The Chapel Wars

by Lindsey Leavitt

  This was another way our chapels differed. Grandpa was about quality; Victor was about quantity. Yes, Cupid’s Dream ran the marital equivalent of a McDonald’s value meal, but they still killed us when it came to revenue. Grandpa, purist that he was, swore that didn’t matter, but when we faced losing the chapel, well, money … it didn’t hurt.

  “Busy’s good though,” I said.

  “Life will get even busier if the boss gets his way.”

  Did his way have anything to do with my chapel? I wanted to ask her more, but she cut me off.

  “You here for a ceremony or tour? I know you ain’t getting married, unless your daddy is nearby to sign permission.”

  “I need to see Dax,” I said.

  She smirked. “One of Dax’s girls, are you?”

  “I’m not anyone’s girl,” I said, a blush rising in my cheeks. “One of Dax’s girls” meant there were multiple, right?

  “He’s setting up in the Gable-view chapel. Down the hall, right one on the very end. Gunslingers at sundown.”

  I ignored her final cryptic comment. Gunslingers was likely slang for clients with an illegal source of income. Here, I wouldn’t be surprised.

  Sweat trickled down my back as I crept through the hallway. Victor could barrel through one of these doors at any moment and kick me right to our shared curb. The first door opened to their “traditional chapel.” I poked my head in for a quick assessment.

  Their biggest chapel was still much smaller than ours. I’d guess most of their clientele didn’t come with a large wedding party. And ugh … the faux marble columns. Why, why, why? I won’t even discuss the dust on the plastic carnations. Couldn’t they at least spring for roses? Carnations are the weeds of the wedding world. And white folding chairs. What was this, the Elks Lodge?

  “Looking for someone?”

  I spun around. Dax startled when he recognized me. I did more than startle; I might have screamed. But he was dressed up like a frickin’ cowboy, with a plaid shirt, leather chaps, and revolvers. Guns. Gunslinger.

  He patted his chaps. “I’m in charge of the Old West wedding. Starts at sundown. When the preacher asks if anyone objects, I stand up and fire blanks. It’s a big seller for us.”

  “Classy,” I muttered.

  Dax smiled down at me. I avoided eye contact by staring at his chaps. Which didn’t help. Apparently, I had a thing for chaps.

  “I’m surprised to see you. Especially here,” he said. “Did you come for a tour?”

  “No. I need to talk to you.”

  “Sounds promising.”

  “It’s business.” I kept an edge in my voice.

  Dax glanced back down the hallway and opened the door to the right. He flipped the switch, lighting a room with black chairs, lace curtains, red candles, and dead, really dead, flowers.

  “Grandpa sells it as Paranormal Paradise. Thank God for Twilight.”

  “What? He thinks a couple should be joined in holy matrimony in this?” I wrinkled my nose at the room.

  “So y’all think a wedding has to be all stiff and buttoned-up?” Dax scratched his cheek. I stared in wonder at his throat, covered with stubble. The last boy I dated, Thomas, worked on his mustache for months, and it was still nothing but blond fuzz. Got to the point that I didn’t want to kiss him, just thinking of that muff ball on his lips. And here Dax was, with dark specks of wonder all along his jawline.

  “Of course it should be. A wedding is an occasion.” My voice grew stronger as I echoed Grandpa’s favorite sales pitch. “Not a pit stop.”

  “But a wedding should match the couple’s personality,” Dax said. “Some people want to say ‘I do’ dressed like Princess Leia and Han Solo. So what? Shouldn’t the happiest day of your life be fun?”

  “Can’t it be fun and classy?” I asked.

  “If that’s what you want it to be,” Dax said. “I’m just saying we cater to a different clientele.”

  “Clearly.”

  He sat down and nodded at the seat next to him. “So tell me why you are here, Jim Nolan’s mysterious granddaughter.”

  “Holly. I’m Holly.” Why was I there? Because my grandpa told me to be. I was honoring a dying request. This was the truth I could share with anyone, like my family if they’d seen me in the parking lot and asked what I was doing.

  The secret truth had something to do with all the things I couldn’t help noticing about Dax, like the way he breathed—deep and with purpose. Like air was a gift, not a reflex.

  I was just noticing these things, like you do with an actor or a boy band member, someone you would never think to be with but still don’t mind staring at in glossy pages. I knew who Dax was, and who I was, and was very aware of the differences and divisions between us.

  I had hormones, but I also had standards.

  “I have a delivery.” I pinched the thick envelope in my purse.

  Walk in.

  Hand the envelope over.

  And … what was the last thing? Stay and watch him open it, right?

  Dax set the envelope in his lap. “Thanks. And I’m glad you came by. I wanted to talk about that, uh, spectacle with Poppy the other day. I know y’all won’t believe it, but he’s going to miss your grandpa too. He’s grieving in his own way.”

  I snorted. “I guess it’s hard to be the villain without a hero.”

  “Ouch.”

  Okay, I was on Victor’s home turf. Sitting in that morbid and themey room just made me bitter. Seriously, was that formaldehyde I smelled? Why would anyone ever want to get married here? “Sorry. I think I’m mechanically engineered to say stuff like that without thinking. I won’t condemn you for your relations anymore.”

  He breathed out. “Neither of us will. It’s just a last name. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

  “What?”

  “Shakespeare. It’s the only line I know. I probably shouldn’t tell you that so you think I’m smarter than I am.”

  I had no Shakespeare to shoot back, so I stayed quiet as he tore off the right end of the envelope, making sure not to rip the paper inside. He shook out the letter, glancing at the signature at the bottom. “It’s from your grandpa.”

  “Yeah. When he died …” I paused. That might have been the first time I’d said that word out loud. “He left me some things. One was that letter, with instructions to hand deliver it to you.”

  Dax set the paper down on his lap. The envelope was open, but he hadn’t read it.

  “I mean, why?” he asked.

  “Why what?”

  “Why me?”

  “I wish I could tell you.” I rubbed my hands against my shirt. Why was I so hot? Victor Cranston should spend less money on heating the building and more on his floral arrangements. “Things haven’t made much sense since he died.”

  “I’m sorry again.” He meant it.

  “That’s your tenth apology,” I said.

  “I use them all up at the beginning. Don’t expect more.”

  I rolled my eyes but couldn’t keep from smiling.

  He smooshed his lips together. “I don’t understand this. I’ve never even met your grandpa. Why would he leave something for me?”

  “Read it and find out.”

  Dax looked down at the paper. “It says I’m supposed to read this alone.”

  “Mine said that too.”

  He glanced up at me. “It specifically says without you here.”

  This crazy mystery was never going to be solved. I shook my fist at the ceiling. “Grandpa Jim! I’m going to come knock you off your cloud!”

  “It’s fine. I just won’t read it out loud.” Dax did that browfurrow thing as he scanned the letter. He looked older, like all the wisdom and sorrow in the world were embedded in the wrinkle between his eyes. He folded the paper into thirds, sticking it in his back pocket like I’d just given him directions to IHOP.

  “Well, then.” He brushed off his chaps. “That makes sense now.”

  “Sense? There is not
hing about me sitting in a gothic wedding chapel with a ridiculously handsome cowboy reading a secret letter from my dead grandfather that makes sense.”

  “Ridiculously handsome?”

  “I meant to say ridiculous.” Handsome like a celebrity I would have no real-life interest in. Not that he was celebrity handsome. Not that it mattered what breed of handsome he was anyway.

  There was a cough in the hallway.

  “Get down.” Dax jumped across the chairs and flipped off the light switch, somehow dragging me with him. We crouched in the corner as the cough got louder and closer. Someone opened the door for a second but didn’t look all the way in to see us. I had only met Victor that once, but I couldn’t imagine the receptionist’s cough being that deep and phlegmy.

  What if he had seen me? What then? I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I didn’t want my family to know, but that didn’t make being here wrong.

  Right?

  We slid down the wall in that blackened room. Dax rested his hand on my knee. I pretended I did not feel the weight of that hand, didn’t notice the calluses on his palms. I’d changed into my black work skirt and boots with no tights so it was just his skin on mine. I’d come in contact with plenty of boys, but I couldn’t remember responding, physically responding, to touch like this before. It’s like he’d flipped on some switch inside my brain’s sensory center, and suddenly my kneecap had a million nerve endings.

  “I think that was Poppy.”

  “He should get something for that cold.” It was the nicest thing I could think of to say.

  “He doesn’t have a cold. He has emphysema, and who knows what else. He’s been smoking and drinking for over forty years.”

  It didn’t seem right that a man abusing his body like that still got to live while my seemingly healthy grandpa was gone. Miraculously, I stayed quiet.

  “Before you go, I need to ask you something,” Dax said.

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s relevant. Trust me. It’s just … what’s your opinion on marriage?”

  “My opinion on marriage? Who asks that? You’re so weird.”

  “And you’re so … up-front.” He grinned. His hand was still on me. My kneecap almost exploded. “Come on. It has to do with something your grandpa said.”

  This was clearly not the question I’d been anticipating. The heater picked up and ruffled his bandanna. How many guys can rock an accessory like that? I watched the bandanna flutter in the manufactured breeze and considered his question. Maybe it was his unexpected friendliness, or the leftover adrenaline and darkness, but I decided to be the raw kind of honest with a stranger.

  Also, that Twilight chapel … it does things to you.

  “All right. Marriage. I love my job. Love the chapel more than any place in the world. Being a part of someone’s wedding day … it’s like the joy of delivering a baby without all the blood. I like the promise and the hope and waking up knowing that day will be a forever kind of memory, whatever happens.”

  “That’s your opinion of weddings. What about marriage?”

  I fiddled with the small silver loop in my left eyebrow. I’d never really considered the difference. Get too deep, think too much, and the possibility of what could happen to those couples made the job less enjoyable. “Marriage … marriage is different. My grandpa was married four times. My parents got divorced this year. So I honestly don’t know how I feel about the ‘after’ in ‘happily ever.’ ”

  “So you’re iffy on marriage, but you love the chapel. Why?”

  Because it’s the only constant left in my life. Vegas morphed into something new every day, erasing anything familiar in the process, and I needed to know that one place, my place, could stand the test of time, divorce, and death.

  Not that I could ever say that. Out loud. To anyone, except maybe Grandpa.

  “No. Your turn. Tell me what you think of marriage and chapels. Tell me what’s in that letter so I can go back to work. This room … it’s giving me a headache.”

  Dax smiled, a genuine smile, a smile I wanted to bask in, to lie out in for hours until the light of that smile freckled me whole. “You’re such a romantic.”

  Curse him, I blushed. “You haven’t answered me.”

  “What do I think about marriage? I happen to have a very different opinion than you do. I know we disagree on the execution of the wedding ceremony, but marriage … I think it has the power to be the most right thing a person can experience.”

  It wasn’t the answer I was expecting. Forget prowedding, how can he be promarriage after working here day in and day out? I would have to devise an entirely new marriage success formula for their drunken three a.m. ceremonies, most of which wouldn’t even hit 2 percent.

  “Well, glad to know where you stand on marriage and death,” I said. “What’s next? Global warming or politics?”

  “Religion. And then maybe a breezy conversation about gun control issues.” Dax checked his watch. “Your grandpa was right about you.”

  “Why, what did he say?”

  “Oh … things.”

  “Vagueness is not a good look for you,” I said.

  “I’m just honoring a dead man’s wishes.” He stood. “I’ve got to go set up for that ceremony. Maybe we could talk more about this another time.”

  “Oh.” I fumbled. Another time. He wanted to see me another time? No. This was our only time.

  Dax squinted at me. “Thanks for coming by.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Y’all have a beautiful chapel over there. I hope it succeeds. Really.”

  “And your chapel …” I glanced around the room. There was a weathered cardboard cutout of Edward Cullen standing by the altar. “I’m sorry. I think your chaps are nice, but that’s the best I can do.”

  “These chaps make us money. So does this room. You really have to get over yourself if you want that place to stay in business. I know you’re not making that much.”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Paranormal Paradise? Did your poppy say that? What does he know?”

  “I’m not talking about him. This is just what I’ve seen. We share a parking lot, remember? I know how many couples go in there, and unless you’re charging a thousand a pop, you’re not doing great. And now, as hard as it is with your grandpa’s passing, it might be a good time to change things up.”

  “But … but that’s not us.” How could I explain how “not us” that was? How the reason we were in debt was because Grandpa loved his chapel so much that he took out money just to improve it? “That’s not what Grandpa Jim wanted.”

  “Sometimes you have to focus on what you need and forget about what you want.”

  “Says the boy in chaps.”

  “You can always trust a man in chaps.” He took my hand, glancing both ways down the hallway before leading me to the back entrance. Maybe he was one of those touchy guys who always held hands with girls, boys, strangers, who knows. Even if he did, at that moment, it was my hand he was holding. And as treacherous and dangerous as it was, I liked it.

  “I’ll … see you around, I guess?” I said.

  He leaned on the doorway and flashed a quick smile. “I’ll wave from the other side of the parking lot.”

  “Okay. So. Good-bye,” I said with formal finality.

  He tipped his cowboy hat. And that was it.

  Standing in that parking lot, I felt like I was losing my grip on something I’d never even held. I counted the seventeen cars parked next to his building. That’s a lot of blushing brides.

  There were only three on our side.

  Chapter 7

  For the next three weeks, I read every book on small business I could find. We had to cut some corners on our overhead and increase marketing. Sam took on the website, and I got everyone to agree to three hours of extra work with no pay. James started coming in to do clerical things, clean a little. We had our reputation and our contract with the Angel Gardens reception hall to produce some business, but there still wasn’t a change
in the bank account. No uptick of ceremonies.

  The first weekend in December was the Bridal Spectacular, a perfect chance to advertise and network. Early Saturday morning, Mom and Dad settled into the booth while Sam and I fiddled with the sign.

  “Your divorced parents look like the poster children for marriage,” Sam observed.

  We watched them laugh. “Doesn’t it make you wonder why they ever got divorced in the first place?”

  “They’re probably acting happy to overcompensate for deeper feelings. It’s the same brave face I’d wear if Camille and I ever broke up.”

  I analyzed them a beat longer. “I don’t know. They have really happy-looking brave faces.”

  The biannual Vegas Bridal Spectacular is a decent show, but using a word like “spectacular” only leads to a letdown. Cashman Center is nothing like the planet-sized buildings on the south side of the Strip. It’s old, you have to hike a hill to park, and the homeless trail up and down the street. Cashman is located even farther north than the wedding chapels, past downtown Las Vegas and the I-15, in a little nest of city buildings and museums. It took some bridal imagination, walking through wedding-dress and florist booths in this old convention center that smelled like old convention center, but tons of Vegas brides came, and we were one of the few chapels on the Strip that marketed to locals.

  “Hey, I’m grabbing a hot dog,” Sam said. “And some nachos. You want anything?”

  I waved him off. “I’ll eat some of your nachos.”

  “No, if you’re going to eat my nachos, I’ll buy you nachos too.”

  “But I don’t want a whole thing of nachos,” I said.

  Sam grunted. “Then don’t eat them all. Dude, you’re such a chick sometimes.”

  “I’m always a chick!” I yelled after him. Sometimes he was something that rhymed with “chick.”

  Mom laughed. “I wish you could see how cute you guys are together.”

  Annoying PS—despite Camille’s constant presence and the fact that I’d been friends with Sam for so long without any signs of feeling anything, Mom thought Sam and I were Made for Each Other. She was so into the idea of Sam and me hooking up that I exploited the crap out of it, telling her that I was going out with him so I could get a later curfew, always omitting the four to six other guys going with us. “Don’t go there, Mom.”