Vows, Vendettas And A Little Black Dress. Kyra Davis

Fawn, the rather lively and ironically named female taxidermist. It had been a particularly tragic discovery since it had not only ruined Mary Ann’s relationship but also her love of natural history museums.

      “Rick calls occasionally. He even happened to call the night Monty proposed. Can you believe that? He actually thinks we can be friends or something.” She shook her head in disgust. “Monty’s nothing like Rick and not just because he’s faithful. Monty sees the world differently. He’s so…hopeful and enthusiastic about everything. He makes life more fun and…Dena, he makes me so happy! And now you’re both happy for me like I knew you would be…or I thought you would be…or…I hoped. I guess I didn’t really know what to expect. Neither of you believe in marriage.”

      “That’s not true,” I protested, perhaps a bit louder than was necessary. “I just don’t believe in marriage for me…not a second time.”

      “But that was with Scott,” Mary Ann reminded me. “If you married Anatoly—”

      “Okay, seriously?” I asked. “The man hasn’t even given up his apartment! Did you know that? He won’t even sublet it to someone who plans on staying for more than six months!”

      “But you’ve said that Anatoly never actually sleeps there,” Mary Ann pointed out. “He always stays with you—”

      “And according to him that’s what really matters,” I practically yelled. “As far as I’m concerned what matters is that he resorts to bullshit justifications in order to explain himself.”

      Dena raised her eyebrows. “So what you’re saying is you had another argument earlier today.”

      I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I was getting off course. “Anatoly and I love each other and we’ll work it all out. But as for marriage…it just isn’t our thing. You’re different, Mary Ann. You were meant to be a bride with a killer dress and all the rest of it. Don’t you think, Dena?”

      Dena took Tinker Bell into her hand and ran her finger over each of her curves and angles as if searching for some clue to her magic. “It took me thirty-three years to find the willpower to limit myself to two men,” Dena said slowly. “And there are days and nights…lots of nights, when I wonder if I’m going to be able to keep it up without throwing some new guy into the mix. So marriage…” She sighed and cast a dubious glance at Shamu. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to fully wrap my mind around why so many people think it’s so friggin’ fantastic. But if it’s what you really want—”

      “More than anything,” whispered Mary Ann.

      “Well, that’s something I can celebrate, a woman getting what she wants. Particularly if that woman is you.”

      “Have I ever told you that you’re the best?”

      Dena smiled. “Not even once. Can we drink now?”

      Mary Ann bounced up and down on her toes as if she was preparing to jump off a diving board. “I have a bottle of champagne chilling in the fridge.”

      “I’m on it.” I went into the kitchen and quickly found the bottle and within minutes we were standing around Shamu with our champagne flutes raised high.

      “Cheers to Mary Ann,” Dena said. “May your marriage be…highly sexual in nature. I’m serious, Mary Ann. Don’t turn into one of those weirdos who would rather watch American Idol than play ride the orca with your husband.”

      “I’ll try not to,” Mary Ann said solemnly.

      We drank and then I raised my glass again. “My turn. This is to all of us. Three strong women who know how to make our very different dreams come true.”

      Both Dena and Mary Ann broke into huge grins and our glasses came together in one clear clink.

      We spent the next hour listening to exactly how Monty had popped the question. We marveled that he had taken the trouble of flying to Palm Springs in order to get her father’s blessing. We laughed at how Mary Ann’s blue-collar, pragmatic father must have reacted to Monty, who had undoubtedly described his love for Mary Ann with all the flourish of a sommelier describing the floral notes of a wine. A few days later, when Mary Ann had been at a hotel dusting color on the pale face of a bride, Monty used the key she’d given him to slip inside her apartment and place a gift in almost every room. When she got home he acted as her guide, leading her to one whimsical treasure after another. The last present had been placed in her bedroom. Mary Ann recalled sitting on the edge of her bed, unwrapping the Tinker Bell figurine, her shoulders hunched over as she carefully peeled the tape away from the metallic silver paper. She had been totally mindless of Monty, who had knelt on the floor beside her…until she found the ruby of course. It was then that she realized that Monty wasn’t just kneeling; he was on bended knee.

      Eventually I excused myself to the bathroom and Mary Ann went to her room where she was going to retrieve the bridal magazines she had already begun to collect. Dena stayed in the living room hoping that another glass of champagne would help make the pages of flouncy white gowns and ruffled bridesmaid dresses more tolerable.

      I was washing my hands when I heard…something. A high-pitched pinging sound followed by something falling. It was heavier than the thud of a dropped book and much more substantial than the sound of a broken glass. I couldn’t even begin to think of what it was that had hit the floor, but for reasons I couldn’t begin to explain the sound of its fall had frightened me…and not just a little bit.

      I opened the bathroom door at the same time Mary Ann stepped into the hall, balancing what looked to be twenty or so magazines in her arms. She looked at me questioningly. “Did you hear that?”

      I nodded and looked toward the living room. “Dena?” I called out. “Everything okay?”

      Mary Ann and I both waited for a response. The only sound was the rush of the heater coming on.

      And all of a sudden something shifted. It wasn’t tangible and I couldn’t put a name to it but somehow the consistency of the air changed. It took on weight and it rushed down my throat and pressed anxiety into my lungs. Something was wrong.

      Mary Ann dropped the magazines and I was at her heels as we raced out into the living room.

      Dena was on the floor. One hand was grasping the corner of Mary Ann’s basket weave rug.

      Both of us lunged to Dena’s side.

      “Dena?” Mary Ann cried. “Dena, what happened to your back?”

      My eyes immediately zeroed in on the small but growing circle of blood underneath her shoulder blade.

      “What?” Dena managed, her eyes moving back and forth between us. “What?”

      I had seen that kind of wound before. Not there, not in the back…but I had seen the wound. I had seen it in the chest of an attacker…right after I shot him. My eyes jerked up toward the front door. It was open.

      “Don’t move!” I demanded in a hoarse whisper as I carefully scanned the room. There were no heavy curtains to hide behind. But the kitchen…could he still be in the kitchen?

      “I can’t,” Dena whispered back. “I can’t move…my legs are cold! Sophie, why can’t I move my legs!”

      And with those words the air grew even heavier. I heard myself make some kind of strangled cry but that was all I could manage. It hurt to breathe. I choked back my rising panic as my eyes darted around the room in search of something that would work as a weapon. There was a heavy vase, a letter opener, perhaps the poker by the fireplace…

      But what good would any of those things be against a gun?

      Our best bet was a quick response from 9-1-1. Mary Ann didn’t have a landline, only a cell.

      “Dena, where’s your BlackBerry?” I forced myself to ask.

      “In…my bag.”

      “And yours?” I said, glancing