Scarlett Rose's Arc

Chapter 35 of 57

Three days before the wedding, Scarlett sat at the kitchen table with a legal pad and a cold cup of tea. She had filled six pages. She had crossed out six pages. Every line sounded like a card from a drugstore rack. Eleven years of loving Clayton in silence, and she couldn't fit any of it into a paragraph she'd say out loud in front of his mother. Rose came in from the porch with two mugs and set one down in front of her. Her sister wore turquoise at her ears and wrists, the way she always did when she was working a problem. She read the top page without asking. "This one sounds like a greeting card," Rose said. "This one sounds like a eulogy. Start over." "I've started over eleven times." "Then stop trying to sound like a bride." Rose tapped the pad. "You've been writing to him for a year. In the hutch. Seven letters. He read them out loud to himself on the porch while you were gone. Write the vows like that." Scarlett stared at her. "Those were private." "So is a vow." Maya knocked once and let herself in through the back, boots already off. She had the officiant folder under one arm and a small paper bag in the other hand. She set the bag by the pad. "Ceremony order," she said. "You read yours first. He reads his second. I don't care what you write. Write something true." She slid the bag closer. "From the greenhouse. Landed on my shoulder while I was locking up." Scarlett opened the bag. A pink butterfly rested inside on a folded paper towel, wings shaped like two soft hearts, still moving. She carried it to the window and opened her hand. It sat on her palm a moment, then lifted and went over the fence toward Clayton's ridge. She came back to the table. She turned to a clean page. She didn't write a vow. She wrote what she'd been afraid to say for eleven years. I was nine when I watched you deliver that calf alone. I was twenty when you said my name wrong on purpose. I loved you across a fence for so long I forgot people could love back. You built me a greenhouse before you kissed me. You moved into my house the day I got sick. You wear my misspelled name over your heart. I will spend the rest of my life not being quiet about you. She read it once. She didn't cross out a word. Rose put a hand on her shoulder. Maya slid the folder across the table and marked one line on the ceremony order in pen. "Bride's vows," Maya said. "Done." Scarlett folded the page in half and tucked it into the front of the binder. Three days. She had something to say.