CAP & Gown (The Academy Saga III)

Prologue

“PHANTOM”

I ’ve found that you tend to regret the things in life you don’t do, more than the things you do. Even when you make mistakes.

So it was with this Mark Twain adage in mind that I found myself ensconced in a tidy, if over-decorated room, taking in the perfect sunset. The sky was a bold fiery orange, clouds, a periwinkle blue tinged with pink. A cool breeze rustled the leaves of the mighty oak trees silhouetted against the evening sky. Soft light filtered radiantly through the stain glass rose window across the street; a picture pretty enough for a postcard.

My mood was grim as a hearse in rain.

I felt like Tom Sawyer hiding out in the rafters, witnessing my funeral. Except this was a wedding and nobody here missed me. According to my mother. This was to be a real wedding. The hearts and flowers kind. Complete with bible and priest and rice and congratulations raining down on the happy couple as they exited the quaint chapel.

I had to see for myself. Seeing is truly believing. If she looked happy, then I would vámonos out of here, let them ride off into the staged sunset together in their limo.

And one of those was pulling up now, a black stretch job. I first spied the back of a head the color of graying hay bales—John Connelly just stepped out. I gripped the binoculars, my heart in my throat. The father-of the-bride was quickly followed by Mikey, his dark hair combed flat and hard against his head, carrying his little white pillow with great care. Next was Andrew. He looked so dapper—and somber— in his black tux. Two little pangs followed their progression toward the portals.

And then . . . nothing happened but stern talking to the yawning door from Daddy Dearest. This elicited nothing, so he reeled in an arm as if to go fishing. I sucked in a breath as he came away with a white-clad sleeve gripped in his hand. Kate came out stumbling, either from being forcefully propelled forward or something else.

My chest expanded.

Air, I wasn’t aware I was holding, left my body in a rush as I beheld her standing before her father in her fairy tale gown. Damn . She had a lace veil covering her face. My heart sank. I would have to wait for the happy couple to burst through the double doors then.

More father-daughter words were being exchanged. John Connelly’s jaw set as he listened to her speak, his face slowly turning dark. Mikey got into the act, running back with one hand waving her forward, the other gripping his ring-bearer pillow. She focused on him for a second. Then she did something unexpected—jerked the veil off her face. She lifted her head like she was checking out the steeple atop of the church. Or searching for guidance from above.

Her back remained to me as she exchanged more unpleasantries with her father. But I could see opposing expressions on the two brothers: Mikey was clearly worried, his forehead creased, he was stamping from one pol ished foot to the other. Andrew looked . . . hopeful? I never thought I’d see an alliance form between Mikey and his Daddy, but there it was. John Connelly began imploring and pointing at Mikey, who was eyeing the chapel doors as if anxious to get this show on the road.

Meanwhile, Kate had become still. Stock-still as a doe does when frightened by some nameless dread in the woods. And then she whirled around, her eyes roving the tree-lined street for the source that led to that feeling. My heart stopped in my chest at what I saw written on her face.

After a moment of fruitless searching, she dropped the veil back down and nodded to her father. He smiled in relief and placed her hand on his arm. She called out to Mikey, who beamed back at her before skipping to join Andrew, whose shoulders just slumped. And then the bride proceeded forward, accompanied by her father.