Caldwell - Look Closely

S eated at a table near the back, Caroline Ramsey lifted her champagne flute an inch off the table. Cheers, she murmured halfheartedly, toasting the bride and groom for what seemed the fiftieth time. Almost immediately, she set the glass back down.

Her husband, Matt, leaned toward her. Anything wrong? he said. Through his glasses, his brown eyes looked only mildly concerned.

The groom was a distant relative of Matts, and in order to compensate for knowing so few people, hed gone into his social mode, dancing to every silly wedding song and striking up conversations around the room. He always became vivacious and outgoing in these situations, something Caroline loved about him, since she was more reserved. Yet now she almost wished that he were more of a watcher, like her, someone who hung on the fringes. If that were true, maybe he would wonder now, maybe he would look deeper.

Nothings wrong, she lied, because she didnt want him to wonder. She might not be strong enough. She might tell him what shed planned. And if she told him, he would talk her out of it. This was something she had to do, though, just one more time. Hopefully, she would get the chance one day to explain.

Matt ruffled her hair, a gesture that usually annoyed her. Tonight, it somehow brought relief.

The wedding was being held in an eight-point tent on the lawn of a Charleston mansion, and the beleaguered jazz band struck up another number as the latest toastmaster finally gave up the microphone. Caroline and Matt both turned to watch the newlyweds take the dance floor, a surge of guests following and engulfing them. Caroline remembered her own wedding, just four years ago, at an inn on Mount Hood. It had been much smaller, with cheap ivory votive candles and wilted wildflowers instead of silver candelabras and elaborate white lily arrangements, but shed been filled with promise just like the bride tonight. Shed stupidly assumed that her troubles were behind her, that her new life with Matt would obliterate the old.

Should we join them? Matt cocked his head at the dance floor.

She looked at those warm brown eyes, his soft curly hair, which was always a little too long, and the dimple he got in one cheek when he smiled, and she kissed him. He kissed her back, cupping her face. It reminded her of their wedding, except that it was beaming bright that day, the sun relentlessly striking their faces as they stood on the cliff. Matts parents had been there, along with his brother and a few friends, but of course her family had been absent. Or maybe absent wasnt the right word, since she hadnt exactly invited anyone from her past.

You want to go back to the hotel? Matt murmured.

She shook her head, finding it hard to talk. I have to use the restroom, she said at last.

Ill be here. He stroked her cheek one more time.

She stood and turned away before she could change her mind, making her way across the flagstone path to the Trembly Mansion where the restrooms were located. According to the history printed on the back of the wedding program, the mansion had been built in 1856 by Arthur Trembly and his second wife, Meredith, who was only seventeen at the time of their marriage. Caroline glanced up at the mansion with its brick front, soaring white columns, wide veranda and leaded-glass windows, and she could almost imagine young Meredith stepping out onto that veranda, resplendent in a tightly bodiced gown of crimson taffeta, greeting the guests of their latest gala.

It was how Caroline had coped all those yearsmaking up stories and images in her head, filling her mind with fascinating people and intriguing families to compensate for her own lack of friends and family. But she couldnt let herself go too far down the paths of those tales any longer. Instead of shielding her from reality as they used to, they now reminded her of the memories shed worked so hard to bury. She quickened her pace and trotted up the side stairway, past a sign with an arrow reading Powder Room. The information about the Trembly Mansion also said that this side of the house had been temporarily converted into a catering kitchen and guest-bathroom facilities, while the remainder of the home was being renovated by a local historical society.

Caroline stepped into a well-lit kitchen. The shiny silver espresso makers sitting atop tan Formica counters gave nothing away about what the rest of the mansion might look like. She picked her way through a pack of tuxedoed servers, most of whom held trays of cut cake. One waiter nodded with his head to direct her toward the restroom.

When she came out of the bathroom, the kitchen was empty. There was no one to stop her from changing her direction and ducking under the blue velvet curtain that hung across the arched wood doorway, the one that led into the main part of the mansion. The renovations were supposedly in high gear, with too much dust and equipment to allow guests to view it, but Caroline didnt care much for rules. Why should she? Except for Matt, no one in her life had followed them.

As the curtain flapped closed behind her, she blinked to let her eyes grow accustomed to the darkness. The only light in the room came from the lanterns hanging in the trees outside, and there was a musty scent in the air. She could hear the tinkle of music from the band and the clatter of dishware from the waiters, who must have returned to the kitchen.

As the dark room became clearer, Caroline made out a massive, mahogany stairway that curled upward in scrolls from the center of the room. Nothing seemed to support the staircase, yet it gave the impression of solemn strength. Caroline felt a trembling inside her belly, a shakiness in her hand. The stairway reminded her of another staircase. One she hadnt seen in so very long, but one that had, in a way, started it all.