Page 25 of The Holiday

Dave shakes his head. "None at all. A beautiful, brilliant, artistic, younger woman wants to marry me--where's the downside in all of that?"

"Fair," Ruby says. "But some might look at your situation and think she was angling for something from you."

"Some might look at your situation and say the same."

"Fair again."

"Are people saying that?" Dave frowns and turns so that they're no longer looking at one another in the mirror, but instead eye to eye.

"I think some people might have hinted at that to Heather, and it has her a bit spooked. I can say with my whole heart that, in the time I've known Heather Charleton-Bicks, she is the most gregarious, fun-loving, big-hearted, and romantic woman I know, Dave. She truly is. I'm sure you've traded histories with one another extensively, and you undoubtedly know that her husbands tend to skew slightly older, but I can also promise you that she's loved them wholeheartedly, just as she loves you. She's clearly crazy about you."

"As I am about her." Dave is still frowning. "I don't like thinking that anyone is filling her head with nonsense." It's at this moment that Celia walks away from Sunday and past the window, her face stony. Dave watches his daughter, and then turns back to Ruby. "Was it Celia?" he asks.

Ruby inhales and holds her breath before letting it out. "I'm not looking to stir up any family trouble," Ruby says. "But I wanted you to know that Heather was worried that you might not show up today, and that she feels as if there are people who don't believe her motives are pure."

Dave bites on his lower lip and looks pensive. He nods absentmindedly at Ruby. "I appreciate you letting me know," he says. "I guess I have some things to work out in the next," Dave pulls back the sleeve of his jacket and glances at his expensive watch, "hour and a half." He gives his reflection one last glance in the mirror. "Thank you for coming, and for the help with my tie. I appreciate everything you've done, and I appreciate the friendship you've given to Heather."

"Of course," Ruby says, picking up her purse and reaching for the doorknob. "I'm going to leave you to it and get back over to the church to make sure that everything is ready to go."

Dave gives her a tight, nervous smile. "I'll see you there," he says.

Heather

There is a steady hum coming from the front of the church, and Heather sits nervously in the chair under Marigold's capable hands. Marigold keeps up a steady chatter that distracts Heather from her own fears, for the most part.

"And then when Cobb got on stage," she says, reliving the entire pre-Christmas trip she'd taken to New York City, "I felt this immense wave of pride, you know?" Marigold sets the hot curling iron on the table next to her and fluffs Heather's hair carefully as she talks. "There's something about seeing your man do the one thing he does well that just kind of makes you fall in love all over again, isn't there?"

Heather nods absently, trying to focus on her own reflection in the mirror, but failing. She's gotten herself to stop crying, and the ice seems to have de-puffed her eyes somewhat, but she's still having a hard time quelling the nerves that have turned her stomach into a butter churn.

"What does Dave do that you love?" Marigold asks her, using the end of a comb to separate a curl and fluff it into place. "Is he really good at something?"

As Heather ponders this, she can feel herself relax just a bit; her neck and shoulders soften, and she pictures Dave's handsome face in her mind's eye. "I like it when he does little things for me," Heather says, a blush creeping up her neck and onto her cheeks as she looks at herself in the mirror. "Like, sometimes I ask him to move my bigger canvases around and he does that, and I love it when I can't get a lid off a jar or lift up a box and he does it for me. There's something so manly about a man just stepping in and helping you out without being asked."

"That's true," Marigold agrees mildly. "There most definitely is."

Heather is getting warmed up. "And Dave is really good at things like carrying on a theoretical discussion while he makes spaghetti." Heather chuckles at this image, which is something that happened not long ago. "He can stand in the middle of the kitchen cooking and adding a splash of olive oil or garlic to a pan while talking about social justice and the way a city needs to re-think its stance on the homeless population. It fascinates me, because I feel like I get all frowny-faced when I’m focused on something," she says, simulating a frown, "and I can only really do one thing well at a time. If I'm painting, the most I can do at the same time is listen to music and daydream. That's it. No conversation--nothing."

"I feel that," Marigold says. "But honey, no frowning. We want this face to look smooth as glass when you walk out there." Marigold picks up the can of hair spray that's sitting on the counter. "Close your whole face for a sec," she instructs, waiting for Heather to do just that before she engulfs her in a cloud of hairspray. "There. You look glorious," Marigold says, stepping back to admire her creation. "Now let me just touch up your face and then we'll have you step into your dress. We've got about thirty minutes until show time."

At this, Heather's nerves kick back up. She's still afraid he might not show, but Marigold has been so kind, so solicitous, that she doesn't want to open her mouth and spew her crazy fears all over her friend.

"Hi, gorgeous bride!" Vanessa says, appearing in the doorway to the little dressing room. She's run home to change, as have all the other women, and she’s now wearing a pretty, soft pink dress with a flounce around the hem. Vanessa, thirty and single, has always been the one in their book club group who is most in love with love, and it hurts Heather's heart to see her sweet, hopeful face every time they read a romance novel and talk about it, because she knows that finding love on Shipwreck Key has to be next to impossible for a young person.

"Hey," Heather says, an idea forming in her head. "Vanessa, my nephew is supposed to be out there helping to seat people, but I think it would be nice if we had two people doing that. Would you mind going and seeing if you two can split up the job? His name is James. Tall," she says, holding up a hand to indicate someone maybe a head taller than she is, "wearing a blue suit, brown hair, goatee. He's about your age."

Vanessa smiles brightly. "Sure, Heather. Anything for the bride."

"Smooth," Marigold says when Vanessa is gone. "Very slick."

"The thought just came to me: how often do you have two young, single people on Shipwreck Key who might actually be a good match? Not often enough."

"No," Marigold agrees. "That's true. I think it's part of the reason Elijah and Athena hit it off so well. Not that they both aren't great kids who might like each other regardless," she adds. Her son Elijah and Ruby's daughter Athena have spent quite a bit of time together since meeting on the island, though they've given no indication that it's a love match--yet. Still, Marigold would be thrilled if her only child and Ruby's older daughter ended up together. But it's not a mother's place to meddle. It is, however, an aunt's place, so she admires Heather's move of getting James and Vanessa to work side by side on seating the guests.

She sweeps a few brushes over Heather's face, spritzes her with some makeup finishing spray, and then helps Heather slip out of her satin robe and step into the off-white dress with the gathered waist that she's chosen for her big day. It's lovely, and made of a thick brocaded fabric with one vintage rhinestone button that gathers at the decolletage. The dress hits her just below the knee, flaring out slightly in a flattering 1950s silhouette. With her hair up and curled off of her face, and her makeup simple and focused on groomed brows, a swoop of black liner, and a bold red lip, Heather has a stunningly simple Grace Kelly air, and Marigold stands back to admire her own handiwork.

"Looooveeeee," she says, clapping her hands together three times. "We've got you runway-ready, darling. It's time for your close-up!"

Heather bats away this compliment with a laugh. "Thank you for all your hard work, Marigold. I feel as beautiful as I ever have." Heather reaches out to her friend and they embrace.

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