Knowing

by Rosalyn McMillan

  Ginger refused to go down South. She told him to go by himself, or take his wonderful baby daughter with him. It had only taken two trips to the beauty parlor before Jackson had apologized about her messing up Autumn’s hair. Ginger, however, hadn’t forgiven him for making the accusation. She’d just kept silent.

  Time was running out for George Cameron. His attempts to reclaim some of the key clients Kim had stolen proved futile. Not one would return to Pierce-Walker no matter what perks Cameron offered to sweeten the deal. Each had made very clear how satisfied they were with Kim’s business acumen.

  Cameron was close to accepting his loss . . . until he flipped through the late edition of the Detroit Free Press, spotting an engagement picture, and read the small article chronicling the wedding in the middle of September of Dr. William Harris and Kim Lee. George Cameron smiled to himself.

  Earlier that summer, after reviewing the pictures Ivory Michaels had given her upon his return from Paris, the two cousins finally made a decision about Kim’s wedding dress. She’d chosen to copy a gown by Yumi Katsura. A seamstress from Lansing had assured Kim that she could duplicate the design.

  The slim-silhouette gown made of lustrous cream silk-satin crepe was accented with matching baroque pearls layering the empire bodice to midwaist. Hand-appliquéd beaded medallions at the apex of the bustline added style and sophistication. Along the front slit opening, the off-the-shoulder neckline, and at the wrists an elaborate lace rose-petal pattern seductively embodied the godly creation. A chapel train of lace provided the finishing touch.

  Six bridesmaids would wear ivory opalescent strapless minidresses that were tight-fitting straight silhouettes with hipline peplums accented with a side cluster of handmade silk roses. The male attendants would wear off-white tuxedos with shiny gold cummerbunds and matching ties.

  Having read that wearing a veil this year was passé, Kim elected not to wear one. She’d let her hair grow out and planned on wearing it entwined with flowers over a beaded hair ornament, with rows of curled ribbons cascading romantically down the sides and back at various lengths. Ginger cried tears of joy as she watched Kim try on the dress for the final fitting and last-minute details. It was beautiful. She was beautiful.

  Five weeks before the wedding, Bill escorted his exuberant father-in-law-to-be from the nursing home and had him measured for a tuxedo. Miraculously, Ollie had regained the power of speech. Afterwards, Bill and Ollie spent a few hours over lunch discussing the women they loved.

  Listening attentively, Bill had been impressed with Ollie’s words of wisdom for a happy marriage.

  “Do you read your Bible, son?”

  “No, sir,” Bill had said, embarrassed.

  “Always be honest. You can respect a man for his honesty. Have a Bible at home?”

  Bill nodded yes.

  “Do me a favor. Do yourself a favor, and together with Kim, before you marry, take the time and read Ephesians, Chapters Twenty-one through Thirty-three. It explains how a man and wife should treat each other in marriage. It encourages husbands to love their wives even as Christ also loved the Church. That men ought to love their wives as their own bodies, because he that loveth his wife loveth himself: ‘For no man ever yet hated his own flesh; but nourisheth and cherisheth it, even as the Lord the church. . . . Nevertheless let ever one of you in particular so love his wife even as himself; and the wife see that she reverence her husband.’

  “Take the time to become best friends. Laugh together, cry together, pray together and tell each other your secrets. Treat her like she’s special every day. Build your future together. Set goals. Not just for money, but for spiritual growth.

  “Give her freedom to fulfill her purpose in life, and achieve your own. In doing these things you’ll be the best of lovers.”

  When they returned to the nursing home, Bill was genuinely moved by their conversation. Not having a father to confide in, Bill appreciated Ollie’s pep talk. Marriage, picking a mate for life, was important to him. Over the years, several of his friends had entered into their third or fourth marriages.

  The stories they’d reiterated about divorce, dividing property, children, and money were scary. Homes and furnishings that couples had so lovingly selected and treasured over years were now bartered and fought over childishly. Hot-blooded love cooled to cold hatred. And the children suffered, unsure whom to pledge their allegiance to. Bill knew that when he decided to marry, it would be for life. He knew that men, as well as women (though most wouldn’t admit it), agonized over a failed marriage.

  Ginger was so nervous she’d broken out in hives again a week before the wedding. It had taken numerous trips to salons for Ginger to find just the right wig. She’d never been in a wedding party. Although she’d known Kim would ask her to be the matron of honor, it still brought tears to her eyes when she did.

  Ginger, Sierra, and Autumn worked together to make matching pearl-and-crystal earrings for each of the bridesmaids. Kim had made Sierra the happiest preteen in her circle of friends by asking her to be one of her bridesmaids. Autumn, sulking because she wanted a fancy minidress too, was given the task of throwing the flower petals. She was too old and too tall to be a flower girl, she argued, but acquiesced after she saw the beautiful dress her mother bought her. And after she was told she’d be able to wear her hair down, she became thrilled with the whole thing. Christian, at a vintage fifteen, couldn’t possibly play the part of ring bearer, so they hadn’t even broached the question of his participating. Instead, he volunteered to pass out the rice for everyone to throw.

  A week before the wedding, Katherine arrived from Port Huron, strangely enough minus Cotton. The rumors of Katherine’s tumultuous on-again, off-again relationship over the past year were rampant. Ginger accepted her mother’s vulnerability, understanding her need for companionship. She prayed diligently that when she turned sixty, her love with Jackson would be as strong as when they’d first pledged it. Besides, no one could afford to be without Katherine’s expertise in handling important festivities such as these. She was immensely knowledgeable. She didn’t forget a single detail of what was expected from each participant in the wedding.

  On Saturday morning, the nineteenth of September, the sun rose with a warm glow. The dew loosed its morning smells early on as sparrows chirped busily overhead.

  A horsedrawn carriage had been hired, and was scheduled to pick up Kim at her apartment by 12:30 P.M. The wedding was to begin promptly at 1:00 at Saint Michael’s Cathedral, six blocks away.

  “You look beautiful, Sierra. Mama’s so proud of you.” Ginger kissed her daughter lovingly on the cheek. Katherine was right. She did look like a Miss America. Not usually at a loss for words, Sierra was extremely quiet today. Ginger suspected that Katherine must have whispered in her ear to try not to talk so much. She was constantly telling Sierra to carry herself like the star she would one day become. Sierra, looking and feeling like a million bucks, abided by her wishes this one time.

  “Everything all right, Mama?” asked Ginger, nervously checking her watch. Peeking through the door out into the church, Ginger smiled. So far the wedding was moving along fairy-tale perfect. The church was filled to capacity.

  “Just peachy.” Sweat beaded on Katherine’s forehead. Ginger reached inside her purse, then patted her mother’s face with a tissue. Katherine looked uncomfortable. She’d gained back the thirty pounds she’d lost last year, and now wore the inevitable two girdles again, squeezing into a dress two sizes too small.

  Ginger still didn’t feel right about not talking to Kim this morning. Katherine had assured her that everything was fine. Said it was normal for a bride to want her privacy. Kim had lost so much weight recently that her wedding dress had to be altered a second time after the final fitting.

  Left unasked and unanswered between mother and daughter were the whereabouts of their significant others. Katherine had no idea where Cotton was, and hoped that Ginger wouldn’t broach the subject. And while Ginger knew exactly th
e whereabouts of Mr. Jackson Montgomery and was sure Katherine had guessed too, she was grateful that her mother hadn’t confronted her about it.

  At this very moment, thirty minutes before the start of the wedding, Jackson was sitting at home, watching television in his underwear and socks. Taking a large hunk of bologna, he stuffed a cracker in his mouth and washed it down with a half-frozen bottle of Diet Pepsi. He surfed channels with the remote until he found a Western suitable to his mood. Gunfight at the O.K. Corral — just the ticket. He hadn’t seen it in months. And he’d caught the tail end — the best part. Now this was what he called a party.

  A smug smile registered on his face. Ginger had been livid this morning when he dropped the bomb that he wasn’t going.

  “Don’t humiliate me, Jackson,” Ginger had said.

  “You don’t need me. I’ll be right heah when you get back.”

  “I need you to be there supporting me, as my husband.”

  “I can’t figure you out, Ginger. One minute you’re Miss Executive, executing your life, your money, your time as it suits you. When it suits you. Next minute, you’re vulnerable, you need me, your husband. Why is that, Ginger? Why is it that our needs these days only represent your needs?”

  “You’re not being fair, Jackson. And it’s obviously too late to talk about it now, so just forget it. I’ll go alone.”

  “No, you started this shit. I’d like to know why you’re spending so much time involving yourself in somebody else’s marriage when you should be concentrating on working on your own.”

  “I think you should be asking yourself that question, Jackson.”

  “You didn’t need me to quit your job. You wouldn’t listen to my advice. Tell me, Ginger, all those years you worked at Champion Motors — doesn’t loyalty mean anything to you? Security? Commitment? Is that how much consideration you’d give to our years of marriage? ‘I quit. It’s over’?”

  “I’ll never quit us, Jackson.”

  “Uh-huh, yeah.”

  As she stormed off, Jackson reflected on the health of their marriage. Even though their relationship was plagued with problems, he sincerely believed with faith and time, they could make it work. No matter what the circumstances, it was worth it.

  Jackson made two decisions: first, to put more trust in God; and second, to go to church with his family. He crossed his ankles, grabbing a handful of fresh popcorn. Next Sunday, the Montgomerys would be sitting in the front pew at church, testifying to their belief in God.

  Ginger decided to lie to Kim and Bill, explaining that Jackson had a bad cold and was unable to make it.

  Katherine was equally prepared with an alibi for Cotton. Yet she was sure his absence would go unnoticed. It was ironic: Both women would lie to protect their men’s reputation, loving their men hard, their men hardly loving. Did either man really deserve this love?

  By 12:52 P.M. the cathedral brimmed with carefully dressed guests, whispering. Katherine signaled the organist to begin playing the pieces they’d selected. The soloist Kim had hired to sing “Since I Fell for You” sat on the bench across from the organ. Eight minutes to go. Bill and Kim’s father took their places.

  Silently as a dream, like a sparkle in a grain of sand, time was running out for Kim’s magical wedding, at this moment she was dreaming a colorless dream. . . .

  Last night Kim was exhausted, but too hyped up to sleep. Dark circles shadowed her face, threads of red darted across her fatigued eyes, her skin tone was sallow. After weeks of surviving on three to four hours of sleep nightly, she was determined to get some beauty rest before the big day. Taking her aunt Katherine’s advice, she’d acquiesced and ingested four sleeping pills.

  Although her mind was somewhat groggy, Kim was sure someone had been ringing the doorbell — then pounding at the door nonstop. She ignored it, until the banging amplified. She assumed it was Bill, excited, unable to keep their promise of not seeing each other before their big day.

  Every evening this week, Bill and Kim had entertained each other with their ignorance of the Good Book, then unashamedly communicated their thoughts about it. Kim felt a surge of renewed respect for Bill, adhering to her father’s request that they read particular verses of Ephesians together. Tears of grace stood in their eyes as they prayed. It was a kind of epiphany. Rising from their knees, each agreed to wait until the wedding night to consummate their love.

  Kim felt a sudden apprehension as she headed toward the foyer and heard the retreating footsteps, then faint rumblings of the elevator doors closing. She hesitated a moment, tightening the sash of her pale blue lacy-silky peignoir before unlocking the door. A large manila envelope had been left outside. Picking it up, she peered up and down the hallway, seeing no one, then locked the door behind her.

  The apartment was still as she moved through the family room, past dozens of beautifully wrapped wedding gifts forming a miniature tower. Nearby, an ivory silk gown cloaked a headless, dull gray mannequin. Matching satin slippers loitered around the hem. And a masterpiece headpiece of silk roses, baby’s breath, and cascading tendrils of ribbons sat on a small table beside a pair of pearl-drop earrings.

  Turning on the lights, she felt the sharp outlines of a rectangle inside the packet; it was an unlabeled videocassette. She placed the cassette in the VCR and pressed Play, smiling to herself. Curious what last-minute message Bill was sending, her eyes locked on the clock over the mantel: 1:21 A.M. But it wasn’t the smiling face of her fiancé that greeted her on the screen. The haughty voice of George Cameron stunned her. “Remember me?”

  The camera zoomed in closer. His face was dark as the devil’s, his eyes frozen in menace. “Did you think I’d forgotten you? You oughtn’ta tried to fuck me over, honey, and think I’d let it slide.” He lit a cigar and took his time before continuing.

  “You know that cute little Sheila Little was immensely helpful. ’Course I told her I was Bill’s former employer and wanted to surprise him tonight. Gave me the date, time, directions, to the hall where your fiancé’s bachelor party is going right now while I’m taping. So sit back and watch the main attraction, which I guarantee Bill and his friends won’t be able to tear their eyes from.” There was a brief moment of static before the scene changed to two nude panting bodies facing each other on an office desk. “Watch it, honey, don’t turn it off yet — you’ll miss the best part. This is our famous frog fucking position, remember? Gotta love it.” He laughed mercilessly. “You just fucking gotta love it!”

  She cried, then laughed, tears flowing like wax over her wooden face. Halfway into a fifth of Johnnie Walker she had been willing to accept anything. Hell, I never was Snow White.

  The mystic shimmer of moonlight through the naked picture windows cast an ethereal glow over Jewel Lee’s picture over the mantel. The serene beauty of her mother’s soul still shone through her features. Kim could feel it literally filling her. “Thou that believeth that there is one God, thou doest well; the devils also believe and tremble. . . . When he crieth unto me, that I will hear; for I am gracious. . . . If my people which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from thy wicked ways, then I will hear them from heaven, and I will forgive their sin, and I will heal. . . .”

  For a moment, she felt a glow of hope in her heart, before the devil stepped in to laugh at her. Filled with guilt and self-loathing, she turned away from her mother’s surrealistic portrait in shame. Her life, her world, her pain, weren’t worth saving, living, suffering. She was fighting against the devil for her soul and losing. Hours passed and minutes drowned throughout the night.

  Removing the prescription bottle from the medicine cabinet, she mechanically swallowed a handful of Seconal, washing it down with straight scotch. Turning out the lights in the bedroom, she sat on the edge of the unmade bed nursing her drink. Alone in the darkness, she strained to hear any sounds of life. There were no birds singing, no floorboards creaking, no one else breathing. The alcohol felt like embalming fluid
seeping through her veins as she fell into a deep sleep.

  Kim wanted to sleep forever. But images of her mother, father, Bill, and their beautiful wedding pressed against closed lids. Cold waves of apprehension plagued her brain. Numbness creeped into her muscles. It reached down deep into her toes, her fingertips, penetrating every pore.

  She woke late that morning, aching all over, soaked in sweat. The barbiturates and alcohol hadn’t worked.

  Kim felt as if she were half in and half out of a dream, unable to escape. Now, in slow degrees, she felt the courage to break the barrier binding her soul from freedom.

  Searching inside the closet for her father’s gun, her body seemed to move in reverse. As her fingers touched the cold steel, she felt the shadow of death descending upon her. Suddenly her world turned black and white in the midst of dust and shadows. One moment in time, one moment before the deafening crack, shattering the calm of the closet.

  Felodesefelodesefelodesefelodesefelodesefelodese; it rang like a melody. . . .

  Envisioning her mother’s face, hearing the soothing voice talk to her one last time, she felt as if her heart were bleeding, then placed the gun to her head. Her spilled blood ran like wine, raining, staining precious lace. We dream as we live, as we die, alone.

  “For whether we live, we live unto the Lord; and whether we die, we die unto the Lord: Whether we live therefore, or die, we are the Lord’s.”

  Double-zero seconds. Showtime.

  “Mama, something is wrong. I feel it. Kim wouldn’t be late. . . .” Ginger’s heart pounded as she met the worried expression on Bill’s face. “Where the hell is Kim? She should’ve been here by now.”

  30