Second story in the Magid family chronicles. A few months before her wedding, Moira Cavanaugh sees something she does not want to see.

Moira Cavanaugh yells down the attic stairs. “Hey, Dad?”

Her father, Daniel, yells back up. “Yeah?”

“You ought to fix the draft in the attic.”

“Draft? It’s seventy degrees out.”

Moira shrugs. “Maybe it came from the mountains.” She buttons her sweater up and walks further into the attic. What logic was behind the collection of knick-knacks, Moira did not know. One item was a painting of dogs as Adam and Eve. It didn’t stop there: there was a frieze of woman with owl feet and snakes in her hands; a Stetson with shark’s teeth in the brim; a bottle with a clear yellow liquid with a green-blue marble floating in it; a horror movie prop with a wolf snout growing out of a man’s face, losing foam and showing wire in some places; test tubes full of odd gray substances; a candle in a shape of a hand, fingertips burnt at the edge (Moira wonders, that is a candle, right?); and a scroll with Klingon writing. How could she find a wedding dress in this chaos?

That’s why she’s here. Daniel swears that her mom dropped the wedding dress off after Daniel told her of her engagement to Jacob Magid. She sometimes wonders about his memory. Maybe the wedding dress blurred into other dresses stored here. There had been times when he swore he paid off bills after the lights went out. Mom would mutter nasty things about what marijuana did to your memory. Maybe that is why her mom took her sister Maggie and her away from there. No worries, she tells herself. It’s in the past. She did well for herself. Steady work in movies and a fiance who is creative (not an actor, but a musician, but that is ideal for her) and who loves her. She could stand to work on movies with a higher budget and much better stories, but the window of opportunity for that is getting narrower and narrower with age. Be happy with what you got, she tells herself.

She glances to a wardrobe on her left. Could be where it is. She opens, and sees a whole row of clothing hanged neatly. Must be Jodi’s doing, Moira thinks. If Daniel is mellow but absent-minded, his third wife Jodi is organized but nervous. Maybe she annoys me so much because she is like me, Moira wonders.

Puffed skirts of different fabric and colors seem to burst out of the wardrobe. She spots a long white skirt of satin and tulle. Pulling it out, she can see it is a wedding dress. Smiling, she looks at the dress closer. Her father swears that her mother was her size, and Moira knows that she kept up much of her figure. However, the waist looks a little small and she may be too tall for the skirt. I could just be too nervous, she tells herself. If the wedding dress needs alteration, she knows a good tailor in Malibu.

Besides, all these other dresses would be great for the reception. She probably would have to check with her mom if they are all her dresses. It would be very strange to wear the first wife’s dresses. Actually, she met Diane, the first wife and her half-brother Eric, after she helped move his stuff into Diane’s house. Diane was more buxom, so her dresses would not fit.

Moira pulls out the dress and uncovers a mirror on the wardrobe floor. Maybe the mirror is one of Dad’s E-Bay purchases. She is surprised that it is in the wardrobe, but that could be his absent-mindedness again.

She goes back to the door, holding the dress. “Hey Dad?”

“Yeah, honey,” he yells back.

“What’s up with the mirror in wardrobe?”

“Oh? Oh! I just got that. I’ll bring it out and show it to you.”

Daniel walks up the stairs, still in jeans and a flannel shirt. He pulls the mirror out with the slow and gentle matter mirrors deserve.

He holds it to show Moira. “Got this from E-Bay. The seller was this poor girl from Norway who lost her boyfriend in Iraq. Damn shame. She needed to get money for his funeral. She was willing to sell the mirror for less, but you know, it was such a beautiful mirror, handmade. I mean, you can’t get this much love and attention at a Walmart.”

Moira nods and Daniel hands it to her. “Weird thing too. It gets kinda cold to the touch after a while. I guess I am not sure whether to leave it here or hang it up in the room. Have to ask Jodi.”

“Dad, is it okay if I look at more?”

“Sure, hon. Hey, did you find the wedding dress?”

Moira nods and holds up the wedding dress. After wedging the other dresses apart and putting it back, she takes the mirror from her father.

“I’ll see you when you get down. When Jodi comes home, she’ll want to see you in that dress.” With that, he walks down the stairs.

Moira holds it, figuring that she will see what is the big deal with this mirror. The mirror had a carved frame of some dark wood that she can imagine grew in Norwegian old-growth forests. The cravings are odd, all rings, stone axes and ravens.

She looks at her reflection, her blonde hair and sleepy green eyes, the wrinkles creeping up on the cusp of her fortieth birthday. Her fingers are now feeling chilly. Draft, she tells herself.

Then the mirror starts to look like a frozen lake with cracks and she doesn’t see her face anymore.

She sees a church with a marble floor, an elaborate nave, and so much blood splattered all over. Blood on the altar cloth and blood on the lilies and white roses. Just as suddenly she is in that church. She looks down, sees her mother’s dress, blood from a shotgun wound staining it red. She tries to get up, but the fatigue forces her back down on the floor.

She lifts her head from the floor. Jacob is not here, but there are so many dead bodies on the ground: his mother, his daughters, her uncle and her half-brothers and Maggie. Jacob’s colleagues are dead too: Peter the director, Mike the arranger and Mark the old friend and band-mate. Where’s Jacob, is he getting help, why aren’t the police here? Panic keeps her alive. She decides to get help. She’ll crawl if she must. Somehow get the man who should have been her husband, but ran when bullets started flying.

She lifts her head up and is face-to-face with a barrel of a gun. She blinks, wondering why she can’t see the face. It’s blurred, like an anonymous interview subject. She can see other things clearly, though; this person is wearing khakis and an orange windbreaker.

She sees fire and bullets fly at her, and then it is over. She is standing there, with her reflection still there. Her face is frozen now in shock. She pulls the mirror away from her face. At least she didn’t break it. I don’t need seven years of bad luck. She almost laughed at her concern.

After putting the mirror back in the closet slowly, she walks down the stairs just as slowly. Hallucination, she tells herself. Could be just stress from the wedding. It will go away.

She gets into her car in the guise of running errands. Daniel is disappointed that she is not showing off the dress now, but she promises to try it out when she gets back. Actually, she is leaving to forget the persistent images of blood-stained roses and a shotgun in her face.