I Take You Read Free Page B

with her hands shoved deep in her pockets, saying something to a little grey-haired woman who’s hopping from one foot to the other, scanning the new arrivals anxiously. Mom’s faded auburn hair is pulled into a messy ponytail, and her ivory skin—the sign of a true Florida native—seems to glow amid the peeling tourists in their tropical shirts. She looks relaxed and natural. Nowadays I only see her when she and Gran visit me in New York. She looks so out of place there, an anxious, scruffy stray among the hyper-groomed lynxes prowling the streets of Manhattan. Here, she belongs—which explains why she never wants to leave. That and her business. She renovates old buildings, historic Florida architecture, mostly. She’s become a real expert. She dresses the part, too: paint-spattered cargo shorts, old t-shirt, work boots.
    Mom sees me and launches herself off the wall. She throws her arms around me, already sniffling. What a softy.
    “Lily! You’re really here!”
    “I’m here,” I say into her hair, which smells like lemons and sawdust.
    She releases me, laughing and wiping her eyes, and we both turn to Will. “This is my mother, Katherine,” I tell him. “Mom, this is Will.”
    Yes. They’re meeting for the first time.
    Mom’s speechless. She turns pink. “This is … I’m so … this is amazing!” She ignores his outstretched hand and hugs him, too.
    The grey-haired lady is hovering around us. “Oh, sorry!” Mom says. “I forgot! Lily and Will, this is Mattie.”
    Mattie. Our wedding planner. Mom hired her five months ago, when Will and I got engaged and decided to have the wedding down here. Although “hired” might be the wrong word. Liberated from an asylum? Rescued from a storm drain, where she was adjusting the antenna on her mind-control helmet and crooning to the manatees? Because Mattie is completely—
    “Thank
goodness
you made it!” She clutches my hand in her skinny little paw. “I was so
worried.
The weatherman said there was a low-pressure zone over the Southeast, and a storm building over the Atlantic. All I could think about was you and Will, trapped on a
plane
!” Her bright blue eyes widen. “There was a flight stranded last year in Minneapolisfor twenty-eight hours! A seeing eye dog had a
seizure
! What if that happened to
you
?”
    Help me, Epictetus. Luggage finally starts tumbling onto the carousel. Mattie is standing right next to me. I edge away. She fidgets closer. I’m about to tell her that she’s going to need a flashlight pretty soon when she clears her throat and says, “Lily? Did you get my … my thing?”
    “Your thing?”
    “Yes, my, my … oh, God bless it!” She slaps her forehead. “What’s the word? My … you know … with the …?” And she wiggles her fingers.
    “Piano?” I say, taking a wild stab.
    “No no no, it’s the thing with the … and you use the …?” She’s still doing the finger thing.
    “Gloves?” I say. “Fake fingernails? Little baby worms?”
    “
E-mail!
” she cries. “Did you get my e-mail?”
    Mattie has a bad memory. It made our phone conversations a challenge. “No,” I say. “Nothing today.”
    She frowns. “Aren’t computers so unreliable?”
    “Actually, they’re pretty—”
    “I’ll just tell you what I wrote. I wrote—” She breaks off and starts whirling around. “The gown! Where’s the wedding gown?”
    “It’s okay,” I say, trying to calm her down. “Freddy’s got it.”
    “Well, he’d better give it
back
!”
    My hangover is threatening to return with a vengeance. Fortunately Will steps in. “Freddy is Lily’s maid of honor. She made the dress. She’s flying into Miami this afternoon and driving down with another bridesmaid.”
    Mattie nods slowly. “I see. That’s … well, I don’t want to question your judgment, but I don’t think that’s a very good idea. There’s that low-pressure zone, and you know how inexperienced drivers skid right off Seven-Mile Bridge
all
the