A white Dress

“It’s perfect,” Emily said as she ran her hands down the simple embroidery. “I mean, once we get the stains out.” Years hanging in the attic closet left yellowing brown stains around the body and hem of the white dress.

Gwen fanned out the skirt. “It’s a little simple.” She held it to her body. “I'm not sure I love the sleeves.”

Emily snatched it back. “Good thing it isn’t for you.” She spun around in it. “Don’t you think Dan will love it on me? Plus, I like simple.” She carefully hung it back on its hook, cautious not to let any of the lace catch. Then she folded it into her duffle with the other trinkets they were taking from their parents' house—an old pencil sharpener with a winding handle, sketchbooks, a broken guitar she played as a kid, a dollhouse her dad built her, and now a dress she assumed was her mother's. Their mom disappeared when she was twelve. It’s what drove Emily to become a cop.

Gwen grabbed the handle of a trunk. “Don’t think it’s a bit weird to have your wedding at Dad’s house.”

Emily peered out the small, round window upstairs at the expansive backyard with big, blue, blooming hydrangeas. The grass blended blue-green as the sun sparkled through the trees. “Why, it’s the last good memory before we sell.”

Gwen shrugged. “I guess.” She didn’t like the place as much as Emily did. Every room gave off a mildew smell. In winter, it was freezing, with New England wind creeping through every crevice. In summer, it was sweltering with no central air. The Cape roof upstairs tested your agility with slanted ceilings and random low corners. Sneaking home past curfew was a joke when every stair creaked on the way up. And the last time Gwen saw her mom was when she was walking out the front door.

Dust covered a small jewelry box on an antique vanity. Age spotted the mirror distorting Emily’s reflection as she sat down. She pulled open the drawer to find a beautiful gold chain necklace with a single diamond.

Ten years ago, I parked in the back lot. I couldn’t go home tonight to her yelling at me. I’m never enough—making enough, providing enough, handsome enough. She never wants to listen to me.

My hands hurt from laying brick since 5 in the morning. My boots stuck to the linoleum from past beers. The neon lights flickered and buzzed overhead. Patrons cocooned themselves at the bar, wrapped in depression, marinating in alcohol. I joined them, too.

“Hey.”

The voice hit my back like a soft nudge. I turned around. She had the biggest smile, bright red lipstick, and brown-gold locks that fell to her elbows. “Any food tonight or just drinks?”

I was about to order my usual, but in her presence I changed it up. “I’ll take a pulled pork too.”

“You got it, handsome.” She shimmied past me. My cheeks redden. It’s been a while since I’ve heard that about myself. I checked around the room. A bunch of sad souls didn’t even look up at me. The room brightened as she returned with my beer. “You one of Ben’s guys?”

I pulled the logo on my shirt forward. “Yup, professional mason at your service.” She leans over. “That’s incredible!” A plate with a soggy sandwich slid onto the bar counter. She grabbed the plate. “Damn it, Jerry, could you at least try?” She took a napkin and dabbed the grease around the plate. “Sorry.”

I waved her off. “Don’t worry about it.” A scowl from the kitchen caught my eye. His eye proudly displayed a black teardrop inked on his left cheekbone. A scar traveled from his ear to his chin on the right. He doesn’t blink.

I gulped my beer. More men lumbered in, covered with dirt and dust. She flitted around taking orders.

“Shelly!” A shout from the kitchen. She scurried back. An argument broke out. A dish smashed to the floor. The saloon doors by the back slap open. She disappeared into the bathroom. I drew circles with a fry, not ready to leave until I knew she was alright.

Emily places the chain around her neck. It looks so beautiful against her pale skin. She remembers seeing her mom wear it. Her red hair bounces around it, framing it and her face in the mirror. Bags pile on each other as magazines and newspaper stacks make a paper city around them. A burgundy strapped bag catches her eye. “Mom had such great taste.” She unclasps it. Inside, a small pocket mirror decorated with a blue rose sits atop a bulky green snake-skin wallet.

Gwen plucks a purple clutch. She presses it against her thigh. Her oversized shirt inches up, revealing the Spanx shorts underneath. She pushes her blond hair up into a bun on the side of her head and pouts. “Do I look like Ashley Olsen?”

Emily lets out a cackle. “Oh my god, you are her twin.” She pulls a bin of Halloween decorations. Plastic swords stick out in all directions with melted masks. “Here,” Emily tosses her a fake machete. “To complete the look.” Gwen strikes a pose, mimicking her from People Magazine.

I paced by the back door, hoping she got my 30% tip. The door swung wide. Shelly stepped out.

“Hey.” I didn’t want to startle her. “You okay?” I made sure to stand in the light.

She jumped back. Then paused. “My shift's over, and because I apparently fucked up some orders, I’m not getting paid.”

“What? That’s bull. Want me to talk to him?” I innocently kicked the door. She smiled. “You’re one of those gentlemen, aren’t you?”

I blushed. “I’m sorry bout tonight.”

She fashioned a peace sign. “I’m alright.”

That’s when I noticed her right cheek is a little pinker than the left. Her blue makeup is a little heavy around her right eye too. “You okay?”

She nodded then walked toward a bus stop. It was late. Real late. I opened my mouth. The area was crawling with drunks. She’d be out there for another hour before the bus came, if it came on time. I wanted to offer her a ride, but I didn't want to freak her out. I walked back to my truck. She sat on the small bench, the streetlight giving her skin and white dress and orange tint. I hopped in my car. She slowly shrank in my rearview mirror. Two miles down the road, I regretted my decision and turned back. I couldn’t leave her out there. I couldn’t leave her alone with all the men around. I couldn’t leave her to defend herself against whoever left those marks on her face. As I approached, my heart sank. The bench was empty, and I never saw the bus pass. She was gone.

Emily plucks a thin tube of lipstick out of the bag. The gold metal is cool in her hand. With a tissue, she wipes the red stick, then applies it to her lips. The red pops. “I love it!” Gwen smooths out the dress. “Put it on; I feel like it will complete the look.” Emily pulls the dress over her head. The lace is fragile, forcing her to gently work her arms into the sleeves. The back is lined with buttons to the hem. Gwen slowly buttons it up, making sure not to miss one. Emily fishes through the purse looking for the little blue mirror, for something blue as good luck. Her hand finds the wallet. She pulls it out. A crumpled twenty sticks out of the pocket. “Oh nice!” She flips through the cards inside. Her hand stops on the ID.

I drove slowly; my eyes scanned the side of the road, hoping to see her. My headlights bounced off something white in the distance. I drove up. It was her. I breathed. “Hey!”

Shelly turned. She waved. “You stalking me or something?”

I shrank back. “No, no, sorry. I figured I could wait by the bus stop until you got picked up; didn’t want you out there alone.” She laughed. “I’m not walking back.” Her head bobbed around the truck before it reappeared by the passenger door. She crawled in. “I’m like four miles up the road.”

We drove in silence for a moment. She pointed left; I turned onto a dirt path. No signs, no lights, no mailboxes. “Where’s your house?” She started working the buttons down the back. The lace sleeves bunched as she pulled off her white summer dress. I hit the brakes. She kissed my cheek. “Wait.” But her hands were already on my belt. I kissed her back. I hadn't been kissed like that in so long. She pulled me forward. I’m pressed up against her. She searched the center console. Her hand pulled out a small pouch. She opened it up. “Is this your wedding band?”

“I take it off when I work.”

“You’re married!” She kicked me hard in my thigh. It stung from her sharp boot. “It’s not like that.” She slapped my face. I grabbed her hand; she bit my arm. I slammed my other hand into her face. She started screaming. I covered her mouth. “Stop, jeez. Stop, let me explain.” I squeezed her neck.

I pressed down hard. I held. I held. I held. She stopped. Everything stopped. I let go. She slumped over. My heart pounded in my ears. The dress wouldn’t unravel, clumped in a ball. I shook her. “Wake up!” I screamed at her. “Wake up!” She was still. I gunned it backward. We passed the bar; packed as men congregated around open trunks. I sped past home. I turned back into the work site. It was quiet. It was still. I sat for a moment. “Shelly?” Her eyes turned pale. Her lips turned blue. My hands shook. I pulled her out of the front seat. She was suddenly heavy. Her body turned at wrong angles. I heaved her toward the half-built house. We’re supposed to pour concrete in the basement the next day. I started now. I had to. My stomach was a knot. The marks from my hands flashed back at me, red and angry. The purple around her neck darkens. I poured, covering what I did. I poured. Carefully, I smoothed it out. It wasn’t my fault. I’m not a bad guy. She wouldn't listen.

Emily sits on the couch. Her eyes are puffy and red from crying. I walk up and pat her shoulder. “Everything okay?”

“Who’s Shelly Morrison?”

I haven’t heard that name in years. “What?”

Her legs unfold from under her. The fluorescent light from her computer reveals an article. “Why do you have her bag?” She’s wearing the white dress—Shelly’s dress.

I try to act nonchalant. “What are you talking about?”

Emily swallows. “She’s missing, but you have her handbag- why?”

I don’t have an answer. “She was a friend.” It sounds stupid as it leaves my mouth. Emily’s face grows dark. Her lips tremble. “Do you know what happened to her?”

I scratch my cheek. She’s like a bloodhound; she can smell a lie from a mile away. Of course she can; she’s a cop, and she’s marrying one. She's had lots of questions about her mom. “I don’t know.” I can’t look at her. Not in that dress.

She slams the laptop closed.

“I’m not the bad guy here; I gave her a ride home once. That’s all I did, offer her a ride home!” I stumble over a box, trying to stop Emily. “Em, wait, let me explain.”

She screams back at me, tears streaming down her face. She knows something. There’s something she’s not saying, and it’s eating at me. “Em, wait!”

She runs out the back. She's pulling her hair. “What happened Dad? Did Mom know?”

I push through the screen door. My world is unraveling. She’s ranting. She’s angry. I just need her to listen. I grab her. She slaps me. I cover her mouth to stop her from shouting. She bites. I cover harder. Why does this keep happening? My hand doesn't move.

She slumps into me. I feel for a pulse. I remove Shelly’s dress and her mother’s necklace. I don’t want to lose those things after so many years. They're special to me. I place Emily in the passenger's side of her car. We drive to the lake. I wish she’d let me explain. I wish she’d understand I’m not a bad guy, just no one listens to me.