dawn

Chapter 12

I dragged myself into bed and collapsed there, hoping to regain part of my equilibrium.

What was I going to do? What was I supposed to do? What was I supposed to say?

Her proof was irrefutable, what she was implying was the dead center of my panic. Everything she mentioned or brushed over was frighteningly challenging my future and my self-preservation.

Would life with her be any better?

I couldn’t decide.

I was scared out of my mind and I could only think of the lit up road every time I thought about Uncle John fighting Aunt Elma. While they were arguing or working it out, I could escape and go home.

But where was home? The trial led back to Uncle John’s house. It was home.

So what was the point of everything? What was the point of being scared, of not knowing the truth?

Why couldn’t I just pick a side and go all the way?

My damage control was noteworthy, to say the least. I set my mind into occasion mode, party mode, whatever it would be.

I was hoping it wasn’t a dance because I could hardly walk and I was sure that Uncle John would want me dancing. Be a normal party, be a normal party. Please be normal, day. Please be normal, day.

There was a gentle tap on the door.

I groaned. I was still not up to my wits. I rolled around. “Come in,” I managed before I fell off the bed with an echoing thump.

“Baby!” he rushed over, dropping what he was carrying behind him.

“I’m…what is that?!”

“Uh…it’s a dress…”

“Why is it in a bag?” I wheezed.

“Now, baby,” he smiled, admirably, still not recovered from his sadness from downstairs. “I know that you have a thing with money or something…”

Would spending money ever be bad in my uncle’s household? It was so unfair! “Uh!” I threw a tantrum, face burning red as he laughed, trying to get me to understand that it was necessary.

“Come on, baby,” he chuckled. “We’re going to be late. Let’s just be good today.”

Good? Was that what they were calling loan killing stages? I shuddered but dragged myself to my feet.

He pulled it up in front of me and while I was not flattered that it was clearly heavy, I had to admit that I was struck by the sheer beauty of the gown.

“Civil War attire. Miss Armani loves throwing parties and she loves flattering the pretty faces with traditional clothing. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it once you get out there. I’m sorry about keeping it all a secret up until now, but I had a hunch you would attempt something outrageous. My bet was on a terminal illness,”

Humor. Great.

Meanwhile, I didn’t want to love the dress before me. But it was love at first sight. It was like the dress was mine; I knew it had been made for me. Try as I may to hate it or resent it for costing money—probably a sum that was larger than I wanted to think about—it was mine and I wanted it.

The two predominant colors were dusty rose (sating) and aging tea (lace).

“Do you see? Oh my darling, you will look precious in it, I know you will,”

“Please tell me that this dress is vital to my living,” I forced myself to say, crossing my cold arms.

He sulked. “I don’t think I can return it now,”