Two Weddings And A Bride. Anne Eames

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       One

      The last place Jake Alley wanted to be on this hot, cloudless Saturday evening was in a hot, humorless chapel, watching some fool surrender his freedom.

      His bumper sticker didn’t he. He’d rather be sailing. Or at the very least, downtown Detroit at Tiger Stadium for the twi-night doubleheader. Anywhere other than this highfalutin Birmingham wedding would be an improvement.

      But there he sat beside Aunt Helen, his shirt stuck to his back, wondering if dark blotches were beginning to show through his new khaki suit. Why had he let himself get roped into this? He didn’t even know these people—Catherine something-or-other, the daughter of Aunt Helen’s boss, and the supposedly handsome hunk she had snared. Poor sap.

      The organist struck a loud chord. Jake stood along with the others, fanned his opened jacket against his soggy shirt and started calculating how much longer before he could be on his way. He’d drive Aunt Helen to the reception, grab a brew or two and sit with her through dinner as promised. Sounded like at least three hours. Unless he could find her a ride…

      Aunt Helen jabbed her elbow into his side and for a guilty second he thought she’d read his mind. She nodded her head toward the aisle. Behind him he heard the slow, rhythmic swishing of fabric skimming the surface of the white runner. The naturally rebellious part of him wanted to stare straight ahead and ignore convention, but with a resigned sigh he turned to the right and cast an aloof look up the aisle.

      That’s when he saw her. The bride drew closer, almost in slow motion, the surreal moment isolating each frame. He stared shamelessly at her long, black lashes blinking over humongous baby blues. Flawless skin radiated a healthy glow. Another step and her smile widened, exposing perfect white teeth. Then, two rows from him, her eyes met his. And in that brief instant, behind the perfect facade, he saw a hint of what was to come. A chill shot down his damp shirt. He tried to get another read, but she drifted past him.

      Jake focused on her silky black hair swaying below a cloud of puffy white netting, wishing he knew what to make of her expression and wondering if anyone else had seen it. He didn’t think it was wedding day jitters. He’d seen that look before. It was more like confusion bordering on panic—a feeling he could relate to this very moment.

      Finally she reached the altar and turned to the tall man who had been waiting for her. Jake stiffened. It was as if someone were holding a photo in front of him asking “What’s wrong with this picture?” Zooming in for a closeup he noticed the groom’s possessive smile. Instantly Jake knew the answer. How he knew or why he cared, he wasn’t certain. But in his gut he knew he was right. This man was not right for this woman. And somewhere deep inside the bride knew it, too.

      Jake stood there, mouth agape, until he realized everyone else had sat down. Quickly he dropped into the pew, reality trying to worm its way back in but not succeeding. As the vows rolled on he replayed the scene over and over. That face, those eyes…

      “I now pronounce you husband and wife.” The minister’s words pierced Jake’s fog. He watched the pair smile at each other once again. “You may kiss the bride.”

      The organist pounded out another earsplitting refrain. A beat slower than the others Jake stood, this time refusing to look beyond his hands gripping the pew in front of him. When their turn came to exit he took Aunt Helen’s elbow and shuffled out behind the excited crowd, feeling exhausted and emotionally spent.

      A welcome July breeze greeted them as they walked down the church steps. Jake inhaled deeply and let out a long, hot breath, trying to find his old prehallucinatory self. He’d just about succeeded when a handful of something bounced off his chest and landed at his feet. He stared down at the tiny particles, expecting to find rice. Instead he saw bird seed.

      “How appropriate!” he muttered under his breath. This whole scene was for the birds. He eyed the parking lot. His topless Jeep was sandwiched between two BMWs, reminding him this wasn’t his world and he was wasting his time trying to figure it out. Suddenly eager to move on to the reception and a cold beer, he looked down at Aunt Helen. She was still watching the maudlin parade, dabbing her cheeks with a lace-edged hankie. Jake turned and walked a few steps, hoping Aunt Helen would get the hint, but she didn’t budge. Patience exhausted he went back, hooked his arm in hers, and guided her to his Jeep.

      Jake loosened his tie, fighting the urge to take it off and strangle his dear, sweet aunt. Thank God dinner was nearly over. How much longer could he pretend not to notice her meaningful glances—the ones that said “Why can’t you find a wonderful bride?”

      Wonderful bride. Now there’s an oxymoron!

      He rocked back in his chair and tried looking at the bright side. The chow had been better than usual and the drinks were free and plentiful. Best of all, he’d found a ride home for Aunt Helen. A few more polite minutes and he was out of here.

      What on earth had come over him in that church tonight? he wondered, stealing another glimpse at Catherine what’s-her-new-name, then quickly looking away. The tinkling sound of silverware against glass meant Mr. Wrong would have his tongue halfway down her throat any second and he didn’t want to watch.

      Musicians caught his eye in the far corner and he shifted in his chair for a better view. He folded his arms against his chest. This wasn’t at all like him. If anybody at a wedding deserved sympathy it was the poor, delusional groom, not the bride.

      In spite of himself he looked back at the head table where the groom was kissing his way down the row of bridesmaids, lingering especially long with the all-too-eager buxom blonde on the far end. Catherine seemed to be taking it all in stride, smiling СКАЧАТЬ