Chapter 26 An Unhinged Wedding #4
The slowest stampede to ever have been stampeded descended from the bus, one at a time.
It took all forty of them roughly ten minutes to make way to their seats.
Enough time for Rhonda to make her way up the “aisle.” As she ascended the loading dock, she moved her arms haphazardly, snapping her fingers with each forward thrust. “Abide with me,” she belted out like a low-budget, fabulously figured, beehive-wearing Charlotte Church.
“No,” Caterina said, marching down the ramp to Rhonda, wagging a finger in her face.
“You know darn well we aren’t singing yet.
We aren’t doing that until the recep—” Her eyes widened as she turned to look at us.
She shook her head, fanning her hands in the air to shoo us back to our place at the makeshift altar that had been constructed of empty soda crates and covered with a pink tablecloth.
“Forget I said that, it’ll ruin the surprise. Let’s get you two crazy kids married.”
Behind her, Kent’s bridal party approached. Kate Sanders sauntered up the ramp holding a brown paper bag with a bottle neck sticking out of the top. Before I could turn to Kent and object, citing our “no hard liquor at the wedding” rule, Kent’s index finger was on top of my lips, and he shushed me.
“West Clark, how the hell are you?” Kate slurred during the final leg of her ascension.
I leaned in, whispering into Kent’s ear. “Is she already drunk?”
He shrugged. “She usually is. You would be too if you were married to …” Kent swallowed, his face flinching as he pointed at Kate’s husband making his way up behind her. “him,” he said, his voice full of disgust.
I still didn’t really understand Kent’s resentment for Jeff Sanders.
He’d been nothing but kind to me. In all honesty, we’d almost become inseparable.
When my gym closed due to black mold and the discovery of hidden cameras in the changing rooms, Jeff had surprised me with a full year’s membership at his.
Granted, it was all the way out in Cobb, which was a forty-minute drive, but the thought had been nice.
Jeff approached, standing immediately to my right. He lifted his hand, offering me a fist bump. Kate turned and glared at me before arching an eyebrow at Jeff.
“We’ve talked about this,” she practically growled at him. When I looked at Jeff, he just rolled his eyes and shrugged.
Kent leaned over and whispered to me. “What the hell was that about?”
I sighed. “She thinks we’re having an affair.”
Kent’s eyes bulged, and he darted his eyes back forth between Jeff and myself. “You fucking around on me Gray Collins?” He turned at stared at Jeff, pointing a righteous finger of judgment at him. “You keep your filthy fucking hands off of him, do you understand me?”
“Ignore him,” I said, trying to put Jeff at ease.
His hands were shaking, and he looked to be in a panic.
“He’s just doing this for attention. He knows we’re not sleeping together.
” Before Kent could draw the scene out any longer, I turned and cupped his face, pulling him to me and smashing our lips together.
He went limp in my arms, his right leg lifting up behind him in the air like a dainty little thing.
Pulling away from him, I grinned. His lip wedged between his teeth, and all he could do was stand there, blinking at me like a lovestruck cartoon character.
As Kent stared at me, whimpering, Daddy took his place beside Jeff.
Rhonda shuffled over, taking the spot next to Daddy.
It was an eclectic bunch, my groomsmen …
Groomspeople? Still, I loved each of them, even if one of them had a habit of pinching my butt and whistling like a deviant as she did so.
Beside Kent, Kate took her place as maid of honor, a title she appointed herself with.
Rhonda had threatened to battle her to the death for it, only to course-correct when I told her Kent hadn’t asked her because I wanted her standing at my side.
I needed her there. She’d been instrumental in kicking sense into me, helping me realize a life with Kent was still possible.
It started on her first day working at the Pick-n-Save.
She smashed the picture frame in my office, the one I kept Kent hidden behind, away from prying eyes.
I must have taken the photo out and unfolded it thousands of times in the twenty years we were apart.
Any time I needed to collect myself. Every time I was feeling lost. I had him. Right there, tucked away. Just for me.
Always just for me.
Rhonda had later told me she recognized him the second he walked into the Pick-n-Save, looking for a job. She realized right then and there exactly how special he was; what a beautiful soul he had.
Her position in our wedding party had never been in question, I wanted her right there at my side as I slid that ring on his finger.
Beside Kate, Kent’s mother, Caterina, stood proudly like a lioness protecting her cub.
Beside her, Christian Thomas leaned against an iron support beam, chain-vaping something that smelled suspiciously like the pot Kent’s aunt Jeanie had gotten us high off of when we were teenagers.
Christian’s eyes were red and glossy, and I chuckled when Kent eyed me, pleading to partake.
I groaned and leaned in, whispering to him, “After the ceremony you can smoke all the grass you want, baby. But not before the wedding.”
He scoffed, folding his arms against his chest. “I want a divorce, Gray Collins.”
He scowled at me.
I winked at him and combed my fingers through my hair, tapping my bald spot nonchalantly.
I noticed a considerable tenting in his pants.
“Mission accomplished,” I said, leaning over and pecking him on the cheek.
Our officiant made her way up the loading dock ramp, gasping for air as she clutched her cane with every bit of strength she had in her. It took her three minutes to make her way up, and she shooed me way when I walked down and tried to help her.
Choosing the person we wanted to marry us had been an ordeal.
The trouble with living in a small town like West Clark was that we only had two churches, not leaving us with much of a selection.
Reverend Higginbottom would’ve made a good choice, but he’d been arrested for selling the communion wine for money to pay his loan shark.
That left my brother, Pastor Trevor Collins.
A man with a moral compass that was about as busted as my fiancé’s sense of shame.
So, we outsourced. We looked at our circle of family and friends and tried to find the perfect person.
Elmyra Foote … was not our first choice.
She wasn’t our second, third, or ninety-ninth choice.
But as candidate after candidate came up with “a terrible case of food poisoning,” four months in advance, she was the only one left.
Kent said he thought she strong-armed her way into the role.
Elmyra knew stuff. She was a hoarder of secrets, and a gabber of gossip.
“West Clark’s resident busybody and an all-around piece of work,” in Kent’s words.
As for me? I think she settled on threats of physical violence aimed at any-and-everyone in the running for the role.
She wore a white blazer, and appeared to have doubled up on her shoulder pads, as they rested square with her jaw.
Her bottle-blonde hair was permed, and each strand looked crisped, like someone had placed a pack of wet noodles in a food dehydrator and forgot about it for three weeks.
She was a walking, talking bag of Top-Ramen, and Kent was beaming ear-to-ear at her over-the-top look.
I was feeling physically ill, though that probably had more to do with the copious amounts of Elizabeth Taylor’s Diamonds & Rubies perfume she’d drenched herself in that morning.
She reached up, placing her hand over her heart. Turning away from us, she stared at the crowd, all forty of them, and she nodded. She opened her mouth, and I was expecting to hear “Dearly beloved.”
That expectation was not met.
She cleared her throat, opened her mouth, and she said, “I pledge allegiance, to the flag.”
Kent snorted, and I squeezed his hand, glaring daggers at him.
While I might put up with his blasphemy here and there, I drew the line at treason.
Sure, it was an absurd choice of time and place to recite the pledge, but I wouldn’t abide him making a mockery of it.
Now, if he wanted to take a knee, that would be another story entirely.
Heck, I’d join right in with him. But laughing at an elderly woman who loved her country? Not on my watch.
“Don’t,” I seethed at him through gritted teeth. His posture straightened in an instant, and he put his dang hand over his dang heart.
When it was done, Elmyra whirled around on her feet and offered us each a clipped nod.
She opened and closed her mouth several times, her eyes blinking so rapidly that her eyelids looked like fluttering butterfly wings.
Her hand rose slowly to her mouth, shaking during its journey.
It went on for ages, because she drew it out like she was in a really, really bad Lifetime movie.
Once her hand made it to her face, there were tears pouring from her eyes.
“Oh good heavens, this is just …” Her eyes crossed and uncrossed, and she shook her head.
“Are you alright, Ms. Foote?” I asked.
She nodded, tears fresh in her eyes. “It’s just so beautiful," she said. “And what a privilege it is for you to have me here.” She reached up, touching her cheek. “The inside of my face feels fuzzy. How fun.”
Kent growled at her. “If you make my day all about you, I swear on all that I hold dear—” Kent looked up at me, brought his hand to my face, and pinched my cheek, “which is basically just this guy—I will pick you up, and I will hurl you all the way from here to Tallulah. Do not test me, Elmyra Foote.”