I’m too numb to really consider whether anything Mike has just said is true and so I say, “It doesn’t matter. None of it matters now.”
Mike drives home and though he turns the radio on at some point, he quickly turns it off again. I watch the streetlights flash by and let my eyes go out of focus until the world is just a blur of light and dark with nothing in between. Even after we’ve parked and the engine has cooled, Mike makes no move to get out of the car. A raccoon slinks along the fence and disappears from sight. Not long after, there’s a clatter as a trash can is knocked over. The noise breaks something inside me and I can no longer bear to be sitting there. I can no longer tolerate Mike’s sympathy.
“Well, I’m glad that it happened, in a way.” I hear Mike take a breath and hold it. “I mean, I’m glad that it happened now if it was going to happen anyway. Now at least there’s still time to make sure I don’t make the same mistake again.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“Essie’s book. I know she thinks she’s thought it through, but she hasn’t. I need to make her see that. It’s like when you knock over the first domino. Once it topples, you lose control of everything that comes after. There’s no way to stop the rest of them from falling down.”
Roarke
Blake and I spend Friday driving back and forth from the airport to pick up all my cousins and aunts and uncles who have flown in from out of town for the wedding. By our third trip, we’re getting punchy, laughing so hard we can’t breathe even though neither of us really knows why and I actually have to stop on the side of the road in order to avoid an accident because my eyes are filled with tears. In midafternoon we pull up late to the curb outside the arrivals level to find my great-aunt Mildred already waiting. She’s clutching her suitcase with one hand while wagging her disapproval with the other. Blake swallows his laughter and nimbly jumps out of the passenger side to take her bag and stow it in the trunk, then opens the car door with a flourish and even throws in a chivalrous bow.
Aunt Mildred sniffs in disdain and settles into the backseat, and I wonder for a moment if she has figured out that her impending death, which is supposedly being hastened by an entirely fictitious illness, has been used to justify the timing of the wedding ceremony. I hold my breath, willing her not to blurt out anything incriminating in front of Blake. But though she waits until we have pulled onto the highway before she acknowledges me, when she does, she says, “So, you’re selling your soul to the Devil, are you, boy?”
Relieved, I exhale. “Is that what you think of marriage?”
“I didn’t say that. It’s what I think of this marriage, though.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say, and when she offers no further explanation, I add, “You know you didn’t have to come.”
“And miss out on the social event of the year? I don’t think so. Lillian Polowy has the room across the hall from me at Kissing Pines and she offered me a thousand dollars to be my date, that’s how badly she wants to meet your bride. I told her thank you, but no thank you. I’m not a lesbian, you see. Besides, she smells like old lady. If I were going to bring a date, it would be someone good-looking, maybe someone like you. What’s your name, young man?” Blake introduces himself, repeating what he had said back at the airport when they first met. I try to figure out if Aunt Mildred is losing her marbles or if she’s simply deaf. “So what are they going to do, exactly? Brand you? Or cut a cross into your chest?”
She is talking to me now, not to Blake. “That seems a little extreme, don’t you think?” I say with a nervous laugh. I can’t imagine it would be a good idea to admit that she has a point.
“Extreme. I think that’s just the right word for it.”
“They’re not a cult.”
“Oh no?”
“Besides,” Blake cuts in, “Essie isn’t anything like her family. Isn’t that what you said?”
I shoot him a look that I hope says Shut up and move into the left lane to pass a rusted-out pickup, reasoning that this trip can’t go by quickly enough.
“And just what is her family like?” Aunt Mildred asks, leaning forward in her seat.
I glance in the rearview mirror and then move my eyes back onto the road and think how best to answer politely without sounding like I’ve drunk the Kool-Aid.
“I don’t know. They’re just people.” My aunt’s eyebrows come together and I sigh. “Does anyone really like their in-laws?”
For some reason she seems satisfied with this and redirects her gaze to what I can only assume is the back of Blake’s head.
“And you, boy, what do you think of the little missus?”
This time I keep my eyes straight ahead, but I feel my shoulders tense as I wait for him to answer.
“Essie?” Blake asks, as if surprised by the question. “She’s the best.”
* * *
—————
The following day is the rehearsal dinner, but first there is the rehearsal itself. I’m still unused to being so near the front of the church, so it’s doubly strange to be taken by the hand by Jethro Hicks himself and steered up the steps that lead to the altar. I remember how Celia Hicks once said that her husband’s eyes were the same shade of blue as her son Caleb’s. At the time, I never imagined I’d stand close enough to either of them to tell or that I would even care, but I see now that what she said was true. They are the same, down to the tiny flecks of lavender at their centers.
Pastor Hicks arranges us on the stairs, which are decorated with chips of different-colored stone to form a mosaic. I’m standing with my foot on the head of a serpent, which seems fitting. Caleb’s right beside me with Blake on the step below. Early on there had been a plan for Essie and me to be flanked by her brothers and their wives, but a focus group had found this far too kitschy, which goes to show that focus groups sometimes get it right. So next to Blake is Reggie, who has agreed to be here only because I told him that being one of my groomsmen would be like giving the Hicks family the metaphorical finger, and he’s wanted to do that for years.
I was allowed two groomsmen of my own, plus Caleb, who was apparently nonnegotiable, to stand opposite Essie’s three bridesmaids: Naomi, Hillary, and Lucie. Then, after Lissa crashed the party and volunteered to be Essie’s number four, we found ourselves short one young man. Celia Hicks insisted that it be someone from my family and, after reviewing photographs of each of my relatives, she chose my cousin Rand, whom I met once when I was five and who lives with his mother somewhere near Flagstaff. Rand has done some modeling for Abercrombie & Fitch, something I’m guessing Celia Hicks is well aware of. Still, I have to admit that Rand was an excellent choice as he seems to get along well with Blake and Reggie while harboring an instant dislike of Caleb, so I’m happy enough to have him standing by my side.
For some reason this process of deciding just where each of us should stand takes at least twenty minutes, during which all five of the cameras check their angles and the lighting. When Celia and Candy are finally satisfied, they send Gretchen scurrying forward to mark the stairs with different-colored pieces of tape, so when the time comes we’ll remember exactly where we should be.
The cameramen for this part of the broadcast are all veterans of Six for Hicks, from what I gather. Margot and Libby will have access beforehand and then again for the grand finale, when Libby interviews Essie and me on the steps of the church just before Essie tosses her bouquet to the waiting crowd. The other networks will be there too, but Essie has said she’ll only speak directly to Libby. I guess she means it as a thank-you to Libby for drumming up all the publicity she has, but in any case, it means that they’re absent from this rehearsal and I find I almost miss them. I don’t know that the Hicks elders have ever laid eyes on Margot or her purple hair. I’m hoping that I get to be around when they do.
After the stairs are taped, Essie and her father practice walking do
wn the center aisle. A photographer snaps some pictures as they make their way forward and I try to imagine on which magazine covers those shots might eventually end up. I work on coming up with pithy headlines to fill the time, since Essie and her father have quite a distance to cover before I can even see them clearly. When they get closer, I notice that Essie is carrying a bouquet of some sort in both hands. It looks like flowers but also not like flowers. I strain my eyes to get a better look.
Somehow Caleb senses my question and says, “Naomi made it for her. First she dyed the paper red and then she cut and glued the pieces to look like roses. She used sheet music from all of the solos that Essie’s ever sung in church.”
I’m actually touched, and feeling that way because of Caleb makes my skin crawl. I know from Essie that Naomi is an only child but always wanted a sister. It seems to me that this bouquet, if nothing else, is for Essie and not for the cameras. “That’s quite a gesture. It must have taken her ages to finish.”
“Well, it’s not as big as she would have liked. Naomi is not one to do things halfway. If she’d had more time, Essie would have been trailing paper roses.”
“Huh. Naomi sounds like quite a woman. That sort of dedication, it’s not something you should take for granted.”
Caleb looks taken aback by this. “We aren’t going to have a problem here, are we?”
He glances down at Blake and Reggie, who are whispering something to Rand and clearly not listening to anything we say.
I raise my eyebrows, enjoying his discomfort. “A problem? Why would we? I only meant to say that Essie is lucky to have someone like Naomi looking out for her.”
At this point I have to step forward and wait for Pastor Hicks to place Essie’s hand in mine, no doubt to symbolize the transfer of ownership over her or something equally misogynistic, but first he kisses her on the cheek and I’m surprised to see the tears in his eyes. I nod to him gravely and take Essie’s hand. Then Pastor Hicks turns his back to us and faces his imaginary congregation. From the floor at the base of the stairs, he says something about how we should be still while he welcomes everyone and has them rise for the first hymn. He stands motionless for a moment, as if running through exactly what he intends to say, arms spread out in the air, and then drops his hands to his side, gives a barely perceptible bow, and walks up the stairs to the left of the altar to face us again, this time from above.
We hurry through the remainder of the ceremony. Essie pledges herself to me. I pantomime slipping a ring on her finger. We kiss. Everyone claps and the sound echoes through the empty vault of the nave, a word I recently learned from Essie. I’m amazed at the noise made by a few pairs of hands being brought together, how each staccato burst ricochets across the emptiness and is amplified without a thousand bodies there to absorb it. I walk Essie back down the aisle while Candy calls after us not to rush, no matter how excited we might be to start our life together. Essie rolls her eyes and walks a little faster, practically dragging me along. I look back at Candy and shrug helplessly and I hear her say, “I guess there’s no doubt who’s going to wear the pants in that relationship.”
Once we reach the back of the church, Essie starts to giggle and I squeeze her hands and start to laugh as well. I can hear Caleb and Naomi, who are next in line to exit the church, closing in on us, their footsteps getting nearer. Impulsively I draw Essie closer and turn her shoulders so we are facing. I touch my lips to hers again, but not the way I had on the steps when her father declared us (almost) husband and wife. This time I really kiss her and I try to make it the sort of kiss that girls write about in their diaries, the sort of kiss we pay to see in movies, the sort of kiss I hope to get someday.
It’s not fair, what I’m doing. I know it even as I explore Essie’s mouth with my tongue, but I’m thinking only that Caleb will see this and that seeing this will show him that his power over her is finished. Knowing how much this will hurt him feels more right than kissing Essie feels wrong. Beneath my touch, Essie’s shoulders tense as I slide one hand up to her chin and then her body relaxes against me. I kiss her until she drops the bouquet of paper roses. It rolls away from us across the floor. Then I pull away.
When we turn, Naomi has picked up the bouquet and is holding it out in one limp hand. It’s clear at once that it’s ruined, the petals crushed. Some are even torn. The color drains from Essie’s face, which only a moment earlier had been flushed.
“Naomi, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have been so careless,” she exclaims.
Naomi tries to hide her hurt, but without success. “No, no. It’s fine. It’s just this one side. I might be able to fix it.”
She blinks quickly and lifts the hand that holds the bouquet to draw an arm across her eyes to dry them. Essie reaches out to touch her shoulder, but Naomi shivers and turns away.
“Don’t worry about it, sis,” Caleb says to Essie, all the while keeping his eyes on me. “These things happen.”
“Sure they do,” I answer, making sure to meet his gaze directly. “Especially to things that are so delicate. You let your guard down just for a second and everything you worked so hard to create ends up completely destroyed.”
Caleb puts an arm around Naomi, but he doesn’t look away. I smirk and take Essie by the hand and pull her toward the stairs. She follows wordlessly as we walk down to the basement and into one of the choir rooms, but I can feel her anger even as we move.
“Fuck you, Roarke!” Essie yells at me when the door has closed behind us.
“Is this about that stupid flower thing?” I say, trying to sound glib.
Essie’s face is tearstained. I look at my shoes, abashed. I hadn’t heard her crying. I hadn’t thought that she would cry. “It’s not about the flowers and you know it. You have no right to kiss me like that!”
“He’s the one who has no right to kiss you like that,” I counter.
“Neither of you do! Don’t you see that? Don’t you see that how you just treated me isn’t any different from how he treats me? I was your prop. I was there to help you make your point. It was about you and what you wanted entirely. It was like I wasn’t even there.”
“You said that there would be kissing. I gave you kissing. What’s the problem?”
I’m being mean and I know it, but I don’t care. Essie looks at a loss, but then she says, “Because it felt like you actually meant it. We were supposed to try to fool everyone else, not try to fool each other.”
Suddenly all I want is for this fight to be over, even if it means having to admit that I was wrong. I sit down on one of the choir’s folding chairs. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I just…”
“I know,” she tells me and sits beside me.
“He has to pay,” I answer. “You know he has to pay.”
“He will. I have a plan.”
* * *
—————
Essie tells me about the book she’s written. Or about the book that Libby has written, or is writing. It seems it’s still a work in progress. She tells me about how for the last two years she typed up bits and pieces of her diaries any time she had access to a computer, knowing that her laptop at home was likely being monitored based on something Gretchen once said. Gretchen had echoed part of a line from a poem that Essie had written for English. She had shown the poem to nobody, but she had typed it into her computer, and right then Essie knew that there was nothing private in her life. She had already known this in theory. She had just not known how deep the surveillance went.
Not long after Gretchen’s slip, Essie took one of the diaries out of the secret compartment Lissa had helped her cut into the back wall of her closet and smuggled it out of the house wrapped in a dirty soccer shirt. That’s when she started transcribing. She worked on it at school or at Lily’s house and even once at Caleb and Naomi’s when she was babysitting. When she was done with that diary, a thin volume with a unicorn on
the cover, she retrieved another. And another. And another. Until she had six years of her life transferred onto a flash drive that she kept ferreted away in a tampon container in the bottom of her backpack. There was another buried in her backyard.
Now she had given one of those flash drives to Libby. Or she had left it somewhere and then Libby had found it. I didn’t quite understand that part. But what was important was that the book was ready. She said we should have an electronic copy later that night. All we had to do then was decide to publish it. We, Essie and I.
“I didn’t tell you before, because even when I left the flash drive for Libby to find, I wasn’t entirely sure I wasn’t crazy. It was possible that everything I had written was completely incoherent and I was worried that maybe Libby would read through it all and tell me there was nothing there worth reading, nothing there that anyone outside this family would want to know. I didn’t want you to agree to marry me expecting some big reveal to the public, some dramatic moment of truth, and then be left with nothing, be left with only me.”
“Let me just make sure I understand you. What’s in this book is everything that ever happened? Everything that Caleb did to you?”
“Not in lurid detail, but yes. It’s there.”
I sit with this for a minute, then I say, “What exactly do you expect will happen when that all goes public? I’m not saying I don’t see what the appeal will be for people. They will buy it. Man, will they buy it. And you’ll make some money.”
The Book of Essie Page 25