Rory shifted in her seat, glancing around to see men discreetly wiping perspiration from their brows, women using the programs that were handed out at the door as makeshift fans. She hadn’t picked up a program. She really didn’t need anything to commemorate this day. She had a feeling she would remember it just fine all on her own, and then more often in therapy.
“When the hell is this thing going to start?” Jill grumbled under her breath, awkwardly shifting positions on the bench.
“Jill, dear…” Mrs. Feeney’s soft voice of reprimand followed the outburst.
“Oh, right. Sorry,” she nodded with feigned contriteness as she went to amend her previous statement. “When the fu—”
“Jill Marie Feeney!”
Rory bit back her amusement, but couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy. It had to suck to be pregnant in this heat.
She glanced over at her. “How are you holding up?”
“It actually wouldn’t be so bad,” Jill admitted, “if my back wasn’t bothering me so much. I went for an extra-long walk yesterday and think I pulled a muscle or something. I already have enough trouble sleeping, but last night was really bad. My old bed seemed too soft; the couch in the den seemed too hard. Nothing was just right.”
“So much for the theory of Goldilocks,” Rory said with a sigh.
“Seriously, could these benches be any more uncomfortable?” Jill grumbled as she turned back to her mother. “Was there some necessary reason back then that observing one’s religion had to equal constant pain and suffering?”
“Actually, yes,” her mother replied drily, but then her face lit up. “You know, when Dad has his hemorrhoid flare-ups, he uses a driving pillow. It’s right out in the car. I could go get that.”
She shook her head with a grimace. “No, Mom, really. That’s so not necessary.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Feeney said. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.” She stood from her seat, and Rory moved to let her pass by. “I’ll be right back, dear.”
“Driving pillow?” Rory couldn’t help but grin a little.
Jill rolled her eyes heavenward. “Oh, the indignity.”
The respectful quiet of the church was broken only occasionally by a cough or spoken murmur, and then a few strains of music from the organ in the choir loft. It offered Rory no distraction from the dull, gnawing pain in her stomach or the sickening flutter of her heart in her throat as she braced herself for what was to come. She had pretty much cried her eyes dry, however, so at least there wouldn’t be that embarrassment.
Casey Conroy suddenly made her appearance, pausing at the end of their pew with an expectant smile. Her blonde hair was swept up in a twist and she was wearing an extremely low-cut cocktail dress.
They shifted over to make room. So much for maintaining a low profile at a church gathering. At least Rory had the good sense to go with an appropriate dress that was a little more demure—and as black as the bride’s cold, cold heart.
She paused to frown. Where did that come from?
“Luke is holding down the fort at the bar,” Casey glanced over to explain as she moved in to sit with them. “He’s meeting me later at the reception. We decided one of us should really be here at the ceremony for Matt. I guess I drew the short straw, huh?”
Jill responded with a soft snort of amusement, but Rory only managed a brief smile. She supposed it would be easier to try to excuse or explain it away like that, like it were a contest or game, and she somehow came up short in life. The truth, however, was that she once had everything, right there in front of her. All she had to do was choose it.
Instead, she let it all slip away.
***
Matt wandered along the circular gravel path, his head bowed as pebbles crunched under his feet with each step. He was in the small garden courtyard hidden behind the church wall, having needed to step outside the tiny closet-sized waiting room behind the altar that he, Danny and Kevin had been stuffed into when they arrived.
With these temperatures, he was near desperate for some fresh air. He also felt that, within potential earshot of the minister, there was an entire litany of wholly inappropriate jokes that were likely to slip off his tongue if he didn’t get out of there.
He felt so suffocated and trapped, in fact, that he began to wonder if he might have actually developed an acute case of debilitating claustrophobia. Perhaps it was something that required immediate medical attention and lengthy hospitalization—or at least be brought to the attention of some research specialists for the sake of science.
Tugging at his tuxedo shirt collar, he grumbled and muttered to himself. It had to be close to a hundred degrees today. Maybe he was suffering from heat stroke. He heard that could cause a person to experience some sort of altered perception or delusional thoughts. Wouldn’t that, technically, make him not of sound mind? One certainly couldn’t be held responsible for one’s actions if not of sound mind. People could even get out of legally binding contracts, free and clear, for that reason alone. And wouldn’t a marriage be considered a legally binding contract?
Then Matt had to wonder who were these people who make the official decision and declaration that one is not of sound mind. Do they advertise in the yellow pages? Do they make house calls? Or—simply for the sake of argument, of course—church calls?
He rubbed his hand over his face, blowing out a shaky sigh. He couldn’t do this anymore.
This was it. His time was up.
Empty thunder rumbled in the distance and, when he glanced up at the clouds, his eyes landed on the tall, white steeple of the church. That was when Matt had what he guessed was as close to a religious experience as he’d ever had.
Without a full night’s sleep in weeks, tossing and turning, at a loss as to what he was feeling, mired in confusion, racked with ambiguity, as he stared up at that steeple pointing skywards it was as if the full weight of reality was thrown into sharp relief.
And Matt realized he did love Amanda. That was why he couldn’t marry her.
He finally had his reason.
Taking a deep breath, he crossed the courtyard with wide strides. Danny and Kevin were still waiting in the room for the ceremony to begin. He paused in the doorway, frozen.
Danny glanced over to regard him with a troubled frown. “Matt, what is it?”
“I, ah—I can’t…um…” Suddenly remembering the congregation of seated wedding guests just beyond the wall of the room, Matt tried to actually verbalize it, yet felt caught in the grips of an anxiety attack, gasping for air as his heart pounded furiously, his stomach feeling like it had dropped to its knees.
“Are you trying to tell us something, boy?” Kevin came up to stand next to Danny, mildly concerned but unable to resist a smile of amusement. “Is Timmy trapped in the well?”
“I—I can’t marry her,” Matt finally choked out. “I can’t marry Amanda.”
His brothers only stared at him with open mouths and blank expressions before they slowly turned to look at each other.
“He can’t marry Amanda,” Kevin repeated.
“I got that, thanks.” Danny rolled his eyes a little before turning back to Matt, employing the same careful and soothing tones he might use to reason with a hostage taker or talk a jumper down off a roof. “Matty, if you’re just having a momentary bout of cold feet here, nervous about the ceremony or vows or whatever, let’s just take a moment to think about this and—”
“I have thought about it.” He regained some control. “It’s all I’ve thought about for weeks. I kept hoping it would change, that I’d snap out of it or get over it. But it hasn’t. It hasn’t changed. I can’t marry her. And I have to tell her that.” Then he frowned. “Do I have to tell her that? Or, as best man, could you maybe…”
Danny only glowered at him.
“No, I know I have to tell her.” Matt ran his hand over his hair with a final sigh of resignation. “I have to do it.”
Kevin stepped forward to tap a finger against his w
ristwatch.
“I hate to have to be the one to bring this up, but the telling her thing? That should probably happen soon, seeing as you’re scheduled to go out there and exchange vows in front of approximately a hundred and seventy-five people in, oh, about ten minutes.”
“What the hell am I gonna do?” Matt groaned miserably, dropping his face into his hands. “She’ll hate me. This is going to kill her. I’m such a friggin’ idiot. How could I let this happen? Of all the messes I’ve got myself into in my life and, let’s face it, there have been a lot, this tops the list. I have to be the biggest jerk on the planet, a real piece of sh—” He threw them both a sharp glance. “Feel free to jump in at any time with some words of encouragement here, by the way.”
“You still have your health?” Kevin offered quietly.
“Thanks, Kevin. Thanks a lot.”
“Look, Matt,” Danny said. “There’s really nothing either of us can say or do to help you. I hate to tell you this, but you’re on your own.”
“You think I’m making a mistake?” Matt watched him with darkening eyes.
His older brother shook his head. “That’s not what I’m saying. If it’s what you really believe, it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. You have to listen to what your heart is telling you.”
“Just out of curiosity,” Kevin asked, narrowing his eyes. “What is your heart telling you?”
Matt’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “That she’s not the one.”
TWENTY-FOUR
He lingered outside the front of the church, imagining Amanda was probably standing right inside the threshold with her bridesmaids, ready and waiting to walk down that aisle—the one that was supposed to have him ready and waiting at the other end.
Glancing over towards the crowded parking lot, he briefly entertained the idea of hot-wiring a car, taking off in a cloud of exhaust smoke down the road. Being arrested and imprisoned for auto theft actually sounded a lot better than what he had to do right now.
Swallowing when his throat went dry, he carefully ascended the three steps to the heavy door, carved of white pine. Pushing it open, he cringed as the ancient wood creaked with the movement, and then peered inside to check out the situation.
There she was, in an alcove of the front entranceway, her strapless white gown flowing down to her ankles, dark hair pinned up under her cascading veil. She looked like something that stepped right off the page of one of those four thousand or so bridal magazines she’d bought since they got engaged. Then he noticed the vague pinch of concern and irritation on her face, the others around her whispering and craning their necks to gaze into the church. They were probably all wondering what the hold-up was.
“Oh, hello there.”
Matt was startled by the voice. Lowering his eyes with sinking dread, he saw Grandma Benson smiling up at him from the crack in the door.
He smiled nervously. “Hi.”
“You’re not trying to make a run for it, are you?” The elderly woman laughed.
He attempted to laugh with her, but all that came out was a hoarse, squeaky sound. “Um, do you think, could you perhaps let Amanda know I’m out here?”
“Why, certainly.”
The door closed and he turned to descend the steps to the lawn outside the church. Someday all the Bensons would laugh about this. Probably the day they were all standing over his cold, dead body.
Matt heard the creak of the door again behind him and froze with apprehension, bracing himself. He turned to see her standing there on the steps with a mixture of confusion and anger on her perfectly made-up features.
“Matt, what is it?” she asked with a frown. “What are you doing out here? The ceremony is about to start.”
He eyes drifted over her. “You look incredible.”
“You could’ve told me that in there.” Her mouth was set at a tight line. “What is going on?”
“I needed to talk to you,” he admitted, dropping his head a little, but at least respecting her enough to look her in the eye.
“About what?” she asked in a thin, sharp voice, not giving an inch.
Not that Matt believed he deserved an inch. He didn’t even deserve a centimeter. Although he secretly wished he had about a hundred miles, and that they were placed right between him and this spot where he was standing right now.
“About the wedding,” he began.
“What about the wedding?”
She finally traveled to the bottom of the stairs to stand on the lawn in front of him.
“Well, see, I’ve been having these thoughts lately—concerns, if you will?” He didn’t know how to explain himself in a way that would cause her any less hurt. Should he spell it all out slowly or come right out with it, like ripping off a Band-Aid? “And I think that these concerns, they might not be something I should ignore. They’re something I need to talk to you about.”
“So talk.”
Not quite prepared for her icy, unyielding demeanor, he started to stammer, sounding much like the idiot he was.
“I think—I wonder if you might have them, too. Amanda, if you woke up with any doubts, even the slightest uncertainty this morning, just talk to me, please.” He moved to take her hand. “If there’s anything that’s been bothering you. Anything.”
She lowered her eyes to the ground, but not before Matt noticed he may have hit a nerve, or perhaps even struck a chord of truth with her.
“It’s always like it’s an afterthought.” she murmured softly, head still bowed.
“What?” he asked. “What’s like an afterthought?”
“Whenever you tell me you love me.” Amanda lifted her head, eyes brimming with tears. “It’s always an afterthought to you. Like you have to remind yourself to say it.”
She didn’t finish, closing her eyes shut tight as a single wet drop leaked out onto her cheek. Matt nearly winced in agony. He was tortured by the fact he caused her this pain, yet at the same time felt a certain odd sense of hope rising. This was at least some confirmation that maybe, just maybe, he was right, and she was experiencing similar doubts.
For that brief moment, he really believed it might not be too traumatizing. They could get out of this relatively unscathed and come to a mutual agreement of sorts, recognizing that they were both about to make a big mistake, and they should stop it from happening.
Buoyed by her admission, he forged ahead with a renewed assurance, speaking carefully and gently, thinking the light at the end of the tunnel was within his sights.
“And you have to see that’s not the way it should be. It’s not what you deserve, to feel like—”
“Oh, no.” She lifted her head and her eyes snapped open, flashing with rage as she tore her hand from his. Her voice lowered ominously. “Don’t you dare!”
Matt forgot for a minute that this was his life he was talking about here, and nothing ever went down that easily.
“Don’t you dare try to turn this around and put it on me!” she shrieked, poking her finger in accusation, nearly spitting venom. “This is all your doing, Matt. If this wedding isn’t happening today, if you’re really going to do this to me, and to my family—this is all on you!”
***
In an attempt to get some air circulating in the church, all the windows had been opened wide to hook even the slightest breeze, only what the people inside were catching now was this argument out on the lawn, word for word.
Everyone grew quiet, glancing around to exchange uncomfortable looks.
Sitting perfectly still in the strained silence, Rory could feel the trembling rhythm of her own heart. Stirred up from the sinking depths of despair, it seemed to grow louder with each rising beat.
***
“And you can stand here and tell me you have these doubts all you want, but please don’t play me for a fool,” Amanda continued. “Because we both know what this is really about!”
“We do?” Matt asked nervously, realizing just how much he’d lost control of this situation, like
a freight train hurtling down the tracks headed straight for a cliff.
A cliff, if he had any good sense, he would’ve jumped off a week ago.
“This is about the fact that you never got over your stupid high school girlfriend, and you’d rather wallow in your misery over the fact she ditched you than move on with your life and be happy. You’re pathetic!”
***
Inside, Jill leaned over to whisper to Rory, “Um, this wedding seems to be taking sort of a nasty turn here.”
Rory rolled her eyes, her hands clenched at her sides as she tried to soothe herself with sarcasm. “Ya think?”
***
“Ever since she came back into town, you’ve been acting strangely, not yourself. I was ready to look past it all, because that’s how much I loved you and was willing to make this work.” Amanda’s voice wavered with emotion. “She even came to me herself, to talk to me about you!”
Matt stared at her, his momentary confusion apparently clouding any reasonable judgment.
“Rory?”
Amanda let out a harsh laugh that almost bordered on hysterical, which only drove home the fact to Matt that, of all the asinine, idiotic, and just plain dumb things he could have said in response, it surely topped the list.
“Yes—Rory! Funny you knew exactly who I was talking about, isn’t it?”
***
On her opposite side, Casey Conroy burst out a small laugh of disbelief, clamping a hand over her mouth when it drew attention their way. Discreetly, she turned to Rory with a meaningful glance.
“This shit just got real.”
The sounds of shuffling and rustling filled the church around them as, one by one, people turned to glance over or stare outright.
Lifting her hand, Rory rubbed at her temple in an attempt to shield herself from inquiring eyes. “Please, not now,” she whispered to herself in dismay. Bowing her head, she tried to remind God about something—anything—terrible she might have done, hoping that it might cause some sort of hell-mouth to open up in the floorboards and swallow her whole.
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