• • •
“WE are gathered here today to witness the fruits of young love in bloom.” Pastor Ted’s smooth cheeks were pink against his blue suit, so that he almost looked like one of the birds of paradise himself. “The couple before me, Douglas James Varley and Janice Patience Peyton, may appear at first glance like any other young couple in love—perhaps too in love.”
He nodded at Janie’s belly, and the crowd tittered. A droplet of sweat trickled down Daphne’s back—in addition to everything else she hated about the bridesmaids’ dresses, the stiff fabric was about as breathable as being mummified in saran wrap.
She watched her cousin’s face closely, but every sign of the indecision that had ravaged her just moments before was gone. Janie looked rapturous: The color was high in her cheeks, and her smile, as much as she tried to contain it, kept leaking out as she gazed into Doug’s eyes.
Even though Daphne hated him more than ever before, she had to admit that Doug cut a handsome figure in his tuxedo. He towered over Janie and the rest of the wedding party, his shoulders wide and square, a well-placed bowtie making his oversize head look less like it had been slammed haphazardly onto his shoulders. With the entire town’s eyes on him, he looked down at Janie with such loving, tender affection that it seemed hard to believe he’d spent the past several months calling her a cow and hitting on her cousin. The magic of the crystal and flowers, the magnificent view, and the birds of paradise gliding overhead had wiped the past clean, so that Trey’s death, Doug’s dark moodiness, and Janie’s growing fear of him seemed nothing more than the dim memory of a dream.
“But this is no ordinary couple!” Pastor Ted was clearly in his element, the tails of his new suit flapping in the breeze. “And the child growing in Janie’s womb is no ordinary child.”
A stillness blanketed the crowd. They leaned forward, barely daring to breathe. Even the birds of paradise stopped singing in the trees.
“I’ve had a feeling there was something special about this baby since the moment Janie walked into my church and confessed her pregnancy.” Pastor Ted lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Something more than special—something holy. Do you believe?”
“I believe,” the crowd murmured.
“And there have been signs. Since the child was conceived, God has sent us trumpets from the heavens and oil from the earth. And now, He has sent these beautiful birds to grace our skies.”
Sweat flew from Pastor Ted’s forehead, and his eyes blazed as bright as butane.
“They are a gift, a sign from the Lord our God who resides in Paradise. My friends, when I look at these birds, I don’t just see birds of paradise. I see a stork: a stork come to deliver a very special child. Do you believe?”
“I believe!” The words burst from the crowd like a bunch of balloons released to the sky. Even Daphne, caught up in the moment, felt herself mouthing along. Janie and Doug had torn their eyes away from each other to give Pastor Ted their full attention, Janie’s mouth hanging slightly open, her teeth pearly behind layers of rose-colored lip gloss.
“For this will be no ordinary baby,” Pastor Ted said firmly. “I believe with all of my soul that this child will be a prophet.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Perhaps even the next messiah.”
Janie gasped. Her hands went instinctively to her belly.
“Yes, Janie.” Pastor Ted touched her gently on the shoulder. “And Doug.” He raised his other hand to rest on his arm. “Together, you have a great responsibility—far greater than the bond of marriage, or even the sacred duty of parenthood. Together, you will be parents to a holy child.”
Daphne snuck a glance at the first row of chairs, where the Peytons and Varleys sat side by side. Her aunt Karen was weeping openly, fat tears of joy rolling down her face and splattering the blue crepe front of her dress. Floyd had one arm around her shaking shoulders and was staring at his daughter and future son-in-law with a look of pure pride in his eyes. The Varleys merely looked shell-shocked.
“Janice Patience Peyton.” Pastor Ted’s voice was grave. “Are you ready to accept not only the great responsibility of marriage and motherhood, but also serve as the Lord’s servant as a vessel for the messiah who may one day lead us through the Great Change and into Eternal Heaven?”
Janie blinked slowly, her false lashes sweeping dramatically. “I am,” she said somberly.
“And Douglas James Varley, are you ready to love and cherish this young woman, and to raise your son in the spirit of humility and piety befitting the next Son of God?”
Doug stood taller. “I am,” he said.
“Then may I please have the rings?” Pastor Ted held out his hand as Bryce, Doug’s best man, stepped forward.
Daphne watched Janie’s face closely as the couple exchanged rings and vows. In a matter of moments, Pastor Ted’s speech had transformed her from a girl playing at staging her dream wedding to something deeper and more mature. Where before her glow had been that of a princess in a fairy tale, it now reminded Daphne of the medieval paintings she’d seen once on a class trip to the museum, as if a light had been turned on inside of her that poured from the thin membrane of her skin and surrounded her head like a halo.
When Doug slipped the ring on her finger, instead of squealing or jumping up and down like the old Janie would have done, she simply smiled beatifically, as if their bond was a foregone conclusion ordained by the Lord.
“I now pronounce you man and wife.” Pastor Ted’s words drifted triumphantly to the sky. “You may kiss the bride.”
Doug and Janie embraced in a flurry of feathers and sequins as the crowd rose to their feet, roaring their approval and sending the birds of paradise rising from the trees in a mosaic of color, flapping their wings and chirping joyously.
The band launched into an ecstatic march, and the couple disentangled themselves and practically skipped down the aisle, clutching hands and grinning with amazement. Daphne automatically fell in step after the bridesmaids, doing her best to smile at the blur of flushed faces and candy-colored finery as she passed.
As the crowd pressed in to congratulate the couple, a cool hand landed on her arm. She turned, startled, and found herself staring straight into a pair of deep green eyes.
“Owen!” she gasped. “What are you doing here?”
He flashed a mischievous grin. “I didn’t want you to be the only bridesmaid without a date.”
“What if I wanted to be the only bridesmaid without a date?” Her indignant tone sounded fake even to her. In truth, Owen’s face was a welcome surprise among the sea of Carbon County locals, friends and family of the Varleys and Peytons who had all known one another since birth. He looked strong and lean in his slim black suit, his once-pale skin bronzed from a summer on the rig.
“The thought never crossed my mind,” Owen said mildly.
She gaped. “So you just crashed the wedding?”
“I prefer to think of it as paying a surprise visit.”
She sucked in air sharply. “Doug’ll kill you if he sees you.”
“I’ll lay low—but don’t kick me out yet.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “I brought you a present.”
He held out a brown paper bag, a red ribbon tied clumsily around its handles.
She narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t.” She peeked inside the bag, and a laugh boiled up from deep inside her, bubbling forth so fast she had to clap a hand over her mouth.
“This is exactly what I wanted,” she admitted, pulling out the pair of beat-up black Chuck Taylors she kept in her cubby at work. “My feet are killing me. How did you know?”
“Hmmm . . . maybe because you’ve been complaining about your wedding shoes all week?”
“That’s not true!” she protested. But she was already fumbling with the buckle on her strappy heels, nearly losing her balance as she tried to perch on one precarious stiletto.
“How about you hold on to me,” Owen suggested.
“No, I got it,” she said, almost toppling onto a table piled high with cheese puffs and miniature hot dogs.
“Whoa, careful!” Owen caught her, his hands gentle but firm on her upper arms. The heat from his palms seeped into her bare skin, sending her pulse skittering. “Now, what were you saying about your perfect balance?”
“Okay, fine,” she grumbled. He held her for a moment longer, making sure she was steady before he let go. Resting a hand on his shoulder, she slipped off the dreaded stilettos and quickly laced her sneakers.
“That’s better,” she said, trying to wiggle the circulation back into her toes.
“You’re three inches shorter,” he observed. “But you still look amazing.”
“I look like a flamingo,” she corrected.
“Hottest flamingo I’ve ever seen.” Owen grabbed a pair of champagne flutes from a passing waiter and handed her one.
Her cheeks burned from the compliment. She turned away, hoping he wouldn’t notice, and watched the sun start to set over the valley, trailing veins of rose-tinged gold through the sky. The reception was in full swing: The band, dressed in matching pink-and-teal western shirts and cowboy boots, played country renditions of Janie’s favorite pop songs as dozens of waitstaff circulated with silver trays of miniature tacos and Doritos nachos that the caterer had whipped up in Janie’s honor.
“So can I get a cheers, or what?” Owen’s voice was soft and playful behind her. She turned back to find him holding out his champagne flute.
“I don’t know.” Daphne watched the tiny bubbles rise to the surface. “What if Janie needs me for something?”
“If the new holy Madonna of Carbon County needs you to do anything, it’s to celebrate her wedding.” Owen clinked his glass against Daphne’s. “May Mr. and Mrs. Doug Varley and their kid, the Second Coming, live long and prosper.”
“Well, here’s to Janie,” Daphne agreed. She took a tentative sip, and then another. The champagne was crisp and heady, and the bubbles fizzed tantalizingly in her throat. The only other time she’d had champagne was when someone at work had snuck a bottle of André into the back room on New Year’s Eve. Then, the cloying sweetness had given her an instant headache. But she felt like she could drink this all night.
“C’mon—let’s go check out the rest of this party.” Owen took her arm and steered her through the crowd, past the gift table piled high with presents in pearly paper and the carving station where chunks of beef and ham sat waiting to fill people’s plates. She knew she should tell him to let go of her, that he should go home before Doug realized his number-one rival had crashed his wedding. She would, in just a minute, she decided, taking another sip of her drink and realizing it was nearly gone. She’d demolished it in a couple of gulps.
“You want another?” Owen asked.
“I shouldn’t.” The champagne was already making her loosen her grip on her senses, preventing her from telling Owen to leave.
“Sure you should.” Owen steered them toward the bar for two fresh glasses. “It’s a wedding. Everyone’s celebrating. It’s okay for you to have fun, too.”
With a new flute fresh in her hand and Owen’s arm through hers, she watched the people of Carbon County celebrate. The way they clustered in circles and then spun off into new formations in their bright summer wedding clothes reminded Daphne of plastic jewels seen through the end of a kaleidoscope, an ever-changing pattern of color and light. But she was at the other end, looking in. The realization was sudden and bittersweet.
She turned to Owen. “I’ve been here for almost three months now,” she said softly. “And I still feel like an outsider.”
His eyes met hers, dark and serious. “I know what you mean,” he said. “I’ve always felt that way, my entire life. Maybe it was not really knowing where I came from, or wanting to win more than anyone else. But it always felt like I was on the outside, looking in.”
“Even on the rig?” she asked. It was where she felt most at home in the world, the tough work and long hours uniting the crew in an easy camaraderie. On the rig, it didn’t matter who you were or where you came from, whether you were running away or hiding something from your past, as long as you were willing to work.
“Even on the rig.” He nodded. “I like everyone, but I don’t really feel a connection to anyone. Except you.”
The sky darkened as the sun sank behind the mountains in a blazing tangerine orb, and fairy lights twinkled on one by one.
“You mean, because we’re friends,” she said uncertainly.
“No.” His face was a shadow in the velvety crush of night. “I mean—”
“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for the first dance!” The wedding coordinator’s shrill voice drowned in a screech of microphone static from the bandstand. “I’d like to announce, for the first time ever, Mr. and Mrs. Douglas Varley!”
The crowd erupted, and Daphne reluctantly drew her eyes away from Owen and to the center of the dance floor. Janie stepped forward, glowing like a Madonna. She seemed to glide without touching the floor, as if suspended in a golden web of well-wishes. Doug shuffled behind her, flushed and proud. The first strains of “From This Moment On” drifted around them like tendrils of smoke. He took her hand, their bodies coming slowly together, the bulge of Janie’s stomach keeping them a safe distance like two sixth graders at a middle school dance. But their eyes were locked together, their faces bright and alive with love.
Daphne wondered what it could be like to feel that way about someone: so intoxicated, so in love, that you could overlook the bad stuff and see only the good. She had never understood her cousin’s attraction to Doug—had never understood any woman’s attraction to any man—but with her cousin swaying slowly on the dance floor, her friends and family dabbing at their eyes with Kleenex, and Owen by her side, she thought that maybe, just maybe, it could be nice to feel that way, too.
One by one, other couples trickled onto the dance floor, holding each other tight. Bryce spun Hilary under a spotlight, Vince guided Deirdre Varley in a stiff waltz, and Floyd whispered something in Karen’s ear that made her smile through her tears.
“Come on.” Owen tugged at Daphne’s arm. “Dance with me.”
“No.” She was terrified of how it might feel to be that close to him, to have his arms around her and her body pressed against his.
“Yes,” he insisted. The world went soft as he took her hands and led her gently to the edge of the dance floor, his eyes locked on hers.
“I don’t even know how to do this,” she said, a last-ditch effort to change his mind.
“It’s easy.” He lifted her arms and arranged them around his neck, the softness of his thick black hair brushing her wrists. Then he laced his arms around her back, drawing her into the heady world of leather and metal and grease that lived under his skin, in his veins.
Her body went tight, a shield against the sudden, unaccustomed contact. She realized she was trembling.
“It’s okay,” he murmured in her ear. “You don’t have to be afraid. It’s just dancing.”
She looked up at him, their noses nearly brushing. “But I am,” she said.
“Why?” His voice was fierce and serious now, his breath warm on her cheek. “I know you want this, too.”
He held her tighter, trying to still her shivering. Pinpricks of heat exploded inside her as she felt herself respond, pressing up against him, craving the touch of his skin. She knew she was too close to the edge, in danger of giving up everything she’d worked so hard to protect. But she wasn’t sure she could resist anymore. He was right—she did want this. And his lips were just millimeters from hers.
She closed her eyes, succumbing to the night, to his touch, to the threat of a kiss building between them. And then the song ended in a sudden, strangling cacophony of applause.
; “And now it’s time to cut the cake!” The wedding coordinator grasped the microphone, scarlet wisps from her bun unraveling around her head.
Still trembling, Daphne disengaged herself from Owen’s grasp. She couldn’t believe she’d come so close, let things go so far. The world dipped and swerved around her, and she realized with disgust that she was getting drunk.
The caterers wheeled out a cart the size of a small sedan, draped in a bone-white tablecloth. It took five of them to maneuver it into place, and as they made their way to the center of the dance floor a series of oooohs and aaaahs arose in their wake. Once they’d skirted the crush of people, Daphne saw what all the fuss was about.
The cake was a perfect scale replica of the Varleys’ future house.
Candied stairs led up to a grand entrance etched in fondant, and the peaked windows were made of crystal-clear spun sugar. Frosted shingles and caramel gables sprouted from every surface, and it was surrounded by an elaborate English garden rendered in a dozen shades of frosting.
Janie approached the cake, laughing, Doug at her side. As the knife slid through the round turret at the top, Daphne realized with a sick shock that the elaborate celebration around her, the caterers and the champagne and the band that the Varleys had shelled out for so graciously, had nothing to do with their son’s marriage. They were celebrating their new wealth, their renewed status in town, and their ability to show off and throw fancy parties. Her cousin was nothing more than an excuse.
There was a sudden whoosh, and a mass of teal and magenta feathers plummeted from the sky, landing with a sickening splat on the peaked roof of the cake. Janie screamed and leapt back, the knife still in her hand. Frosting and feathers flew everywhere: into Janie’s eyes and down the front of her wedding dress, onto Doug’s suit and the band’s sheet music and the wedding coordinator’s sleek black skirt suit.
“What the—” Vince cried angrily. “Did that damn bird just dive-bomb our three-thousand-dollar cake?”
Janie dropped the knife and wiped frosting from her cheeks. Tears sprung from her eyes. She backed away from the cake, a look of horror on her face.
End Times Page 18