by Amy Gamet
I wish I was dead.
Father McHale looked around at the fully decorated church basement. “I must say, this looks wonderful.”
“Thank you,” they said in unison.
“Oh, and Hank, your mother called. She’d like you to call her back. Seems your cell phone must not get a signal down here.”
“Son of a…” he pulled out his cell phone. “Sorry, Father. I’ve been waiting for an important call.”
“I must be on my way. I have to see about building a roulette wheel for Monte Carlo night,” said the priest. “I’ll see you both at the ceremony.” He walked back up the steps.
“Can I meet you in the parking lot, Julie? I need to see if Chip called.”
“Sure. I’ll be right there.”
By the time she made it to the car, Hank was behind the wheel with the engine running.
“Is everything okay?” she asked.
“I missed his call.”
“Did he leave a message?”
When he didn’t answer, she thought she was being presumptuous. “It’s none of my business.”
“It is your business.” He backed out of the parking spot. “His wife had the twins. They’re fine, but she hemorrhaged after the birth.”
“Oh, my God. Is she going to be okay?”
“They’re not sure yet.”
That wasn’t all Chip had said on his message, but it was all Hank was prepared to share. The rest, he was going to pretend he never heard.
~~~
Julie gazed at her reflection in the mirror and bit her lip. The dress was a deep blue silk that clung to her body in the most flattering of places, grazing her hips and cinching in tight under her accentuated breasts. The skirt billowed out around her legs with a feminine flourish, stopping just above her shapely ankles.
While the neckline and hem were modest, the dress was racier that Julie would have liked for a wedding. She vaguely remembered Hank telling her to pack something appropriate, but she was crazy out of her mind after seeing the footprints leading from the barn. She had reached into the closet and grabbed several dresses, figuring one of them would be fine.
She glanced wistfully at the other two outfits that hung in the closet. The first was a safe and boring pink sundress, which would have been perfect if it were June instead of December. The second was a blazer and skirt combination that was far better suited to a funeral or job interview—perhaps a job interview at a funeral parlor—than a celebration of love.
Which left the dress she was wearing. Flaunting might be a better word.
No one will be looking at me anyway, except Hank.
At the thought, she relaxed her shoulders and tried to see herself as Hank would see her. Twirling slightly and smiling at her reflection, Julie’s fears were confirmed. This dress had no business at a wedding. Unless maybe it was worn by the bitter ex-girlfriend of the groom.
There was a soft rap on the door. “May I come in?” asked Gwen.
“Yep.”
Gwen’s mouth dropped open. “You look incredible!”
“I look like a French whore.”
“You most certainly do not.” She grabbed Julie’s arms and held them out to her sides. “You look like a fine and cultured woman, who just happens to have a glorious body.”
Julie felt the first stirrings of pride at Gwen’s assessment. She turned toward the mirror and twisted to see the back of the dress in the mirror. “You don’t think it’s too much?”
“Well, it is breathtaking. But Kelly’s a fine-looking young woman and I don’t expect you’ll be stealing the bride’s thunder, so to speak.”
“It wasn’t the bride I was worried about.”
“Ah. Hank.” Gwen gave Julie a conspiratorial smirk. “It might be a bit too much for Hank.”
“I’ll wear the pink one,” Julie said, reaching for the mundane sundress. “Maybe Kelly or Marianne has a sweater I can put over...”
“I said it may be too much for Hank. I didn’t say you should change.”
“I’m not comfortable.”
“On second thought, you’re right. You should change. You wouldn’t want that tall, dark and incredibly sexy man to lust after you.”
Julie slowly turned from the closet, one hand on the pink sundress. “You think he’d lust after me if I wore this?” she asked, looking down at the blue silk number and brushing an imagined piece of lint off its fine surface.
“Definitely.”
“Well,” she said, peeking at herself in the mirror, “he is my boyfriend.”
“You want him to be happy, of course. I just love weddings,” she said wistfully. “Don’t you?”
Julie nodded as she walked to the dresser and began brushing her hair. “I remember your wedding, Gwen. It was beautiful.”
“It was.”
If ever two people complimented each other, it was David and Gwen. They had made a striking couple—she with her curling blonde hair, smooth complexion and soulful blue eyes, he like a sandy-haired Greek god, all muscle and sinew.
“Did I ever tell you how we met?” asked Gwen.
Julie squinted her eyes. “No, I don’t think so.”
Gwen sat down on the bed. “I was living in New York City. The first time I saw him, he was sitting on an upside-down milk crate in Hell’s Kitchen, holding a cello and a bow. I figured he was a street musician.”
She had a far-away look in her eyes as she continued. “A red-headed girl was coming toward him from the opposite direction, and she asked him if he was going to play. ‘Not right now,’ he said, and she says, ‘No one will give you money if you just sit there.” Gwen laughed.
“He told her he didn’t want anyone to give him money, he was just listening to the music of the street. I remember I loved how he said that.”
“Wasn’t he a composer?”
She nodded. “For movies, mostly. I was getting close to them now, and he turned to me with this beautiful smile and said, ‘Would you like to hear a song?’ Before I could answer, the red-head says, ‘I thought you weren’t going to play.’ And I’ll always remember,” she said, putting her hand to her heart, “he said, ‘That was before the most beautiful woman in the world tried to walk right by me, and all I had to stop her was a cello.”
Julie sat next to her aunt, placing her arm around Gwen’s shoulders. “That sounds just like him.”
Gwen nodded, reaching up to hold Julie’s hand. “We were inseparable after that. We never spent a single night apart, not from that very first day.”
“Do you think you’ll ever get married again?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Why not?”
“It’s like that old saying. Lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice. It was unbelievable that it happened the first time. I’m certainly not expecting it to happen again.”
Chapter 6
“Son of a bitch!” Hank swore, shaking his injured index finger. “I have an idea,” he said sarcastically, “let’s use a giant, three-inch needle to hold a little tiny flower onto our jackets.”
“Let me help,” said Marianne. She took the pin and expertly attached the boutonnière to the lapel of his tuxedo on the first try.
Feeling like an awkward teenager, Hank gave her a pained grin. “Thanks, Ma.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, brushing at the fabric of his tuxedo. “Now where’s Kelly? We have to get this show on the road or the groom is going to beat us to the church!”
“If he shows up,” Hank said under his breath.
“That is not funny.”
“Of course it’s funny.” He looked at his mother as if she were crazy, earning him a playful slap on the back of his head.
Marianne walked to the stairway. “Kelly, we have to go!”
A pair of white pumps emerged onto the landing of the staircase. Kelly’s dress was pure white, its length held up in her hands as she descended the stairs, exposing a layer of tulle. The fabric glistened with fine beading and just a touch o
f shimmering iridescent sequins, spread in clusters throughout the skirt. The bodice was strapless, its fabric wound in an elaborate knot that fell in a sweetheart neckline, complimenting her figure. As her glowing face came into view, Hank could see she wore her hair up in a fancy and delicate style, her only jewelry a shimmering purple stone on a fine gold chain.
“Oh, Kelly.” His mother was crying. He could hear it in the tone of her voice. “You look wonderful.” She held her youngest daughter. “My baby’s getting married.”
“I love you, Mom.”
“I love you, too.”
Kelly made a strangled little sound. “I miss Dad.”
“Me, too.” Marianne released her and squeezed her upper arms.
Kelly nodded and wiped at her eye makeup. Hank swallowed the knot that was forming in his throat and opened the last remaining box from the florist. Inside was a large teardrop bouquet of bright yellow roses and purple poppies.
His father had tended a yellow rose bush in the backyard for twenty years, just so he could share the blooms with his wife. The flowers reminded all the Jared children of their dad.
Hank handed the bouquet to his sister and kissed her gently on the cheek. “You look beautiful, Kelly.”
“Thanks.”
“Last chance,” he said, determined to lighten the mood. “You want me to get you the hell out of here?” he smiled at his kid sister, so grown up and gorgeous. “No questions asked. I’ll take you to Disneyland, Tahiti, wherever you want to go.”
Kelly grinned despite her tears. “Nope.”
“You sure?”
“Yep.”
“Okay then.” Hank gave his sister a tight squeeze. He lifted his head and saw Julie standing in the doorway, her hair falling in soft curls around her slender shoulders, the blue dress flowing along her body, and his heart stopped beating. “Wow.”
Julie blushed. “Do you like it?” She raised her arms and spun in a circle.
“You look amazing.”
She walked over to him and planted a kiss right on his lips. “Thank you.”
Hank’s eyes went dark as he snaked an arm around her waist and held her against him. “You’re welcome,” he said softly.
“All right, you two. Get in the car. We are going to be on time,” Marianne said with purposeful optimism. Despite her firm tone, a secretive smile graced her lips as she ushered Hank and Julie out the door.
~~~
The way Julie saw it, she had one single day to be Hank Jared’s girlfriend, and she was damn sure going to make the most of it.
“Can I get you anything?” he asked.
It was the second time Hank had come by the table where Julie and Gwen’s sat. Julie was disappointed when she realized they weren’t sitting together, but soon discovered the separation gave them a chance to stare at each other across the crowded room like they were in the high school cafeteria.
Each time she caught his eye, she felt brazen and bold; each time she caught him watching her, she was excited and unnerved.
“I think we’re good. Your mother is an incredible cook,” said Julie.
“This gravy is positively scrumptious,” agreed Gwen.
“I’m going to move to this table after I dance with Kelly.”
“You don’t need to, Hank,” said Julie. She didn’t want to disrupt the wedding in any way.
“I want to.” He looked at her, his face clearly showing her he spoke the truth, and she got a funny feeling in her stomach. “Kelly doesn’t mind,” he added, correctly guessing the reason for her refusal.
“Okay then.”
“Sure I can’t get you a drink?”
“Kamikaze, on the rocks,” said Gwen, reaching between them and handing Hank her empty glass.
“You got it, lady.”
“On second thought, I will take a drink. Something fruity and tropical.”
“Coming right up.” Hank walked to the bar and Julie’s eyes followed him all the way there.
“My boyfriend has a great butt.”
“Indeed.”
The dinner music was an eclectic mix of 70s and 80s pop, and Julie’s brow furrowed when Tommy Tutone’s 867-5309 began to play.
“What’s the matter?” asked Gwen.
“Every time I hear a number, I think I should try it in the cipher. Not because I think it will work, but because I have absolutely no idea what will.”
“You’ll know when it’s the right one.” Gwen took a sip of her water. “Doesn’t it have to be thirteen digits or something?”
Julie shrugged. “Not really. If a key isn’t long enough, you just put the leftovers in order at the end. Like for 867-5309, it doesn’t have a one, two, four, ten, eleven, twelve or thirteen in it. So those numbers would go at the end.”
“Isn’t that clever.”
“It works the same way for word keys. Take the letters of the alphabet that aren’t in the keyword and tack them on at the end of the word, in alphabetical order.”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the DJ, “may I call your attention to the front of the room, where Mr. and Mrs. Sorenson are about to cut the cake.” James Taylor’s “How Sweet It Is” came on in the background as Kelly and Ron fed each other wedding cake with guarded movements, laughing.
“I imagine a cultural anthropologist would be an interesting date to have at a wedding,” said Gwen.
“Why is that?”
“Look at these crazy rituals we engage in. Feeding each other cake. The throwing of the garter and the bouquet. Makes me wonder where it all came from.”
“I don’t think they do the garter and the bouquet anymore.”
“Aw, really?” Gwen’s disappointment was obvious. “Why not?”
“Sexist maybe.”
“Oh, pooh. Some people take themselves far too seriously.”
Hank returned with the drinks.
“Thank you, dear.” She whispered in Julie’s ear, “I was hoping to catch the bouquet, you know,” then she winked.
In the end it was Ron who played dirty first, dabbing cake on the end of Kelly’s nose. That move earned him an ear full of yellow fondant, and buttercream frosting on the better part of his tuxedo vest.
“I have to go get ready for my dance with Kelly. I’ll see you ladies in a little bit.”
“Break a leg,” said Julie, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.
“You two make a very handsome couple,” said Gwen as he walked away.
“If only.”
“If only? Why if only?
Julie looked at her like she had amnesia. “We’re not really together, remember? I was just thinking…” she let her voice trail off.
“That you wouldn’t mind if he really were your boyfriend.”
“Dangerous thought, right?”
“I think it’s a splendid thought. Hank Jared is a good man. He’s handsome, comes from a good family. What’s so dangerous about that?”
“He’s a Navy investigator.”
“Oh, yes. And in your book, that’s akin to being an errand boy for Satan.”
Julie rolled her eyes. “I didn’t say that. It’s just that I don’t know where his loyalties lie.”
Gwen took a sip of her Kamikaze. “Do you think his interest in you extends beyond your ability to decode the cipher?”
“That’s what I’m worried about. I don’t know for sure.”
“You don’t trust him.”
“No.”
“Are you basing that on reality, today? Or are you basing it on your past experiences with officers in the Navy?”
Julie watched several guests posing for pictures at the next table. “Probably past experiences.”
“It would be a shame to convict that man of crimes he hasn’t committed, even if the only punishment is the impossibility of a real relationship between the two of you. You have the spark. I can see it. The chemistry between you is popping.”
Julie fingered the spruce centerpiece. “You might be right.” She dropped the foliage and st
ood, grabbing her purse. “I’m going to the ladies room. I’ll be back.”
“I’ll be here.”
Gwen took a sip of her drink, enjoying the tang of triple sec and lime. She usually chose to drink wine, but special occasions merited special pleasures, and there was nothing she enjoyed more than a wedding. True love—particularly between young people like Kelly and Ron—was a sheer joy to witness.
She could see the love between Hank and Julie, too, glowing like the tiniest ember. If it was carefully fanned, its flames could roar to life and keep them toasty warm for years to come, but at this stage it was just as easily extinguished.
Gwen planned to do what she could to send careful breezes their way.
Her love for her niece was fierce and strong, and she had long hoped for Julie to find true love like she herself experienced with David.
She watched Ron and Kelly dance their first dance together, as her memory flashed back to a picnic in the mountains, off a trail she and David frequently hiked together not far from the house. They had eaten mangos, rice salad and stuffed radicchio, drinking ice cold sake from Japanese cups. They made love in the woods, their picnic blanket spread on the ground, their clothes littering the forest floor.
David Beaumont was beautiful a way that only young men can ever be, his sculpted runner’s body lithe and agile, his skin at once both supple and rough. Gwen wondered now what her husband would have looked like at forty-five, the age he would be now had he lived. If he aged like his father, he would only have grown more handsome, with smile lines instead of wrinkles and streaks of light gray hair to accentuate his chiseled features.
“I’m back,” said Julie.
Across the dance floor, the DJ stood with Hank and Kelly. “Ladies and gentlemen, as most of you know, Kelly’s father passed away several years ago, so he isn’t here today to dance with his little girl. Hank Jared, brother of the bride, will be standing in his father’s place.” The crowd clapped quietly, as Luther Vandross’ “Dance With My Father” began to play.