All my love,
Mama
That veil, as it turns out, was the one thing I could not let go of. Until now, at least. I finally knew what my mother meant. I had to let go of this tangible, outward thing to move forward, just as Cornelia had. And I was certain that my daughter and granddaughter needed to let go of it as well. It was the only way for them to forge ahead.
A part of me wondered if I should tell them about the letter. But I decided not to. Maybe it was selfish, but my mother had been gone for decades. The opportunity to have a secret all our own, after all this time, was too wonderful not to take. I would leave the letter in my things and, one day, after I was gone, the women in my family would know the secret too.
Julia zipped the veil into a backpack, at which I began hysterically laughing. This entire operation was ridiculous. And I knew I would remember it for the rest of my life.
“Your mother would be just thrilled if she knew we were doing this,” I said sarcastically.
But I smiled all the same. Meredith, Alice, Miles, and I had had the most wonderful dinner the week before. I had almost wanted to stand on the chair and sing—if I could have actually gotten up there, that is, which seemed doubtful. Miles was so charming. He said all the right things, dodged all the backhanded compliments and questionable comments. And, after dinner, Meredith pulled me aside and said, “Mom, we see why you love Miles. We might not ever get used to seeing you with someone who isn’t Daddy, but we are going to try.”
That assurance had meant the world to me. Miles had slept over that night, and for the first time in almost two years, I hadn’t woken up a single time to the panic that there was a dead man in my bed.
“Okay,” I said. “We sneak through the woods, pray there aren’t laser beam alarms, and leave the veil.”
Julia nodded, got out of the car, and strapped the backpack on her back. We locked eyes and pulled our neck gaiters up over our mouths. We couldn’t have looked more suspicious if we tried, but we could always say we were cold, which wasn’t completely untrue. It was cold here. And since we’d be saying it in French and Spanish, respectively, it would probably work.
Julia pulled my arm through hers and clasped my hand, supporting me as we trekked down the asphalt road, through the dark woods, and into a wide, grassy field that led to the right side of Biltmore. My eyes soon adjusted to the light and, after a trip on Julia’s part, several bouts of uncontrollable laughter, and, fortunately, no police, we made it to the house. Summoning all our courage, we snuck around to the front steps of the glittering limestone palace that seemed to be the stuff dreams were made of, but really, was no more a symbol of hope and prosperity than the veil. In fact, maybe both were nothing more than relics of a time gone by.
Julia silently dropped the backpack on the front steps and we both stood there.
“This isn’t right,” I whispered.
“I agree,” she said, leaning over and unzipping the backpack.
She grasped the point lace cap and we both gently pulled until the veil was laid out, in all its glory—perhaps a full third of the length of those gigantic limestone stairs—underneath a sky full of stars.
“It is beautiful, isn’t it?” I asked.
She nodded. “It doesn’t feel right to just leave it here.”
“Darling girl,” I said in a pinched tone, “I am an eighty-one-year-old woman who just braved the forest in the middle of the night in a mask. We’re leaving the veil.”
She laughed quietly. “No, I mean, it’s like we should say a few words or something.”
I nodded. “Ah. Well, you’re the one who wanted to give it back. You do it.”
She looked down at the veil and said, “Thank you for being, in our family, a symbol of hope. Thank you for being the thing that brought my great-grandparents together, the thing that brought my grandparents so much happiness, and maybe even for keeping my parents fighting for a marriage that could have easily ended long ago.” She took a deep breath. “But, most of all, thank you for being so weighty and important that you kept me from marrying that asshat Hayes.”
“Amen!” I said, a little too loudly.
I took Julia’s hand. “That was lovely.” I paused, feeling, in the eerie light of the moon, less a need to escape and more a need to unburden myself. “Julesy, I need to tell you something.”
“Oh no,” she said, downtrodden. “You and Pops weren’t that happy either?”
I laughed. “No, no. We were terribly happy.” I bit my lip and swallowed. I didn’t want to say it. I never wanted to tell her. But in the dark of night with one of the grandest symbols of our family tradition and unity before me, how could I not? There shouldn’t be big secrets among family, should there? “I’m the one who texted out that video at the bridesmaids’ luncheon.”
Julia’s eyes went wide. “Wait. What? No you didn’t.”
She was mad. Well, of course she was mad.
She shook her head. “You would have told me alone, not sent it to all my friends and family.”
Very softly and calmly I said, “Someone sent the video to Sarah, and we knew if we just showed it to you that you would reason that it didn’t matter. But I needed all the most important women in your life fighting you on your decision, not just me. I couldn’t be solely responsible for your making a huge mistake.”
Julia nodded. She crossed her arms. “Who sent it to Sarah?”
I paused, deciding whether I wanted to keep something else from my granddaughter. But the truth was that Therese—Hayes’s mom—had sent it. She didn’t want to blow up her son’s life yet again, but she also couldn’t in good conscience let my granddaughter marry him without knowing who he was. She had sworn us to secrecy. I respected her for making what had to have been an impossible decision. And, from one mother to another, I decided, in that split second, that I couldn’t betray her trust. It wasn’t important now anyway.
“Oh, I have no idea,” I said. “Sarah didn’t know the person.” I could tell Julia was fuming, so I continued, trying to make it better. “But I wanted you to know how it was going to feel. That man wasn’t going to change and there was going to come a day in your life when he did something big and public and embarrassing and everyone around you was going to know about it.” I paused. “Maybe even your own children.”
I braced myself for what she would say.
“Babs, you ruined my wedding,” she said solemnly. Then she repeated, her tone changing, “Babs, you ruined my wedding.”
Julia was quiet for a long moment, and my heart was racing. I had hoped that her anger and hurt might not feel so fresh, that she would be so relieved she hadn’t married Hayes she would feel grateful. I did what I had to do because I loved her. And, truly, I hadn’t known for sure she would even call the wedding off. But I had hoped…
Then, as if she had decided something, Julia burst out into free, unquiet, non-sneaky laughter. She put her hand up, trying to compose herself. “Wait, do you mean to tell me that my tiny grandmother figured out how to group text everyone at my bridesmaids’ luncheon—including my fiancé—and ruin my wedding day?”