by Merry Jones
NINETY-FIVE
BUT THAT THOUGHT WAS interrupted. The door to the suite flew open.
“Zoe, you’re still in your robe?” Davinder burst from the hallway, hair flying, arms flailing. “What’s the matter with you? People are already downstairs, seated. The musicians are playing. The photographer is ranting because you missed your pre-ceremony sitting and he says he’s not going to be responsible if you’re not happy with his album—”
“Okay.” I was on my feet. “It’s okay. I’ll just be a minute.” I wanted to ask Tony some questions, but he’d already gone through the door adjoining Nick’s suite.
“Look at you, Zoe. You’re a mess. What the hell happened? You look like you were in a brawl. Where’s everybody? You need serious attention.”
As if on cue, in the bedroom Luke began to cry. I went to him, and Davinder began calling for Susan and Karen, and they came in with Molly. In seconds, Luke was at my breast, and everyone else was hovering around me.
“I’ll do the hair.” Davinder had her hands on my head. “Somebody find her makeup kit.”
“I’ll get it.” That was Molly. “She put it in the bathroom.”
They talked like I wasn’t even there.
“Where are the earrings?” Susan stuck her hand into the pocket of my robe, retrieved them and the garter. She handed the garter to Karen, who ordered me to pick up a leg and tugged the thing over my foot and up to my thigh while Susan jabbed an earring into one earlobe, crowding Davinder, who snapped at her to back off.
“Susan, watch it. You’re going to ruin her hair—”
“Move over. This’ll just take a second.” She missed the hole, pushed the stud so hard that she almost made a new one.
“Ouch. Susan, let me do it—”
I reached for the earring.
“Don’t move!” Davinder shrieked. “I swear, if you move, the whole thing comes loose—”
Another sudden stab, and the earring was in. Molly gave the makeup kit to Karen, who leaned over me with lip gloss and mascara, touching me up, wiping away smears. Luke finished feeding, burped up a wad of curdled milk, and then, as my friends changed his diaper and cleaned him up, I disappeared with Molly.
“Molls, are you ready?”
I looked her over. She was solemn, wide-eyed, perfect as a porcelain doll in her ashes of roses lace dress. “You need to put on your dress, Mom.”
“I need your help for that.” I took the gown off the hanger and, not daring to mess my hair again, stepped into it, kneeling so Molly could zip me up.
She took her time, pulling the zipper carefully, as if lives depended on her accuracy. When she was finished, I stood, grabbed my shoes from their box and stuck my feet into them.
“Zoe—your veil.”
Davinder charged into the bathroom and pinned the thing in place. Susan and Karen had changed into their dresses; somebody found my bouquet and thrust it at me.
“Molly? Do you have your flower basket?”
Where was Molly? I turned, found her standing in the bathroom doorway, exactly where I’d left her.
“Molls? Are you okay?”
She nodded, chin wobbling.
I went to her.
“Come on. The men are downstairs,” Davinder rushed me.
“What is it, Mollybear?”
“Nothing.”
“Not nothing.” I touched her cheek.
“Just.” She shrugged. Everybody’s all dressed up. Luke looks so cute. Everyone looks so pretty”
Molly the tomboy was upset about looking pretty? “You look beautiful, Molly.”
“Zoe,” Susan interrupted. “Your dad’s waiting to walk you down the aisle. Come on before he wanders off somewhere.”
I waved her away. “Molly, are you ready?”
She nodded. “But Mom, we’ve been waiting and waiting for the wedding, and now, here it is. And now, it’s going to be over.”
And once again, Molly showed wisdom beyond her years, bringing me back to reality. I was running and rushing, hurried and harried, not even noticing what was happening. Molly reminded me to live the moment.
“Mom, you look so beautiful. I love being the flower girl. I don’t want the wedding to be over.” Tears flooded her eyes.
Ignoring my lip gloss, I kissed her head. “Molly, you are the most lovely flower girl ever in history. And the smartest. And the coolest. And if I could stop time, I’d stop it tonight.”
She nodded, sniffing.
“You know we can’t do that. But we’ll have pictures. And memories. And in our memories, we can make tonight go on forever.”
“Okay. I know.”
“Zoe.” Susan snorted. “I swear. Women are volunteering to take your place. The wedding’s going to happen without you.”
“Ready, Molls?” I held my hand out.
She smiled, still teary, and took it. “Ready.”
We rushed to the door; a stampede of women thundered down the hall and herded into the elevator. And suddenly we were past the lobby, around the corner from the small ballroom in which a cello, violin and harp played Vivaldi.
“You wait here.” Susan pushed me aside. “I’ll let them know you’re here.”
The others disappeared around the corner, rushing off with Molly, who watched me over her shoulder as they pulled her away. And there I was, in my exquisite pearl and lace wedding dress and high silk heels, holding exotic long lilies, standing in the corner of a hotel corridor, alone.
NINETY-SIX
THAT MOMENT IMPRINTED IN my memory: being all alone be- fore the ceremony. It was only a moment. But in that brief stretch of time, my life seemed to collect itself, my body to find its center. The air around me stopped swirling, calmed by the music, and I became aware of the tremendous step I was about to take. It was my last moment of being single, my last instant unmarried. And my heart seemed swollen, heavy with the gravity of what was about to occur.
And, as if from nowhere, my father appeared. “You sure?” He watched me, and I wondered if he’d heard my thoughts. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”
“Thanks, Dad. I’m sure.” Was I? Was anybody ever sure?
“Because it’s quite a commitment. At this stage, I’m reluctant to make it. You understand?”
Oh dear. My father seemed confused again. Had he forgotten what his role was, that he was there not to get married but to give away the bride?
“Too late,” I told him. “You’re committed for life. You’ll always be my dad.” There. I hoped that clarified it.
“Yes, indeed.” His smile seemed relieved. “I guess there’s no escape.” He took my arm. “Did you see that baby? Who brings a baby to a wedding?”
“Dad, that’s Luke. Your grandson. He’s our little ring bearer.”
“Yeah? Five dollars says he starts bawling right when they say the ‘I dos.”’
“Dad—”
Karen stuck her head around the corner. “The judge and Nick are already in there. Tony’s on his way with Susan. Then Sam’s going to carry in Luke with the rings. Molly follows. Then you guys. So come on.”
My arm tucked into his, my dad elegantly led me down the hall toward the ballroom door.
NINETY-SEVEN
WE GOT THERE JUST as Tony started down the aisle. Molly waited for her cue, a doll baby with a basket of rose petals. And when Karen told Molly to begin, she hesitated, glancing at me in what might have been terror, before putting her left foot half a step forward, her lips moving, silently counting the beat.
The music was louder here, and I tried to focus. Live the moment, I reminded myself. But my mind whirled, aware of my hair—was it still mussed? And the veil—was it on securely? What if it slipped? And what about the limo driver? Were his cohorts here, watching us like he said they were? Were there still FBI agents in the room, protecting us just in case?
Karen nodded, and my father whispered, “You look beautiful, Louise,” calling me by my mother’s name as we started for the ballroom door. He did
that often, but this time it moved me. My father, in his eighties, still strained to see my long-dead mother when he looked at me, and the sadness of that brought me to tears.
Do not cry, I told myself. You will ruin the mascara and the rest of the makeup. Focus on the moment. We stood at the doorway, ready to start down the aisle. The music stopped, and everyone stood, turning, staring at us. I leaned on my father’s fragile arm, noticed, among the gawking faces, my aunt Lanie and my friends Liz and Shuli and their husbands. And across the aisle from them, an entire section of cops, rowers and their spouses—Nick’s friends, the guys from the bachelor party, who were probably still hungover.
They watched me now, and I felt dozens—no, hundreds—of eyes travel my body. Go on, I told myself. Start. Follow Molly’s path of rose petals. But still, the music did not play. Tim, Susan’s husband, popped into view, grinning broadly, giving me a thumbs-up. And Karen’s husband stood smiling beside Davinder and her husband, whose name escaped me. And—oh wow—there was old friend Juree and my college roommate, Janet, and our friends Meghan and Nate, Alex and Robyn. And Amy and Jeremy, parents from Molly’s school. And, oh Lord, my coworkers from the Institute—the dance therapist, Magritte, and Bryce Edmond’s assistant, Sophie. My favorite psychiatrist, Dr. Tokler, and his wife. And a couple I didn’t know—were they the FBI? The woman wore a striking sky blue dress. A hundred fifty people, a motley, odd gathering with nothing in common but Nick and me. Oh, and one more thing: Every single one of them was looking at me. I hung on to my dad, wanting to run for cover, wishing the music would start already, wondering if I would faint. What were they waiting for? The moment dragged on, and in the drama I realized I was once again forgetting to breathe.
What if something went wrong? What if I stumbled or passed out? What if the guys looking for the jump drives realized there’d been a setup, or if the guy spotted his FBI tail and called his “people”? No, stop it. The jump drives were taken care of. The plot had been foiled. But what if Luke began to cry during the ceremony? I was still listing what-ifs when the bridal procession music suddenly began and my father tugged too sharply on my arm, yanking me into the ballroom.
I planted a foot forward, took a deep breath and closed my eyes, trying to center myself. My father smelled of aftershave, and his gnarled hand played with my fingers as we walked, startling me with a memory of childhood—he’d always tangled my fingers when he held my hand. I opened my eyes again, letting my dad measure our steps along Molly’s floral trail. Up ahead, Nick’s brothers lined up like identical Ken dolls alongside the chuppah,
Sam holding little Luke. Susan, who was sniffing away tears, stood beside Molly, who was watching me, rapt and bug-eyed. In the middle, under the silk-draped bema, stood the judge.
Look at Nick, I told myself. My heart jumped into my throat, panicked at the thought. Why? I was going to marry him. I’d had his baby. What was so frightening about just looking at him? And then I knew: I felt ridiculous, all decked out, all draped in silk and jewels as if I were a nineteen-year-old innocent bride. I was embarrassed at the pretentiousness, the anachronism of the ceremony. What would he think, seeing me like this? Would he think I was pathetic, trying to be glamorous while still nursing an infant, trying to be a bride when I was already a mother? Would he look at me and see the arguments, the stress, of the past few weeks? Would he wonder why we were doing this wedding thing? My father led me along, and I kept my eyes diverted until, finally, he stopped me and lifted my veil, winking at me with twinkling eyes as he kissed me and lowered the veil again. Nick stepped forward to receive me, part of the ritual of the bride being given away. And releasing my dad, I turned to Nick. His ice blue eyes were waiting for me, riveting into mine, steadying me, and as he took my arm, my body seemed weightless, floating forward on its own. I looked up at Nick, my eyes locked on to his, and everything else faded away.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE BORROWED AND BLUE MURDERS.
Copyright © 2008 by Merry Jones. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. For information, address MerryJones.com.
First Edition: September 2008