Scarlett Rose's Arc

Chapter 42 of 57

Rose drove with one hand on the wheel and one hand on the train, keeping the lace off the floorboard. Scarlett watched the fence line roll past. Then she felt it, cold and sharp under her ribs. Nothing borrowed. Nothing old. She had the dress, the veil, the diamond earrings, the blue roses in her lap. All of it was new. Eleven years of loving Clayton, and she was about to walk to him wearing only things bought last month. "Rose. Stop the truck." Rose braked at the shoulder. "We have six minutes." "I don't have borrowed. I don't have old." Scarlett pressed her hand flat against the bodice. "I can't walk to him without it. Not to him." Rose looked at her. She did not argue. She reached up and unclasped the turquoise studs from her own ears, the ones she wore to every family holiday, the ones their mother had given her at sixteen. "Borrowed," Rose said. She dropped them into Scarlett's palm. "Take the diamonds out." Scarlett took the diamonds out. Her hands were steady now. She slid the turquoise studs in. They were warm from Rose's skin. "That covers borrowed," Rose said. "Old is your problem." Scarlett thought. The bouquet was new. The dress was new. Then she remembered the small pocket sewn inside the bodice, the one the boutique woman had stitched for a handkerchief. She had put nothing in it. She had meant to. "Glove box," Scarlett said. "Open it." Rose opened it. Inside sat a folded square of paper Scarlett had shoved there last spring and forgotten. She pulled it out. It was the receipt from the county fair, the one from the booth where Clayton had said her name wrong. She had kept it because he had handed it to her. The ink was faded. The date was almost a year old. "That's not old enough for tradition," Rose said. "It's old enough for me," Scarlett said. She folded it smaller and slid it into the pocket against her ribs. "He gave it to me the day he decided to keep coming back." Rose put the truck in gear. "Then you've got both." They pulled up to the pavilion at two minutes to noon. Purple and blue ribbons moved in the wind. Scarlett saw Clayton standing under the flowers in a white jacket and blue tie, hat off, hands folded. Maya stood beside him with the folio pressed to her chest. Rose lifted the train. Scarlett stepped down from the truck. The turquoise was cold at her ears. The receipt was warm against her heart. "Ready," she said. "Ready," Rose said. They walked toward the aisle. Clayton lifted his head and saw her, and Scarlett felt the last shake leave her hands.