He was shoving goop through my hair when Jerry opened the door and Leon stepped through, bearing a small box with great reverence—two-handed, though of course no one saw the ghost arm but me. I hadn’t had occasion to wear a boutonniere since a junior high dance. Mama Brill had jabbed me but good when she pinned the crushed carnation to my lapel. Hopefully Leon wasn’t planning on giving it a stab. Etheric limbs can only do so much.
Of course, no one was as aware of that limitation as Leon. He handed things off to Jerry, who fiddled nervously with the box, cleared his throat three or four times, then said, “Anyways. I always wanted another son—so I suppose you’ll do.”
We all pretended we didn’t notice he was choking back tears as he pinned on the boutonniere…without stabbing me even once. Leon gave me a mostly one-armed hug, and the two of them went off to shed their manly tears in private.
Crash gave the flowers a critical look—if you could even call them flowers. Mostly it was a bunch of green stuff with a few white fronds tucked in. Clearly, I should’ve been more specific with the florist, but there was nothing to do for it now. At least in the overall scheme of things, the boutonniere would be too far away for people to notice it looked like something I pulled out of my lawn clippings.
“Eucalyptus,” Crash announced. “Interesting choice.”
“Yeah, I get it, I screwed up. You don’t need to rub it in.”
“I’m serious. Not only is the plant associated with all sorts of good esoteric vibes, from protection to healing to dispelling negativity—but these herbal arrangements are remarkably on-trend.”
I wasn’t entirely convinced he was being serious, but before I could challenge him, Pastor Jill poked her head in and said, “How’s everything going in here?”
“Fine,” I said, then thought better of it and added, “if nothing else, my hair will look good.”
“Charmer,” Crash said.
Pastor Jill grinned. “Chin up, Vic. It’s a felicitous day to constellate!”
“Uh…turn into stars?”
“To gather together…though I don’t mind your definition. How great it would be to let go of the need to achieve and do, and simply shine our light on God’s creation.”
Crash said, “I’m not one for organized religion, but if I lived up here, I’d definitely check out your sermons.”
“You’re welcome anytime.”
As the pastor made to leave, I said, “Before you go, I was wondering, what are your church’s views on cremation?”
“Well, it’s up to the individual. We believe in the Resurrection—but also that God is perfectly capable of resurrecting your body whether or not you’ve had it cremated.”
“So the same would hold true with donating your body to science.”
“Exactly. We consider organ donation an act of sacrifice and love.”
There’s organ donation…and there’s dissection. But I wasn’t about to split brains. “And what about Catholics—aren’t they pretty particular about being buried intact?”
“Traditionally, yes. But times are changing. The Vatican says cremation is fine, so long as you don’t do anything crazy with the ashes. It’s all about respect. It’s one thing to reduce the body to ash…another to scatter those ashes to the wind from a jet ski in Aruba.”
“Would you mind mentioning that to Jerry? He’s having a hard time with his mother’s final wishes.”
Pastor Jill gave me a soft smile. “It’s kind of you to be thinking of him when you’ve got so much else to worry about. I’ll bet he’s real pleased to be gaining a son-in-law like you.”
When she was gone, I told Crash, “Thanks for not rolling your eyes.”
“What? I’m not a total heathen, y’know—and I have a softer side, too.” That said as he tugged hard enough to make my eyes water. “Okay, I suppose that’s as presentable as your hair’s gonna get. Now, be honest. Did you soak and moisturize your hand like I said?”
I sighed heavily and presented the offending limb. The skin was blotchy and the knuckles were creased with brown.
“Yeah, I figured as much. Lucky for you, I found a decent cosmetics counter at the mall.” He pulled out an array of concealers. “And, by the way, these cost easily as much as a professional spray tan, so consider it your wedding present.”
Nothing to gather dust and take up space? I couldn’t ask for a better gift.
Barbara bustled in as Crash was trying to achieve just the right blend of Fresh Beige and Golden Sand. “Hand makeup? Is that a thing?”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “What’s up?”
“I was just at the supper club to set up your decorations…guess what I found?”
“No idea.”
“A bunch of random weeds and the most boring decorations I’ve ever seen in my life. You said you took care of it!”
“I did.” At least I thought I had. Though I could see now I probably should have picked actual flowers, and maybe a real color.
Crash said, “If you guys get everyone to loiter around the church after the vows, Red and I can go on ahead and try to zhuzh it up.”
“Fine,” I said, then turned to Barbara. “Is that it?”
Slightly mollified, she pulled out her phone and called up her to-dos. “Last-minute checklist. You have Jacob’s ring?”
“Of course.” Though obviously she wasn’t going anywhere until I proved it.
“I’ll grab it.” Crash dug in my pocket and flashed the ring at Barbara, then said to me, “Don’t be touching yourself with your makeup hand, not until you wash off the concealer. I got you the most smudge-proof, bulletproof stuff I could find—but it’ll still leave a skidmark on your black suit.” He must have felt my rising anxiety, because he added, “Keep everything within reach with your right hand and you’ll do fine.”
“Check for the pastor?” Barbara prompted.
“Already delivered.”
“And your vows?”
Jacob and I were in agreement that we didn’t have the mental bandwidth to memorize our vows, and had printed them out a while ago. I peered into my right pocket and double-checked the paper was right where I’d left it. “Here.”
“Okay. And try not to mumble.” Barbara gave me a meaningful scowl. “Good luck.”
We locked eyes. I could’ve told her how much I appreciated all her help—bossy or not, she got the job done, while dealing with everything that was going on with her grandmother. And I could’ve said how much it meant to me that she was treating me as part of the family nowadays. Hell, I realized I could have told her I loved her—and meant it. But Barbara Marks didn’t do mushy. So I had to settle for, “Yeah…thanks.”
Even that earned me a tight smile that bordered on a wince.
Once she was gone, Crash gave my hair a final tug, then dusted his hands together and said, “Well, Psy-Pig, I suppose you’re as ready as you’ll ever be. Time to get the show on the road.”
36
JACOB WAS ALREADY waiting in the vestibule, shifting foot to foot and tugging at his cuffs—and not because his cufflinks were sitting funny. He looked more nervous than I felt…but he also looked unbelievably hot. While Crash had been insulting me and pulling my hair, Red was working his magic on Jacob. A couple of weeks ago, when Crash announced, “The nineties called—they want their goatee back,” Jacob had agreed to grow out his stubble. I wasn’t necessarily convinced a full beard was the way to go, but Red assured me that facial hair was among his specialties. Apparently he hadn’t been exaggerating. Seeing Jacob now, polished and pressed, everything groomed and styled, not a hair out of place? I felt stirrings that were most definitely not appropriate for church.
When Jacob spotted me, his eyes widened. His expression shifted from its intense hyperfocus to a broad, all-encompassing look that bordered on wonder. And when the doors to the sanctuary opened to reveal all our friends who turned to check us out expectantly, I experienced my own moment of wonder as, despite all that we’d gone through these past few
days, weeks, months…my heart felt impossibly full.
The ceremony was about as simple as they get—we’d opted for no major fanfare, just some basic recorded music, with no wedding party and no elaborate choreography. We walked down the aisle side by side. Fewer than twenty people were in attendance—and most of them had spent the previous night with us playing cornhole, eating hot dogs and swatting at mosquitoes. The church was mostly empty, aside from two clusters up front on either side of the aisle, though the space seemed as full as my heart, because everyone there was someone I truly cared about. Neither side was exclusively Jacob’s, or exclusively mine. Our lives were so intermingled, it was hard to say who belonged to whom…other than Jacob’s biological family. Though soon they’d be stuck with me, too.
Pastor Jill awaited us at the altar, beaming at us as we approached, looking surprisingly official in a liturgical gown. And while I half-expected her to whip out some strange vocabulary word, she did the reading as planned without taking any creative liberties. It was your typical religious passage about love—and while the words washed over me as more of a gentle cadence than an actual string of sentences, it wasn’t because I was zoned out, disconnected, or retreating inside my own protective shell.
Just the opposite. I felt like I’d been broken wide open for the world to see, in all my vulnerability. Because nothing’s even half as vulnerable as happiness—and despite the weeks of frantic planning, this thing we were doing, Jacob and me, hardly felt real.
“Vic,” Pastor Jill was saying, which brought me back down to earth. “The vows you prepared?”
There was brief moment of panic in which I thought I’d end up covered in concealer, but a comforting papery crinkle assured me that I was practically in the clear….
Until I unfolded my vows and discovered they weren’t vows at all, but instead the map to Sacred Heart covered in scribbles I’d stashed to keep it out of Barbara’s hands. Seriously? How had I managed to grab that? “Uh…hold on a sec.” That was the last thing Jacob needed to see. I folded it back up and tucked it away, then reached around to pat my left pocket with my right hand. But as I already suspected, it was empty.
“So…the thing is, I…uh, I’m finding myself more than a little bit out of my depth right now. The prewritten vows feel a little stilted...so I think I should just speak from the heart.”
Jacob stared into my eyes, one dark eyebrow slightly quirked. Baffled. Yet intrigued.
“I, uh... I never saw myself getting married in church.”
Jacob’s eyes narrowed as he wondered where I was going with this.
Him and me both. “Frankly…I never saw myself getting married at all. And I especially never saw myself finding a man who loved me for exactly who I was, not in spite of it. I will always have your back, Jacob. And whatever life throws at us, it’s my solemn promise I’ll be right there by your side.”
Pastor Jill looked at me expectantly, and I muttered, “Uh, that’s it.”
“And what about you, Jacob?” she prompted.
No doubt his pre-prepared vows were exactly where he expected them to be…but he could hardly follow my ad lib with a reading. He leaned in, and his short whiskers ruffled my cheek as he pressed his lips to my ear and playfully whispered, “You’ll pay for this later, mister.”
As if the illustrious Jacob Marks is ever at a loss for words.
He eased back to arms’ length and cocked his head as if he was trying to figure out what to make of me, then gathered his thoughts, cleared his throat and said, “Vic…I set my sights on you without knowing if my overtures would be welcome, let alone reciprocated. You were so independent, it seemed like you didn’t need anyone else—like you didn’t even want the complications a relationship would bring. And then you let me into your life anyway. I thought I knew what to expect…but I was wrong. Being with you has been an adventure. Always. And even better, I feel as though our journey together has only just begun. I vow to be the partner you deserve, every step of the way.”
Pastor Jill said, “Victor and Jacob have chosen rings to exchange with each other as a symbol of their unending love. Vic, if you would place the ring on Jacob’s finger?”
Don’t get makeup on your suit.
Wait, other hand.
A moment of panic, and then my fingers closed on a platinum band, plain and solid, warm from my pocket. Cameras flashed as I took Jacob’s hand in mine, and our hands became the center of everyone’s attention—but as far as I could tell, my left hand was passing for normal. And thankfully, with my nails neatly trimmed and buffed, it looked remarkably okay.
Jacob’s ring caught on his knuckle, but I wasn’t afraid to give it a good shove—and this part of the ceremony, we had memorized, since there’d be no easy way to consult our notes. Once I jammed the ring home, I took a deep breath, looked into his eyes, and said, “I give you this ring as a symbol of my love. Let it be a reminder that we have joined our lives together.” And then I presented my left hand, whispering, “Watch the makeup.”
It wasn’t my first time in a wedding band—and not just the fake one I nearly ditched on a dozen occasions. We’d modeled them for the dog photographer just a few days prior. And yet the sensation of the band sliding on felt momentous, as though from this day forward, everything was new. And while there was a slight hitch at the knuckle…between the sweaty palms and the makeup, it didn’t put up much of a fight.
Jacob held my hand reverently in both of his and said, “Let this ring be a symbol of my promises to you and a reminder of my devotion. I am honored to call you my husband.”
On paper, they’d seemed like just so many predictable words. But hearing Jacob say them with such emotion, such love, nearly made me tear up.
Okay, my eyelashes might’ve actually felt a little damp. But the only one who’d be able to tell was Jacob. And I trusted him with my life.
With our vows safely out of the way, the pastor smiled broadly and spread her hands in benediction. “Those whom God has joined together, let no one put asunder. Victor and Jacob, you have given and pledged your faith. I pronounce that you are now married, and may seal the promises you have made with a kiss.”
We both leaned in for the requisite kiss, and as we did, it occurred to me that a discussion of exactly how much tongue was appropriate would have been useful—but I figured I’d just follow Jacob’s lead. And for a guy who’d introduced himself to me tongue-first, here in front of everyone who mattered, even he felt uncharacteristically modest. His lips pressed against mine, soft, even reverent. And as our mouths relaxed into one another and Jacob allowed himself to breathe, the sweet spice of cinnamon gum, just a hint, flitted across my tongue.
Our first kiss had been bitter, tinged with the aftertaste of Auracel. But now I couldn’t even recall the last time I’d swallowed one of those noxious pills. I didn’t need to drown out the ghosts anymore, and I didn’t need to avoid being who I was.
Not with Jacob at my side.
37
I’D LOVE TO say that with the vows out of the way and the ring on my knuckly finger, I felt confident the rest of the wedding would be smooth sailing, and was currently awash with relief. But in my opinion, public speaking ranks up there with getting your balls waxed (which, for the record, I’ve never done—though I have seen videos). While everything had managed to work out, I was still tacky with flop-sweat and shaky around the knees. And I was hoping to air myself out before we headed over to the reception.
Unlike me, my new husband thrives as the center of attention. When I slipped out the side door and into the church’s overflow parking lot, I was surprised to find Jacob had stepped outside, too. Until the door clicked shut behind me and he turned toward the sound—and I realized it wasn’t Jacob at all I’d just blundered across, but a ghost from the family’s past.
Though not the type who had me reaching for my baggie of salt.
“Uncle Fred.” A statement, not a question…because he and Jacob really did look alike, plus or minus twen
ty years.
“You know who I am?” Fred gave me a self-deprecating grin, the likes of which you’d never see on his nephew. It made him look like less of a doppelgänger, which was a relief. “Well, how about that? I thought my name had been permanently struck from the family vocabulary.”
“They say it, all right…but not in the most complimentary way. Is that why you’re lurking around out here?”
“I didn’t want my presence to overshadow my only nephew’s big day.”
“I’m sure everyone will get over it.”
He smiled sadly. “Shirley called last night and told me everything that was going on—the wedding…the funeral. It’s a lot. I’m not quite sure how to feel.”
“I’m sorry about your mother.”
“She had a long life. I’d love to say it was a happy one…but it sounds like you’ve met her, so why bother sugar-coating the truth?”
“Maybe she had good reason for being unhappy.”
A silence hung between us, one that could go either way. I’m a lousy judge of character, but having Jacob as a point of comparison made me think I could get a read on Fred. Where Jacob was glib and calculated, Fred seemed open and honest. It could’ve meant he was just a better actor. But I didn’t think so.
I gave them Fred so I could save Jerry. Fred didn’t appear with the rest of the family in Kamal’s journal, either—and not because he’d been excused from the experiment. What if the list we were looking at was more like a control group—the family members carrying a recessive gene, but not psychics themselves…at least as far as anyone knew.
Unless that was all a lie. And no one was ever really spared.
Confrontation was not my forte, but I wasn’t about to give up my chance at finding some answers. I said, “Were you aware that Jacob was a PsyCop?”
Fred smiled. “Sure—I saw him on the news.”
“Well…I was a PsyCop too. Which means the stress of being in a psychic program? It’s not lost on me.”
Other Half (PsyCop book 12) Page 23