Stay With Me

by Astfalk, Carolyn

  When she got to the first chorus, he thought she might turn and sing to the hundred or so awestruck people who had no idea she could sing like this. She didn’t. Her unwavering gaze stuck to him.

  What you’ve given me is sweeter than honey

  What you’ve shared is stronger than steel

  You were sent from heaven

  To save my life

  So now I can give it to you

  As she began the second verse, she moved closer and sat in his lap. Dumbstruck, he put an arm around her waist and made a conscious effort to burn this memory into his brain. Somehow she managed never to lose eye contact with him while she undid his bowtie with one hand, letting it hang loosely around his collar.

  Another chorus followed and a last verse, but he had lost concentration. This magnificent creature is my wife? I am blessed beyond belief.

  As she reached the final chorus, she took his hand and brought him to his feet. Eye to eye, with the poufy layers of her dress pressing in on his tux, this last refrain seemed more intimate than the others.

  You were sent from heaven

  To save my life

  So now I can give it to you

  He suddenly wished he had booked a room in this hotel. One he could take her to as soon as she was done singing.

  The music went on for a few seconds after she had turned off the microphone, and the first hint of disquietude showed on her face as she bit her lower lip. “Well?”

  The room erupted in applause and whistles, and everyone stood. What could he possibly say that would tell her how deeply grateful he was that she had done this for him? What it meant to him to hear her sing. How his heart overflowed with love, pride, desire, and humility all at the same time. As he opened his mouth in the hope that something capturing a fraction of that emotion would come out, the metallic clatter of spoons against glasses broke his concentration.

  He was off the hook.

  He wasn’t eloquent enough to convey his feelings with words, but he could do it with a kiss. If their guests thought they were going to glimpse another peck on the lips like they had the half dozen other times they had tapped on their glasses this evening, they were mistaken.

  Chris pulled Rebecca to him, and he knew she could see the tears in his eyes. For once he hoped what was in his heart was written all over his face. Her hands, one still gripping the microphone, wrapped around his neck. He kissed her, his heart racing as her soft body leaned into him. She kissed him with an abandon he had never felt before. Suddenly the merit of waiting almost three weeks to do this became apparent. It was new again—cherished and pregnant with purpose and meaning.

  A tug at his sleeve finally pulled them apart as Abby stood amid a bevy of Rebecca’s friends and family pressing in on her, raving about her voice and her performance.

  Chris couldn’t imagine going back to chatting with his college buddies or elderly relatives, so after a few of minutes, when the music started back up, he stole Rebecca for a couple of dances. Feeling like his feet had finally returned to earth, he and Rebecca went their separate ways for a short while before the DJ started in on some special dances.

  Chris planned on dancing with his mother. Had Rebecca’s father shown up, she would have danced with him as well. Apparently no one got the message to the DJ that the father-daughter dance was a no-go. He introduced Rebecca and her father.

  Rebecca stood across the dance floor from him, her eyes wide and her face pale. She didn’t need this reminder that her father had chosen not to be a part of one of the most important days of her life. Before Chris could decide what to do, his father stepped in and extended his arm to Rebecca. A slow smile spread across her face as she took his arm and walked to the dance floor with him. Never had the contrast between his father and Rebecca’s seemed so stark. Rebecca’s father had spent years diminishing his daughters’ self-worth whereas his own dad had spent that time building his sons up.

  After the dance with his mother, somehow several of his cousins cornered Chris and pulled him to the bar for a round of shots. When his cousin Joe learned he worked at a brewery, he recounted his experience with home brewing and peppered Chris with questions. About ten minutes into Joe’s travails with hops, Alan came up alongside him. He jerked his elbow against Chris’s ribcage.

  “You’ve got to see this.”

  Chris tuned into the seventies Redbone song blaring from the speakers behind him as he watched Abby, Jamie, and Rebecca at the opposite end of the dance floor. Rebecca’s gaze was fixed on him, and she leaned forward, one hand pressed against her thigh while she used the other to beckon him with her index finger. She sang along with the refrain, “Come and get your love.”

  An ear-splitting grin covered Chris’s face.

  “I’ve never seen Rebecca so…so, uninhibited,” Alan said. “It’s captivating.”

  Chris hadn’t noticed Father John alongside Alan until he spoke.

  “She’s blossomed.”

  He looked over to see his friend smiling, too, as Rebecca continued to tease Chris.

  “She told me, you know,” Chris said, still smiling at his bride.

  Father John glanced at him. “Told you what?”

  Chris didn’t know why he brought it up now of all times. “That you were her first kiss.” The song ended, and a group of young women quickly encircled Rebecca.

  “I didn’t know it was her first. I should have guessed.”

  “Must not have been much of a kiss,” Chris said, draining the few drops left in his shot glass.

  “Obviously it wasn’t with the right guy.”

  Chris smiled, grateful that he was the right guy. “Your homily today was perfect. Thank you.”

  “I don’t deserve the thanks. It was off the cuff. My notes were a reflection on the first reading you chose from Genesis. The Holy Spirit led me somewhere else.”

  “Well, I’m glad you followed.” Chris forced himself to look away from Rebecca and make eye contact with Father John. “Hey, have you heard how Kimberly is doing?”

  Father John reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. “I got a text this morning from her mother. She regained consciousness last night, thanks be to God.” Father John glanced heavenward and his eyes glistened. “I talked to her mother before the reception. Kimberly had gone to Catholic Charities after all. They had worked out a plan for her to leave, but her husband lost it on her before she could go.”

  Chris heard what was unsaid: “It wasn’t my fault. She didn’t nearly die because I pushed her off on someone else instead of dealing with my attraction to her.” Chris pulled his closest friend into a hug, slapping him on the back a couple of times for good measure.

  He let go, and Alan’s arm clapped his shoulder, his whiskey-laden breath curling around his ear.

  “What are you still doing here, anyway? Go get your hot wife and get out of here.”

  “I agree,” Father John said. “You put in enough time here. You should get Rebecca and go.”

  “I think I will.” They had a long ride ahead of them, and he had enough socializing; he wanted to be alone with Rebecca. He excused himself, shaking both Alan and Father John’s hands and handing a business card to his cousin Joe before he crossed the dance floor.

  “Mrs. Reynolds,” he said, standing behind her as she talked with a young woman he hadn’t met. When she didn’t respond, he touched her shoulder and said again, “Mrs. Reynolds.” This time she turned toward him. “You’re going to have to start answering to that, you know.”

  “I know. Maybe it will help if you whisper it to me all night long.”

  He grinned, more convinced than ever that it was time to go. “I’ve come to get my love.”

  “It’s about time,” she said grabbing him around the waist.

  He grinned again, and seeing the playfulness in her eyes he asked, “What have you been drinking?”

  “Water with lemon.” She smiled and stared at him a second longer. “I’m drunk on love.” She giggled and lea
ned into him.

  He rolled his eyes.

  “I’m high on you?” she tried, laughing.

  “Enough with the cheesy lines.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, too, and leaned his forehead against hers. “Are you ready to blow this Popsicle stand?”

  She kissed him, her hands tugging on the lapels of his tuxedo jacket. “Yes. Let me say goodbye to Abby.”

  “Okay. I’m going to try to sneak out. I’ll meet you in the lobby in a couple minutes.”

  Chris got out in a few minutes with only one handshake, two slaps on the back, and one messy kiss from his Aunt Lydia. He wiped his cheek with the back of his hand as he entered the lobby. He sighed and took a seat on an upholstered bench as the photographer approached. This wedding business exhausted him.

  “You leaving?”

  “Trying.”

  “We need one more shot.”

  Chris leaned his head from side to side, and his neck cracked with each movement. What did it take to get out of this place? Chris paced around the lobby for a few minutes, trying to avoid eye contact with any of the guests passing through.

  Abby appeared, bouncing Ian on her hip. “Trying to get out of here?”

  “‘Trying’ being the operative word.” He leaned into Ian and gave him a little tickle on his chest that he knew would elicit a giggle. “Hey, Ian. How’s it going? I’m your uncle now, buddy.”

  Ian smiled then leaned back precariously, forcing Abby to grab onto him with two arms.

  “You’re a lucky man, you know,” Abby said.

  Chris gave Ian another smile and then straightened and looked at Abby. “I do.” He hoped the sincerity of those two words assured Abby that he treasured her sister beyond measure.

  Abby wrinkled her brow and frowned. Instead of satisfied, she looked almost irritated. “I should tell you that she’s a lucky woman, too. You’re a good guy, and you’re good for her—that whole guilt trip abandonment thing notwithstanding.”

  “Not my finest moment, and it won’t happen again, but thank you, Abby.” No wonder she had looked perturbed. It had probably been difficult for her to spit out that compliment.

  “This may not make sense to you, but Rebecca is more Rebecca with you.”

  She might not have expected him to understand that, but he did. “Become who you are,” he murmured.

  “What did you say?”

  “Become who you are. It’s something Pope Saint John Paul II said. I thought it was an interesting statement. I didn’t really get it until now though. Rebecca has become who she is meant to be.” He wanted to say “in Christ,” but that would be a conversation for another day.

  Abby seemed nonplussed, and Ian stretched toward the ballroom. “I’ll drag her out of there for you. You deserve some time alone.” She reached up and kissed Chris’s cheek, and gave him a side hug with her free arm. She turned and started toward the door and then turned back, her voice elevated because of the distance. “You two better get working on some cousins for my children.”

  He opened his mouth to answer, but she cut in.

  “Unless…Rebecca complained of queasiness this morning. I dismissed it as nerves, but is she pregnant already?”

  Chris’s cheeks heated. The pretty dark-skinned girl who worked as a receptionist in Rebecca’s office strolled into the lobby. Rebecca would be humiliated if she or anyone else knew tonight wouldn’t be their first time. He hadn’t shared that information with anyone but Father John. He figured Abby knew and probably Joel as well, but it wasn’t anyone else’s business.

  Chris made a downward motion with his hand trying to tell her to lower her voice. “No, Abby,” he hissed. “She’s not.”

  Her reply came at the same volume as before. “All it takes is one good swimmer.”

  Abby should win an award for the sheer number of cringe-worthy statements she could pack into a conversation. He’d sooner die than discuss his sperm motility with his sister-in-law. Thank God she resumed her mission of finding Rebecca. She must have been successful, because in a few minutes his bride emerged from the ballroom.

  ***

  “I’m so sorry. People kept stopping me.” Rebecca huffed an exhausted sigh as she came to a stop in front of Chris.

  “Tell me about it.” He kissed her forehead where a few of her long bangs were coming loose from their comb. Lowering his voice, he said, “Our fashion plate photographer wants one more shot. He says I should, and I quote, ‘carry my woman out of here.’ I won’t tell you what else he said I should do with you.”

  “Really? Ew.”

  “Yeah. I said if he ever spoke about my wife that way again, I’d crush his expensive lenses under the heel of my motorcycle boots.”

  “I love it when you get all chivalrous.” Rebecca leaned into him as he slung an arm around her shoulders. Worn out from hours of socializing, her introverted nature had re-asserted itself. “Where is he?”

  “Restroom.” Chris nodded toward the men’s room. “He said he’d be right out.”

  In seconds he returned, and Chris swung Rebecca up into his arms. “You’re not as heavy as I thought,” he said with a half grin.

  “You will pay for that later, Mr. Reynolds.”

  “And how do you intend to get your retribution, Mrs. Reynolds?”

  She snaked her arm down and around his side and tickled him until he almost dropped her.

  Chris carried her through the double doors laughing as the photographer took a stream of successive shots. He deposited her on the sidewalk outside where the sun had now fallen completely beneath the horizon.

  Rebecca kept her arms wrapped around Chris’s neck and stood on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “Someone implied once that if I left a wedding with you, you would expect certain, uh, favors.”

  Chris grinned and lowered his mouth to her ear. “I can’t speak to the past, but starting tonight I’m expecting a helluva lot more than that.”

  A chill ran up Rebecca’s spine, and she savored the feeling of their life together unfolding before them.

  As they neared the curb, someone called Rebecca’s name.

  Her dad approached from the parking lot dressed not for a wedding, but in casual clothes.

  “Dad. You’re a little late.” She adopted a flat tone, but reminded herself to be kind. Maybe he wanted to apologize for skipping the wedding.

  “Chris, I’d like a few minutes alone with my daughter.”

  Rebecca slid her arm beneath Chris’s jacket and around his waist so that he knew she did not want him to leave her. “Whatever you have to say to me you can say in front of Chris. We only have a few minutes though before we leave on our honeymoon.” She would not allow him to drag this out or in any way spoil their wedding night.

  “Fine. I think this marriage is a huge mistake, and I couldn’t come and support it.”

  “You’ve made your opinion clear, Dad. Why are you here now?” Did he think they didn’t know this already? They were married now; couldn’t he leave it alone?

  “Please, Rebecca, I’d like to speak to you in private.”

  “No. That’s not possible.” The muscles in her neck tensed and her heart rate crept up.

  He shook his head, which angered Rebecca. He acted as if she was foolish for refusing to allow him to divide and conquer.

  “You haven’t consummated this marriage yet. You can still have it annulled.”

  Rebecca let out a humorless laugh. “You can’t be serious. You need to accept this, Dad. We’re married. And the sooner you get out of our way, the sooner we can take care of the consummation part.”

  Rebecca marveled at how easy it was to say that to her dad. Not long ago, she couldn’t muster the courage to stand up to him about trivial matters, let alone tell him to get lost so she could make love to her husband.

  Chris’s arm wrapped around her torso and with it, his warmth and strength. She realized a large part of her newfound confidence came from him and his love.

  Her dad protested. “You’re s
till pure, Rebecca. You can still find someone else, but this is your last chance. After this, no one worth having will want you.”

  She wanted to put him in his place. All the words were there, ready to spill out. He would consider her worthless if he knew she’d already lost her virginity. She gritted her teeth and breathed a large intake of air, ready to fire off the words with machine-gun precision.

  Chris’s grip tightened around her, and his fingers dug into her ribcage. He had to know she verged on unleashing the fury of their sexual sins on him. She couldn’t think straight about it now in her anger, and out of respect for Chris, she tamed her tongue. Chris would say it was none of her dad’s business, and that he’d only use that information to hurt her.

  “Dad, we’re leaving now. I’ll call you when we get back.” She turned and walked toward the limousine that pulled up alongside them.

  Despite the tension she felt in Chris’s arm, he hadn’t spoken. Thank God he hadn’t let her out of his reach.

  The limousine door clicked open, and he held it for her as she descended carefully into the seat, trying to keep her dress from dragging along the gutter or getting caught in the door.

  Her dad approached the vehicle and got in one last command. “Be smart, Becca. Make sure he uses a condom.”

  With his hand tightened in a white-knuckled fist, Chris slid into the seat and slammed the door behind them.

  Her dad’s words hit her like a punch in the gut. He wanted nothing more than to separate them. Not to mention he knew that as Catholics, contraception was anathema to them.

  Chris helped arrange her skirts, and she couldn’t comprehend his ability to remain so stoic about this. Especially that last comment in which her dad had relegated him to the role of poison papist seed bearer ready to impregnate her. Chris brought her life in so many ways, and she happily awaited the day she could tell Chris he’d brought life to her, inside of her, in yet another way. It made her father’s remark even more offensive. She leaned over Chris and pressed the button to lower the window.