Little Black Dress with Bonus Material by Susan McBride Page B

slowly turned to the table where our parents sat with Davis’ family. “I’m sorry, Mother”—she nodded—“Daddy.”
    â€œAnnabelle, you can’t do this!” Davis stood, knocking over his glass, and shouted after her, “If you walk out on me, don’t you ever come back!”
    My father’s face had turned a scary shade of purple, and Mother swayed in her chair as though she might faint. I sat stunned in my seat so all I could do was watch as Anna strode purposefully from the room, the black dress setting off sparks beneath the light of the chandeliers. And then the dining hall exploded with voices buzzing like a mad hornet’s nest, before the drumming of my heart drowned out the rest.
    I had come in the car with my father; but, in the confusion, he and Mother had left without me. So I begged a ride from Arden Fisher, whom I’d just met that morning. She was Mother’s great-aunt from Ladue in St. Louis.
    When I arrived home, I knew from the closed door to my father’s study and the raised voices behind it that he and Anna were having it out. I didn’t stay, leaving the house without my coat to wander the grounds, shivering beneath the sliver of moon and rubbing my arms, feeling sick to my stomach, like the world had come to an end.
    When the cold set my teeth to chattering, I finally went back to the house, afraid they’d still be shouting, but all was quiet. The cousins of Mother’s, who were staying in our guest rooms, told me in low tones that my parents had retired for the evening and Anna had fled “to heaven knows where, and I hope for her sake she stays away long enough for your father to calm down.”
    I went to bed, afraid I wouldn’t fall asleep for the ache in my chest, but a fatigue swept through me as I drew the covers to my chin. Soon, a warm numbness enveloped me, chasing off any lingering chills.
    Sometime much later, Anna came into my room, whispering my name and that she needed to explain why she’d done what she had; but I felt so conflicted by the hurt on my mother’s face and by my father’s anger at Anna’s “unforgivable betrayal” that I kept my eyes closed and pretended to sleep.
    â€œI’m sorry, Evie”—she knelt beside my bed, and I felt the mattress dip as she leaned toward me—“but I had no choice. You can’t know what I’ve seen.”
    I wanted to shout at her, to tell her how careless she was with people’s feelings; how irresponsible and selfish! Instead of lashing out, I kept silent. I proved to be a stoic Morgan through and through.
    â€œGood-bye,” I heard her whisper before she tiptoed out again.
    I wished I’d said something then. I wished I’d opened my eyes to look at her, even if I’d ended up yelling; even if I’d stayed mum and held her hand. But I’d done neither.
    It was the last time I saw her until I’d married Jonathan and settled into a house all our own. Only that wasn’t the end of either the dress or of my sister.

Chapter 8
Toni
    S nug in jeans and a sweater, her shoulder-length hair slicked off her forehead, Toni headed downstairs to confront “that Cummings boy” and see what, in fact, he really wanted. Bridget certainly seemed to think he was out to suck the last drop of juice from the Morgan family winery’s grapes, like some kind of vino -vampire.
    Vacuum tracks neatly crisscrossed the rug in the center of the foyer, leading Toni to surmise that her visitor was afraid to sully the Aubusson or, more likely, Bridget hadn’t shown him to the living room and made him feel welcome.
    As she paused on the landing, she watched him approach the pier mirror, still wearing his winter coat, a red-and-white-striped knit cap clutched in his hands.
    The youngest son of Davis Cummings was a handful of years her junior, so she’d never known him well, only by sight. He’d been tall