by Vicki Batman
When they stopped at the altar and took their spots, I stepped forward.
“Hattie, fix your eye on me, please,” Reverend Walsh said.
Shifting my gaze meant I couldn’t ignore Allan, who stood to the minister’s left. But I did my darndest. Damn Jonson Leggett the Third. How could Tracey get dumped in such a pickle right before her wedding?
I expected to find Allan’s eyes sparkling with a twinkle, one which relished in my discomfiture. But I didn’t. His irises turned nearly black. And on his face, his expression read “mine.” I sensed my heart kick in extra beats.
I continued to face the, er, faux groom side. Blinking rapidly, I pretended the whole thing was a dream or nightmare—it depended. Maybe whichever would pass quickly. Simultaneously, Allan and I rotated to face the minister.
Reverend Walsh said, “Perfectly executed bridesmaids and grooms”—he took in only Allan and harrumphed—“groomsman who’s substituting for the groom. And now, we’ll practice the vows.” He grasped our arms and turned us to face each other.
I wriggled away. “I don’t want to be the bride—”
“Hattie, it’s not a big deal. Not a lifetime commitment. Not legal. Just a re-hear-sal.” Reverend Walsh rubbed the top of his bald head. Over his wire rims, he studied me with the lift of one brow. “Unless, perhaps, you want it so? Maybe the lady protesteth too much?”
I shook my head, but through my lashes, I saw Allan gulp then square his body. The big horse’s patootie.
“Now, we’re settled.” Reverend Walsh tucked his chin and let his gaze rove those of us at the altar. “However,” he said softly, “I expect your situation will change…one day soon.”
What I'd like to know is if my situation would change before anyone else knew.
He lifted his Bible. “Dearly beloved…”
Before long, I zoned out. I zoned to a faraway land of another church. Beside me stood a groom dressed in a black tux with a pink cummerbund. Blush dahlias and stargazer lilies, spreading their scent, decorated the urns by the altar railing. I wore a white flowing gown with an off-the-shoulder look. The music soared through the loftiness of the sanctuary—
Someone jabbed my ribs. I pushed aside the daydream and joined in with an, “I do.”
Sounding like happy fledglings, the bridesmaids twittered.
I didn’t dignify it. I didn't look. I didn't comment.
“I now pronounce you man and wife.” Reverend Walsh closed his Good Book. “You may kiss your bride.”
Again, significant twittering from the birdie chorus.
Allan held my hand—How did that happen?
He dipped his head lower, then lower until we were a lip lock apart.
I stared into his chocolate irises. Kiss me—kiss me—kiss me.
He did, but not on my mouth, which throbbed and ached for him. Nope, he played it safe and smacked me on my hair.
More significant twittering.
“Please turn and face the congregation,” Reverend Walsh said. “May I introduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Steems.”
The bridesmaids clapped.
Allan twined my arm with his. Jenny passed me an invisible bouquet. We, the poser newlyweds, strode arm in arm down the red carpet, mostly because Allan held me in place with his hand on top of mine when I tried to jerk away.
From behind us, I heard Reverend Walsh say, “Shall we repeat?”
Allan’s shoulder brushed against mine. “I do.”
My breath caught. Lord, save me. And then, my prayer was answered.
Trixie said, “No way in hell.”
Isn’t Trixie the epitome of a best friend?
****
I drove from the church to the Waterworks building by Sommerville Lake for the rehearsal dinner, which had morphed into a party. Lots of family and friends had been invited. Along the small street which wound along the curves of the lakeshore, I found direction signs inscribed with “Steems-Cooks Rehearsal” and red arrows, which indicated the way to turn.
So far, Allan did a meticulous job.
Duh. Of course, he would.
After parking the Jeep, I entered the building through an archway formed with teal and pink—the bride’s colors—balloons. I dragged my finger along one, hearing a rubbery squeak. Allan’s penchant for balloons popped in my mind.
As I rounded the corner to enter the party room, I stopped abruptly. Smack dab in front of me stood life-sized cutouts of a bride and groom, the kind where people stuck their faces in the holes to have their picture made.
Surprise! I didn’t know about the photo prop.
Surprise! I knew what was coming.
The wedding party and family guests circled the stand-ups to admire the handiwork. They clamored for a chance to poke their heads in the cutouts. A family friend jumped into position while another friend held a camera-ready smartphone.
Rubbing the length of my nose, I readied myself. Some well-meaning person would inevitably pair me with Allan for a goofy portrait. I would slap a smirk on my face and let them snap away until the giggles had subsided. Then run for—well, anywhere else but here. Mount Rushmore seemed like the perfect spot. Tons of crevices were carved in the Presidents, making them the ideal location for hiding.
I dreaded the whole thought behind this-this coupling with Allan. Yes, I wanted to kiss him and do other romantic things. But part of me held back because he always, always put work first, like his questioning my sister. And our so-called romance seemed to play in front of everyone. I wanted to hold our affair for myself. To cherish the newness of discovery. To know at any moment, images of us would form in my brain and make me squishy-wishy.
Until the little issues were resolved, I'd guard my heart.
Sigh. If only…
I would pose for pictures for Stuart’s and Tracey’s sake—just once—to maintain a cool status quo and not make a scene. But later, I would eliminate the person who dreamt up the little enterprise, and dollars to donuts, the mastermind was…Jenny.
Jenny helped Allan.
She tugged me into the hallway.
“I’m gonna kill him,” I mumbled out of the side of my mouth.
“No, you’re not. You can’t. Allan’s a cop. Cops don’t like people who hurt their cops.”
I pulled my arm free and crossed them. “Ya, whatever. Besides, I’d get off—extenuating circumstances.”
Jenny waved toward the cutouts. “You didn’t know?”
“About these? Nope. Not a thing.” I sent my head from side to side. “I ordered the food and the tables. Allan ordered the hay.”
“Did he do the cutouts on purpose?” Jenny pulled on her bottom lip. “I don’t think he’s creative. Someone helped him.”
“And which of my best friends would help him?”
Jenny proudly thumbed her chest. “Me.”
I rolled my eyes and tossed my hands. “Of course, you would.”
Arms lifted, Jenny twirled, then tilted back her body. She looked mighty happy with what she’d done. A savvy grin with a smart-ass gleam fired in her brown eyes. “He seemed…inundated.”
“Inundated? Allan? Wrong.” I fixed on her my most extraordinary evil eye. “I thought you were my friend. Why-why-why would you embarrass me?”
“Remember way back when Mrs. Steems threw the rehearsal dinner on Allan, and you said he needed lots and lots of help?”
I bobbed my head. “He roped me into riding to the rescue.”
“Ride ’em cowboy.”
I stared so hard, Jenny should be bleeding from the piercing holes.
“Fine,” Jenny said. “Allan needed other ideas to make the reception special. Someone at work attended a wedding and the cutouts”—she waved her hands over her idea—“were at the reception. I liked the concept and told Allan. The rehearsal dinner seemed to be a fun place to do it. I contacted a rental company, and for a mere one hundred seventy-five dollars apiece, you can take them home.”
I stuck my hands to my hips and swiveled to check out her tr
iumph. “As cute as they are, I'll pass.”
“Me, too.”
“Mr. Who-Uses-All-The-Hot-Water might have other ideas.”
“Don’t go there.”
“How come we can talk about Allan and me ad nauseum and not you and Mr., er, you know—the guy you’re dating?”
“Because”—Jenny stabbed my shoulder with a finger—not too delicately—right where the bone met the soft tissue—“I’m me, and you’re, you know, you.”
Okay.
“I love you like a sister, Hattie. If you suppose my intent with the cutouts was to pair you with Allan, fine. Despite what you may believe, there’s not any huge Conspiracy Theory, except in your head. I only wanted to help a friend—”
“I am your friend.”
“I had no ulterior motive.”
“As you say.”
Jenny liked Allan; she always had. She always seemed to take his side, and today was one of them. “Sorry,” I said. “I’m grumpy.”
“Apology accepted. For what it’s worth, here’s my short opinion.” She raised her index finger. “I think it’s time for you to get over your hang-ups. He didn’t get you killed; you didn’t get him killed. No one’s out to get you. Admit your feelings for him.”
Jenny pulled me close, so close her forehead met mine.
“Hattie, it’s time for a heart to heart. You’re in love with Allan Wellborn. Everyone knows you care for each other.”
“Everyone?” I gulped, then considered. “Of course, they do. Everyone in little ol’ Sommerville knows everyone's business. I'm no exception. Nothing’s ever private.”
“Then own it. Own it in your heart. Say 'I love Allan.' Maybe the town’ll find another hot item.”
Jenny could be right. I considered some more.
“Hattie?”
“I’m thinking.”
“I can't stand here all night with my forehead stuck to yours. You’re sweaty.”
Straightening, I gulped deeply and said softly, “I l-love Allan.”
“Doesn’t sound much like owning it. Nor heartfelt.”
“You heard me.”
“I’ll turn on my hearing aids.”
Fine. Louder, I said, “I. Love. Allan.”
Just like in the movies, the proverbial dropped pin pinged like a bomb, and by coincidence, exactly when everyone stopped talking. Sensing all turn our way to stare, I closed my eyes. Thank God, my backside is to the crowd. I could feel holes drilling into the back of my swanky little black dress. Their hot looks melting my zipper to my spine.
The quiet seemed overwhelmingly profound. I peeked through my eyelashes and barely shifted my gaze to the left and then to the right. I very, very quietly asked, “How bad do you think it is?”
She lifted her hands just enough to reveal hopelessness. “Oh, you know…”
Great. “No possibility of an earthquake swallowing and spitting us out somewhere else?”
Jenny smiled. “I don’t think so—not today. But you never know. Seems some new gas wells have created heave-ho issues.”
“No molten lava cascading from a nearby erupting volcano, causing the need to evacuate and mass pandemonium?”
She giggled. “No.”
“No drug bust because someone caught a bunch of teenagers smoking weed on the balcony?”
“No, Hattie.”
“Damn.” I bit my lower lip. “It’s a good guess everyone knows something’s up?”
“Yep.”
“Is my mom here?”
“Can’t tell from this angle.” Jenny lifted her chin and adjusted for a better view. “Yes, and Mrs. Wellborn and she are whispering furiously.”
Darn. Those two and their matchmaking. Why didn’t Mom stay at home? “Allan?”
“I see him. He’s”—she peeked past my shoulder— “he’s moving our way…”
Could I be any more mortified? I bounced into an upright stance and squeaked, “Allan’s coming over here?”
Jenny rose to her toes and looked over my shoulder to check again. “It’s hard to say. A crowd of people is between us, but I can see his head. He’s zigzagging around them to find you.”
Allan heard everything. Everything. Every. Little. Thing. Awkward. Uncomfortable. Embarrassing. No privacy.
“I know.” Jenny grabbed my elbow. “Let’s escape to the ladies’ room.”
A good plan, way better than any I had now. “Brilliant. Allan wouldn’t dare go in.”
“Ready?” She propelled me from the reception room.
I let her take me. I could hide indefinitely in the ladies’ room, especially if I locked the door. No one would bother us, especially Allan.
Check that. He might.
However, his mother raised him to be the perfect gentleman. He might not.
My tummy grumbled. Can I order a plate of fried chicken to be delivered?
****
Pale pink and black tile decorated the women’s bathroom walls and floor which looked like a flashback to the forties. In an alcove, women could check their makeup and clothing in tall pier mirrors gilded in gold leaf. Large upholstered chairs and ottomans in a pink trellis pattern were scattered about for comfy seating.
I picked up a soap dispenser and sniffed—lavender—my favorite. I circled the rest of the room—unexciting, but then, what public bathrooms are? Crossing my arms, I rested my backside against the vanity. “So, exactly how long do we have to stay out of sight?”
Jenny turned the lock. “Work with me. We’ve been in here all of two minutes.”
“An eternity.”
“I’m thinkin’ ”—she stared at her phone—“twenty more minutes should do it. Do you want me to see where Allan’s at?”
I turned to look at my reflection in the vanity mirror and grabbed a tissue which I dabbed to the corners of my mouth. “Yes, please. Being stuck in a restroom is as boring as dirt.”
Jenny harrumphed. “I've never been compared to dirt before—”
“Sorry—”
“I know what you mean.” She twisted the doorknob. “Maybe if the coast’s clear, I can scarf up food. I love fried chicken.”
“Excellent plan. Don't forget the peach cobbler with ice cream.”
I turned and let my rear end rest against the counter again. I didn't exactly count out how many minutes, but after a long while, I believed Jenny had disappeared forever. Then, the door creaked with a squeak.
My friend entered backside first, carrying a tray. “Look what I have. Texas sheet cake.”
I grabbed a plate of cake and a utensil, forking a hefty bite with no consideration about fitting into the bridesmaid dress. Around the crumbs, I said, “I. Love. Cake.”
“I know. Sorry, no cobbler. The caterer took her time replenishing it.”
“At least someone is eating something.” When hearing the door rasp a second time, I stuffed a large bite in my mouth. “Did you lock the door behind you?”
Jenny cringed and checked over her shoulder. “Umm. Maybe not. I was cake distracted.”
Another squeak. Somebody pushed a metal utility cart—the stainless kind used for industrial purposes—into the room.
In better lighting, Allan materialized.
“Hi, ladies.”
His wide toothy smile looked brilliant like his pinpoint white shirt over which he wore a sport coat.
The man excelled in dressing, but I bet my last dollar he used toothpaste guaranteed to whiten teeth. I'd seen a tube when I searched his house a few months ago. I stared at the toilet doors. Sometimes, I don't know what to think about him.
I shifted my gaze back to Allan. “Shouldn't you be entertaining your guests, oh sainted one?”
“All's cool. I left the party in Trixie’s and Kella's capable hands,” he said.
“My friend? Trixie? She'll demand everyone join the limbo contest. Kella’ll will make sure all is okay.” I dropped into a chair. “I see you brought food. Are you hungry? Were all the chairs taken in the boy's restroom?”
Allan locked the door. “I might get a warmer reception in the men’s room.”
How…unexpected.
He looked around. “I've never been locked in a women’s restroom at a rehearsal dinner before. A real first.”
Someone pounded on the door.
“Out of order,” Jenny hollered.
“Hattie, are you okay?”
I mouthed, “Mom.”
When my mother banged a second time, Jenny's shoulders shuddered with laughter.
I raised my palms and said in a soft voice, “Help.”
“Can you unlock the door, Jenny?” my mom asked.
Jenny moved to the door where she pressed her ear to it. “Something’s wrong with the hot water, Mrs. Cooks.”
“Shall I find the Waterworks building manager?”
I rolled my eyes.
“No, ma’am. Shouldn’t be much longer.”
“Thanks, Jenny,” Mother said.
“Sure, Mrs. Cooks.” Jenny wiggled her smartphone in my face. “I have Kella on the phone. I’m telling her the downstairs restroom’s out of order and, in case of an emergency, to send the guests to the upstairs one.”
“Good plan,” Allan said.
Selecting a plate, she set a chicken breast on it. “Looks yummy. Thanks for organizing the food for…er, us.”
“My pleasure. Good eats shouldn’t be missed. Go on”—Allan flicked a finger at the rest of the tray—“mac ’n cheese. Salad. Biscuits and strawberry jam in the basket.”
“Don't mind if I do.” Jenny heaped the sides on her plate.
After she snagged a baked goodie and topped it with butter and jam, she looked over. “Hattie, would you like me to fix you a plate?”
With a sigh, I stood and walked toward her. The gurgles in my tummy sounded very unladylike. The chicken smelled divine. I extended my arm. “Just a small piece will do.”
Jenny passed me a full plate. “Here you go.”
I returned to my chair and, when settled, bit into the chicken. Closing my eyes briefly, I savored the lovely crunch of the perfect golden crust. Slowly, I took a second and third bite.