped wearing it when your grandfather died.”

“This bottle is fairly new.”

“I still buy it from time to time. Scents help me remember the better days.”

“Mama never seemed settled or content. Neither did Daddy.”

“Ultimately, they were not a good match. I hoped for the best, but Gina, even at eleven, saw their problems from the start. I assumed it was because she didn’t want such a young stepmother. She bet your papa they’d be split in a year. He did not take the bet.”

“Gina is so much like Daddy in temperament,” Zara said.

“Yes, they’re two peas in the pod.”

“In a pod.”

Nonna shrugged. “It’s a ridiculous saying anyway.”

“You and Papa were so steady. Were you ever young and silly?”

“Very much so. But I grew up when your father was born.”

“You’re being unusually forthcoming.”

“I’m trying to fill in all the blanks. It’s not always easy to speak of the past.” Nonna fingered the lace detailing on the dress. “The hours I put into this gown. The dreams I had for your mother and father. Perhaps it was a bad omen that I altered another woman’s dress for her. A more independent woman might have handled your father better, but he wasn’t attracted to reasonable women.”

“I’m reasonable to a fault. It makes me boring.”

“It makes you strong. It makes you the person no one has to worry about because they know you’ll be fine. I’ve found there are few people who are as steady as you and your grandfather.”

Zara stared at her grandmother. “Is that a compliment?”

Nonna sniffed. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Zara smiled. “What would you like me to do with the dress? I can wrap it up.”

“You can keep it.”

“I don’t see me wearing a dress like this if I ever get married.”

“You make it sound like you won’t get married.”

“I move around so much.”

“Then stop moving. There are plenty of patients in Richmond.”

She fingered the satin fabric and then let it slip through her fingers. “Tell Gina to sell it in her shop.”

“You want to sell it?”

“Perhaps the next bride will find the joy and hope woven into it. How much time did you put into altering this?”

“Fifty hours, if you include the added beadwork.” She spoke as if she regretted the lost hours.

“Okay, I’ll repackage it for Gina. Maybe she’ll wear it one day.”

Nonna’s face grew sullen. “No, I would rather you girls not wear the dress.”

“Why not?”

Nonna raised her brow. “As you said, it’s not your style, and Gina would want a different dress.”

“What is my style?”

Nonna arched a brow. “At the moment I would say hobo.”

“No, seriously. What should I wear? Do you see me in a dress like this?”

“No.” She reclined and regarded me. “I see you in simple lines. Perhaps a halter top and an A-line skirt. No veil. But flowers in your hair.”

“That might work.” Zara laughed. “I never inherited the fashion gene from you or Dad.”

“There is still hope for you. Though it’ll take work.”

“What should the dogs wear at my wedding?” Zara teased.

“Tuxes for the boys, and pink ribbons for the little girl.”

“Seriously?”

“They’re your family, and you’ll want your family with you.”

“What will you or Gina wear to my wedding?”

Nonna dropped her gaze and fussed with the folds of her gown. “Isn’t Mr. Bernard coming by today? Didn’t you say something about taking a shower and putting on lipstick?”

“I’m not so sure he’s coming,” Zara said.

“Why would he not? He strikes me as a man who keeps his word.”

“He’s also a very polite man. He was being kind.”

“I don’t agree. That is why you must bring me my coffee and take a shower. Then Delores will do your hair properly when she arrives, but for now do the best you can.”

Zara ran her fingers through her hair. “It’s thick and coarse, and I’ve never been able to do much with it. I blame my Italian heritage.”

Nonna shrugged. “Would you rather be balding like me?”

Zara leaned forward and kissed Nonna on her cheek. “I think you’re beautiful.”

The old woman took Zara’s face in her hands, staring into her eyes. “Whenever I look at you, so many memories are stirred.”

“What kind of memories?”

“The old days. In Rome. When I was young.”

“What memories?”

“Keep digging in the attic, Zara. You might find some.”

Thirty minutes later Zara was trying to arrange Nonna’s hair. She never could fix it to Nonna’s satisfaction, but finally the older woman pushed her hands away and demanded her coffee. Zara, for all her fashion faults, could make a great cup of coffee, and even the old woman could not resist a nod of approval as she sipped from a porcelain cup.

“It’s a bit weak, though,” Nonna said.

“You don’t need a rush of caffeine. It’s bad for your heart.”

“Before I go to my grave, I’ll have one more proper cup of espresso.”

“Let’s hope that’s a long time.”

“We must make a pact right now. No more talk of the future. I find it irritating. Today is busy enough.”

“Could we talk more about the past?”

She raised the rose-rimmed cup to her lips and paused. “Take your shower, wash your hair, and please shave your legs.”

Zara glanced at the bristle on her knees. “It’s been a few days.”

Nonna raised her hand. “A few days too many.”

“I’ve been pretty busy here.”

“That is no excuse. Clean yourself properly and then return to me, and we will find you a lipstick.”