Page 97 of I'm Not Yours
TheCouture Fashionmagazine article came out with a huge photo spread of my wedding dresses. “June’s Lace and Flounces,” was written, banner style, across the top. The article was about two thousand words, detailing my journey from being an unhappy lawyer in Portland to a happy wedding dress designer at the beach. There were photos of Estelle, Leoni, and me, and photos of my studio.
Virginia Bescotti, the reporter with the red-rimmed eyeglasses and the smacking gum, wrote exquisitely about each of twelve dresses. She had picked some of my favorites.
“If you insist on wearing a personal work of art for your wedding dress, June is your gal,” Virginia wrote. “She will be the premiere wedding gown designer in this country . . .”
I was, overnight, overflowing with work, requests for interviews, and asked to be a guest on a couple of televisionshows. I would soon be able to buy the house. I would be able to give Leoni and Estelle a raise. We would have to hire a boatload of people. I had made it. I had made the business of my dreams.
I was so, so unutterably miserable. Loneliness sank into my bones.
“I’m not scared to be an astronaut,” Morgan told us on a sunny day at the beach, the kite flyers out, along with three surfers and a bunch of kids. She pushed the black visor of her NASA helmet up. “I can do it. I know I can.”
“I know you can, too,” I told her.
“You’re going to be the first person to Mars, you gutsy, fire breathing girl,” Estelle told her.
“Morgan,” Leoni said, “tell Miss June and Miss Estelle your good news.”
“I’m going to,” Morgan said. “I was waiting until June stopped crying.”
I wiped the tears off my cheeks. “Honey, I’m fine. Tell us the good news!” I smiled at her. I hadn’t even known she knew I was quietly crying.
“Here goes, space astronaut friends,” Morgan said, digging in her backpack. “It’s not a letter from my dad, you probably thought it was.”
We didn’t say anything. I refuse to offer false hope to anyone, even a child. It’s dishonest and wrong and only prolongs the harsh truth.
“Look what I got in the mail!” Morgan held up a large, white envelope. “Yep.” She smiled. “NASA wrote me a letter and sent me a whole bunch of astronaut stuff.”
“Wow!” I was quite impressed.
“Well, I’ll be double damned,” Estelle said. “Double or triple.”
“They liked my pictures of the inside of the next shuttle and a new astronaut suit,” Morgan read. She tilted her chin up, proud as can be. “Yessiree, I’m going to be Morgan Halls, astronaut, for the United States of America.” She gave a toothy grin to the three of us as we applauded. “You three are going to be proud of me.”
“We sure are, sugar.” I hugged her close. “But we’re already proud of you.”
She took off her helmet. “This is what I get now. I’m different. I’m always gonna be different, but the kids at school don’t bug me so much anymore. I think it’s because they know I don’t care. I know I’m not a freakoid, I’m just Morgan. And,” she put her little fists in the air, “I won the spelling bee! I spelled ‘aeronautics’!”
“What are you doing here?”
I wasn’t even angry. I was exhausted to the bone, as if I was ill. My heart had cracked and I was so lonely I thought it would eat me alive and spit me out.
“I came to see you.”
“Why, Grayson?”
“Can I come in?”
“No. You may not.” I crossed my arms, sickened that I even had to look at him. I was in front of my garage, and I wasn’t moving. His Porsche was in front of the house and I wanted to bomb it.
“I want to see where you’re living, where June’s Lace and Flounces is.”
“I’m not going to show you it.”
He stared off into the distance, at the ocean, before those cold eyes swung back to me. Only this time, in their depths, I could see something else. Was it . . .pain? “You would rather shut down a company that you built from scratch rather than have me involved in any part of it, is that right?”
“That’s right. June’s Lace does not involve you.”
He pondered that. “Who was the man at August’s wedding who punched me, June?”
