20
20
WEDDING DIRGE
T he bridal party was the last to leave, after a quick series of photos taken to commemorate the occasion. André rode in the cart with us for last minute touch-ups and moral support. He’d finally caught hold of my mood, so caught hold of my hand and held it the whole way. He kissed me farewell, whispering encouragement into my ear before the Connelly clan pulled out in a cheesy black stretch limo that had Mikey bowled over with excitement. My father—stuffed into his suit—had cleared his throat several times when he saw me. He even very gallantly helped me into the limo. If only he’d helped me as much at home, I thought.
“You look beautiful as your mama did on our weddin’ day,” he croaked, wiping his big paw across his watery blue eyes. “You done well fer yerself, Katie-girl. I’m proud.”
I knew he was. To him I was the epitome of success because I’d married an officer. I hated to tell him he was no gentleman. I granted Daddy a lip lift. He patted my arm. As if I needed his approval.
Quickly moving past the sentimental moment, Daddy turned on his favorite scapegoat. “Make sure you don’t piddle around and lose those rings, boy.” The first words out of his mouth to Mikey.
“Yes, sir” is all Mikey had to say back, his daddy not able to put a dent in his enthusiasm for this day.
“You both look exceptionally handsome,” I spoke up, but my voice sounded too dull for the sentiment. Mikey gave me his gap-toothed grin, and Andrew leaned into me, as though for support.
To tell you the truth, I’d rather my brothers walk me down the aisle—one on each arm—like when I got back from the hospital from my concussion. Or André. Or Smitty for that matter. Heck, it would be more appropriate for me to walk myself down the aisle.
The ride threading us through the wooded hills of Belvedere to my wedding should’ve been magical. It was a magnificent place with stately homes, jutting cliffs, and majestic views of The Bay. The cool steel water was dotted with colorful sailboats gently bobbing in the breezy day. Everything was prime, lush, crisp, a picturesque gem of a town. Understated prestige. Very Academy.
My father was sweating bullets in his suit. I noted that it was navy not black and wondered if this was a gesture of allegiance to The Academy, or a case of him being too cheap to rent a tux for the occasion. He probably thought it was a clever combo of both. Mikey was bouncing on the seats, grinning from ear to ear, and checking to make sure the rings were securely fastened to the pillow. Andrew was scowling like we were in a funeral dirge instead of a limo. I was numb as we pulled up in front of the quaint chapel. It was painted white and set upon a hill facing the sparkling water, its wooden cross prominently displayed atop of the spire. A dull buzz began in my ears, and my stomach did the flop. I suddenly realized how real this was. I would take my vow, not just before the hundred and fifty plus guests deemed august enough for the special occasion, but in front of God. In a church of my choosing. Traditional vows uttered by a priest and repeated by Ranger and me as we faced each other, with a bible propped between us.
My father was first to bust out of the limo. We were already a few minutes late. The last to arrive. I needed a minute to deep breath in and out. My father tried his version of a pep talk. Finally, he fished me out of the limo with a hard hand on my arm, telling me I was keeping my husband-to-be, “an important man,” waiting. I drew back and let Mikey tumble out, and Andrew climb out. I thought how different I would feel if we were in love, how my stomach would be swirling with butterflies instead of clenching with anxiety. Finally, I took a last deep breath and stepped out. My father offered some paternal advice that sounded more like threats. I cast my eyes at Mikey, so hopeful and so cute, like a monkey in his tux. He was holding onto his little satin pillow with so much pride. My father took ahold of my arm to commence to marching me toward the aisle.
“Wait!” I wrenched the veil from my face so I could breathe for just a dadgum second. I drew in a deep breath, looking up at the spire, at the wide expanse of blue, the puffs of white cotton floating lazily by.
How had it come to this? My life—from Clovis country to California chapel. Zero to one-eighty, in two years flat.
My father prodded me forward, but I dug my heels in, needing another moment to slow the spin. And that’s when my spine tingled. Muted as it was beneath a coat of numbed nerves, it was a feeling like someone holding a gun to your back. I shivered and spun around. My eyes traversed the quiet, tree-lined street. No one was there but a rubber-necking retired couple strolling with their fluffy dog, and a gray-uniformed security guard, trying a little too hard to look official.
Wishful thinking. I sighed. Not even a mirage was there.
I cast my eyes for the comfort of my brothers. Andrew, still solemn but resigned, was waiting by the door. Mikey peeped his carefully coiffed head back through the portals, an optimistically hopeful smile lighting his face. Maybe that was the sign I needed? I could do this. For Mikey. I nodded to my father, and he released some pent-up breath. Together, we clumsily placed the veil back over my face and proceeded forward.