Stay With Me

by Astfalk, Carolyn

  “Yuck?”

  He chuckled. “Is that the technical term for it?”

  She nodded. “I guess there’s not much we can do about it now.”

  Was there anything they could do? An idea formed. “No… but what if we did something that maybe made us feel less ‘yuck’ and made the honeymoon sweeter?”

  “Such as?”

  “Lay off the heavy kissing until the wedding.” Not that he wanted to—ever. But, it would sort of give them a clean slate.

  She traced a finger along his cheek and chin then tapped his lips. “It’s a good idea. We can’t undo what we did, but this’ll make things more special.”

  ***

  Rebecca turned left and then right in front of the full- length mirror and admired her reflection. “What do you think?”

  Abby stared and smiled. “I think it looks perfect, which is a good thing because this is the final fitting, and the wedding is a week away.”

  That’s it? No cutting wit? No snide comment? “It does look good, doesn’t it?”

  She stepped down from the pedestal, and Abby helped her remove the gown. Abby waited outside the changing room door while she slipped on her jeans and shirt. “So, did Dad say if he’s coming or not?”

  Rebecca’s mood plummeted. “He won’t commit. When I ask, he says the same thing he said the first time Chris and I went over there and told him we were getting married.”

  “What’s that?”

  She opened the shuttered door and handed the gown to the seamstress. “He says, ‘I’ll never approve of it.’”

  “You know, Rebecca, it might be better if he stayed away.”

  Rebecca took her purse back from Abby and swung it over her shoulder. “That’s what Chris says, but Abby, it’s Dad.”

  “I know, I know.”

  They walked to the counter where Rebecca handed the girl her debit card to make the final payment on the gown. Her eyes darted to the speaker mounted on the wall above them. “Abby, listen. What’s this song?”

  “Not sure. I’ve heard it before though.”

  “We need to figure it out. And then I need to borrow your husband.”

  “Okay, but I thought we’d start the swapping after the wedding.”

  Rebecca rolled her eyes. “I figured out what I’m going to give Chris for a wedding present, and I need to practice on Joel.”

  25

  Lying In the Hands of God

  Chris sat in the front pew wiping his sweaty palms on his tuxedo pants when Father John crossed the altar and stood in front of him.

  “How’s my bride?”

  He always suspected his friend had a soft spot for Rebecca. Now his admiration was apparent. Father John blinked and gave his head a little shake as if he couldn’t believe what he was about to say. “She’s stunning.”

  “Is she nervous?”

  “About marrying you? Not a bit. She’s worried her dad’s not going to show though.”

  Chris glanced at his watch. A reasonable concern. The wedding would start in fifteen minutes. “He’s not coming. I knew it, but she kept holding out hope. What do we do?”

  Before Father John could answer, Alan slid into the pew next to Chris.

  “Alan, did Rebecca’s dad get here yet?”

  “I haven’t seen him. Do you think he’s going to show?”

  Chris looked at Father John. “No, I don’t.”

  “Abby told me something at the rehearsal dinner last night. About her dad.”

  Chris and Father John both turned to Alan and waited for him to explain.

  “She said she hadn’t told Rebecca, but apparently Abby had it out with their dad last weekend—about the wedding.” Alan scooted in closer to Chris and Father John and lowered his voice.

  “He told her he doesn’t want to hurt Rebecca, but he can’t in good conscience support her marrying you.” Alan seemed aggrieved by all this, even though it must seem to him like they were splitting hairs over religious nonsense. “He said he couldn’t support her apostling or something like that?”

  Father John leaned forward over the pew. “Apostasizing?”

  Alan met his gaze. “Yeah. I think that was it. Sorry, I’m not familiar with all the religious terminology.”

  Father John shook his head. “No, that’s okay, Alan.”

  Alan’s head moved back and forth between Chris and Father John. “Anyway, that led to a big row, and Abby told him if he didn’t love his own daughter enough to wish her well in her marriage, then he should just stay away.”

  Chris rubbed his sweaty palm over his forehead. A headache threatened. He didn’t doubt that Rebecca’s dad loved her, even if he did a dreadful job of showing it. His absence would break Rebecca’s heart, but Chris wondered what he would do differently if it was his daughter he truly thought was jeopardizing her soul.

  Surveying Alan and then Chris, Father John clapped his hands together. “Here’s what I suggest you do.”

  ***

  Rebecca stared into the mirror and pushed a stray hair beneath the comb holding her veil in place. The urgent knock on the door made her jump. Her hand flew over her heart. Five minutes until the ceremony. Finally, her dad had made it.

  “Come in,” she called toward the door. When the door opened, she was stunned not to see her dad or Abby, but Chris. He looked so handsome in his tux that her knees actually felt weak.

  He gave her the biggest dimpled smile. “I'm here to walk you down the aisle, Rebecca.” He took a few seconds to look her over from the long tulle veil that hung past her shoulders to the beaded sweetheart neckline of her gown, the cinched waist, and the full, flowing skirt with intricate beaded designs.

  “Wow.” He stepped toward her and lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles right next to the beautiful ring he had given her. “You’ve brought another one of my fantasies to life.” He tugged on her hand, slid it under the lapel of his jacket and laid it over his heart. “Do you feel what you do to me?”

  Rebecca finally found her voice. “Chris, you're not supposed to see me before the wedding.”

  He released her hand, but his blue eyes still focused on her. “I don't believe in that superstitious nonsense. I'm here to walk down the aisle with my bride.”

  He was being so sweet, but she knew what he had come to tell her. “He’s not coming, is he?”

  He shook his head and held her gaze. “No, sweetheart, he’s not coming.”

  Rebecca fanned her face, picked up her train with her left hand, and started pacing the tiny room. “I can’t cry, my makeup will run.”

  “So, don’t cry.”

  Easy for him to say. Both of his parents sat in the church eager to be part of one of the most important days in their son’s life.

  She wouldn’t be able to hold back the tears much longer.

  “Rebecca, look at me.”

  She turned to see Chris with the right side of his jacket hanging loosely behind him. He had slid the suspender from his right shoulder and was in the process of unzipping his pants.

  “Chris!” She couldn’t keep the alarm out of her voice. What on earth was he doing? Any minute a knock on the door would signal it was time to begin and for some unknown reason he was disrobing.

  “You’re not going to cry, you’re going to laugh.” Chris pushed the right side of his black pants down far enough for her to see his hip, which was covered in black ink.

  “You got a tattoo?” What was he thinking?

  “Not a permanent one. This is why I didn’t want to sleep at Alan’s place the last two nights after my lease ran out. He thought it would be funny to tattoo me with a Sharpie.”

  Rebecca took a step closer. It said, “I love Rebecca” using a heart symbol for “love.”

  She didn’t cry after all. She laughed. “How did he do that without waking you?”

  Chris tucked in his shirt, zipped his pants, and slipped the suspender back over his shoulder. As he slid his arm back into his jacket and shrugged to adjust the fit, h
e whispered in her ear. “Alan knows something you don’t. I sleep naked.”

  He took a step back and gave her another dimpled grin. Then she laughed again and couldn’t stop laughing. In fact, she laughed so hard she feared her makeup may be ruined by happy tears.

  A knock sounded on the door, and Abby stuck her head in. “Get it together, you two. We’re up next.”

  ***

  Chris missed out on that magical view of Rebecca walking toward him from the back of the church, but having her on his arm eliminated every last trace of nervousness. His heart swelled with pride just having her by his side. Father John was right—she looked stunning, and her appearance only captured a fraction of her interior beauty.

  He tried to focus on the Mass, but his mind raced in a million directions settling periodically on the folds of white tulle that scratched the stiff fabric of his jacket. Each distracting rustle diverted his attention to the resplendent woman beside him. When it was time for the homily, he made a concerted effort to pay attention and to remember what Father John said to them.

  “I’m blessed to witness the marriage of two dear friends.” Father John smiled at both of them. “I met Chris and Rebecca at different times, different places, separated by almost a decade. Neither of them were Catholic at the time. And, no, I did not introduce them. Some would say it was a chance meeting. I think Chris and Rebecca would disagree.”

  Chris squeezed Rebecca’s hand as he remembered the first time he saw her. The ear-piercing screams of a child had caught his attention, but the pretty girl desperately trying to soothe the child held it.

  Father John glanced at his notes and then back at him and Rebecca. “Most of us are familiar with the Sting song, ‘If You Love Somebody, Set Them Free.’ Now, you can interpret that sentiment in a lot of different ways, but I believe it is more accurate to say that if you love somebody, you set them free. I propose that today Chris and Rebecca will be set free.

  “I see some of the looks from the guys here. I know what you’re thinking. Free? Chris is about to be shackled to the old ball and chain.” A smattering of laughter erupted.

  “But in a few moments, when Chris and Rebecca confer the sacrament on each other, they will mirror the image of God in a special way. We all remember St. Patrick, right? That holiday when we drink green beer?”

  More tittering. Their guests professed a mixture of all faiths and no faith, but most were non-practicing Christians, and if they thought they could slump back in the pew and wait for the kiss at the end, they were mistaken. Father John would catechize them without them even knowing it.

  “St. Patrick used the shamrock to show that God is a communion of three persons—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. And we know from the fourth chapter of John’s Gospel, the beautiful reading that Chris and Rebecca chose, which I just read, that God is love. Today, by and through their love, Chris and Rebecca become one flesh, one body. As male and female their married love, the physical union of their bodies, manifests the love of God. Now, I see some people squirming in their seats, but come on, we know what’s going to happen tonight, right? Chris, you are taking Rebecca on a honeymoon, aren’t you?”

  Chris smiled and nodded. With laughter from behind him, he doubted Father John could hear him, so he held up his right index finger and made a zero with his left hand.

  “He’s signing ten days for me. That’s a serious honeymoon, folks.” More laughter followed. “Here’s a couple that takes their vows seriously, because that’s what they’ll be doing—renewing the vows that they take freely here today to be faithful to one another and open to life.

  “We all know that we are more than our bodies. We’re body and soul, but the soul is rather useless when it comes to the material world. Souls can’t speak or hug. They can’t sing or dance. They can’t laugh or cry. And they can’t make love. But with our bodies, we can communicate from the depths of our souls. We can love and be loved. And isn’t that what we all want? To love and be loved. Today and for the rest of their lives, Chris and Rebecca are free to love and be loved. They are free to make their very lives, their very bodies—which we know communicate the deepest stirrings of the soul—a gift to one another.

  “Well, you might say, that’s all good for Chris and Rebecca, but what does that mean, really? What’s the big picture here? Do you see how this freedom, this total gift of self is like an echo of the greatest gift ever given?” Father John turned and gestured to the crucifix suspended behind him. “The gift of Christ’s flesh, his body, for the life of his bride, the Church.”

  Chris had heard these words before; they had drawn him to the Church. He’d never felt the truth of them until now. The awesome responsibility he undertook by making Rebecca his wife humbled him. And scared him. And, geez, did a tear just roll down his cheek? Good thing they were facing the altar rather than their guests.

  He swiped at his cheek, bumping Rebecca’s arm, and she nudged him back with her elbow. He cast a sideways glance at her, and she smiled. Tears dampened her cheeks, too.

  “That, my friends,” Father John said, gesturing again to the crucifix, “wasn’t easy. That required sacrifice and suffering. So much suffering that as he hung there, Jesus called out to his Father, ‘Why have you abandoned me?’

  “Chris and Rebecca, like all of us, will suffer. We don’t want to think of the suffering because today is a happy day. We’re going to leave here and celebrate. We’re going to eat and drink—there is an open bar right? And we’ll laugh and dance, and that is as it should be.

  “I wish you could see what I see standing here: the joy on Chris and Rebecca’s faces. They’re both wiping tears from their cheeks, but they’re not sad. They’re overcome. They’re filled with joy.”

  Well, so much for hiding the tears. Chris sniffed, and then pulled the handkerchief from his interior pocket and handed it to Rebecca. She dabbed around her eyes, still trying to preserve her makeup.

  “As their friends and their family, it’s our duty to support them in their vocation—their marriage. They’re going to be on such a high at first that they won’t dwell on each other’s faults. But given time, they will. They’ll get on each other’s nerves. There will be money problems. Health problems. Problems with children.”

  Father John’s gaze settled on him and Rebecca then and his tone softened. “There will be in-law problems. Problems they brought with them from their families of origin. And none of us escape our fallen natures, making us susceptible to temptation and sin and, therefore, suffering.”

  Chris wished Father John had prepared them for this. Now they were both a wreck. He could see Rebecca’s shoulders shaking in his peripheral vision, and he looped his arm around her to soothe her. He also wished they’d had someone record this so they could remember it. Maybe Father John could give him a copy of it, although it looked like he was winging it off his notes.

  “When the time comes, hold them up. Encourage them. Babysit their children so they can go on a date. If they’re an inspiration, tell them. If they’re failing miserably, and they need correction, tell them. Gently. Above all, pray for them.”

  He looked at Chris and Rebecca a final time. “Pray for each other. Pray with each other.” He paused and looked down at his notes and then back up at them. Chris rubbed Rebecca’s back gently, the smooth satin so cool and soft beneath his fingers. “Rebecca Ann Rhodes and Christopher Aiden Reynolds: ‘This is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice in it and be glad.’ . . . Let’s do this.”

  26

  Stay

  The music stopped, and Chris looked around to see if he could find a reason.

  Rebecca strode toward him, and he excused himself from the conversation with his college friends.

  She moved with ease, her train pinned up and her skirt gathered in her left hand. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I need my husband.”

  She wrinkled her nose at a couple of ribald comments and a modicum of laughter as she and Chris left the table and headed for the dance floor.


  “Do you want to dance?” he asked her.

  “In a little bit. First, I want to give you your wedding gift.”

  Before he could ask any questions, Joel stepped in front of them and set a chair in the middle of the dance floor. He grinned and winked at Chris as he walked away, and Rebecca held onto the back of the chair, motioning for Chris to take a seat. The lights came down, the heat of a spotlight hit him, and then widened so that a large area around him illuminated.

  Rebecca stood in front of him and adjusted his black bowtie. Her eyes danced and the corners of her mouth verged on turning up into a huge smile. She leaned over far enough to give him—and only him—a good view of her cleavage. Have mercy.

  “So, are you going to give me a lap dance in front of 150 of our closest friends and family?”

  Her breath tickled his ear as she whispered, “I thought I’d save that for later.”

  She glided off before his addled brain could get a coherent response to his mouth. He pressed his sweaty palms out against his pants.

  Rebecca said something to the DJ and then took the handheld microphone he offered her.

  The room grew quiet, and Chris turned his attention back to the DJ.

  “If I could have your attention on the dance floor, Rebecca would like to sing something for Chris.”

  Sing? For me? In front of all these people? Not a trace of nervousness showed on her face or in her movements. She exuded composure and confidence. The music started, and she moved into the light, lifting the microphone to her lips as the sounds of a banjo being strummed filled the room. It sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place the song. She began to sing, and the sound mesmerized him.

  Her warm, rich voice evoked longing. They only word for it was sultry. There may have been other people in the room—a lot of them—but this performance was all for him.

  She walked in a circle around him as she sang, inching closer as she went. He recognized the song now, but he found it hard to believe it hadn’t been written for them. She sang about a jar filled with sand and catching fireflies, and he closed his eyes for a couple of seconds as the memories scrolled before him like a slideshow.