Chapter Twenty-Six. Duncan
Duncan didn’t have many opinions about weddings, but there was one thing he was sure of: planning one outdoors was risky business. Especially in a year where storms had piggybacked through the valley with record frequency. Low-lying areas around Cloud Tide were still saturated from the previous weeks’ rainfall, and the mosquitoes had been hell.
Thunder rumbled on the horizon, and the sky had grown dim enough that crickets sang in the grass around them. Beneath cottony white, the clouds were dusky and gravid with rain.
A few dozen mismatched wooden chairs sat in a semicircle at the edge of the vineyard. Trellis posts in either direction were draped in oblong wreaths of enormous creamy white chrysanthemums, and the perennials Duncan and Temperance had retrieved from Linden now sat everywhere in flower pots of ceramic and terra-cotta. Mercy and Maren had been gathering the pots from secondhand stores around the valley for the last few weeks.
Harry and his attendants lingered around the back side of the greenhouse, waiting for Rowan’s attendants to finish with the photographer outside the gardener’s cottage next door. Harry wore charcoal pants and a lighter gray houndstooth vest over a cream button-down, sleeves rolled to his elbows. A few sprigs of rosemary and lavender were tied together with twine and pinned to his vest’s left lapel. And despite a wave of stoic tears after a conversation with Dad and another when he first saw the arbor Duncan had built, he was calm. A hell of a lot calmer than Duncan would have been in his shoes.
Duncan cuffed him affectionately on the arm. “You look damned good. For once, you’re more handsome than me, and I’m not even mad about it.”
The groomsmen wore chocolate-brown chinos and similar cream button-downs, sans vests. Duncan stretched his shoulders and popped his knuckles. His shirt was a bit too small, and the fabric whiskered outward around the buttons closest to the center of his chest.
At least he didn’t have to wear a fucking bow tie.
The clouds temporarily cleared to reveal a hyacinth-blue sky. Beside Duncan, Mal leaned on his cane with a scowl and a long-suffering sigh. Charlie had decorated his cane with stick-on gemstones earlier in the day—“To make it resplendent,” she’d said in her serious little voice. The plastic jewels caught the sun, painting a rainbow of shifting, sparkling colors whenever Mal moved.
“Cheer up, buttercup,” Duncan said to him. “You look resplendent.”
Mal growled and held up a middle finger.
Movement and chatter erupted from around the opposite side of the greenhouse as Rowan’s bridal party finished with the photographer. Arden was the first to appear. She skipped ahead of the rest of the crowd, wearing a dove-gray vintage lace dress, waving her small wildflower bouquet above her head.
Frankie and Maren and Mercy followed, each in a different vintage gown in shades of yellow and gold, holding small bouquets of wildflowers. Arden plowed into Harry with a hug that made him waver on his feet. “Your wife is back there, Harry. I hope you have tissues.”
Harry pushed his hands into his pockets and swallowed hard. “My wife.” Tears glittered in his eyes.
“Ah, Christ, Arden. Don’t get him started again,” Nate said.
“Poor dude’s going to need electrolytes by nine P.M.,” said Patrick.
Duncan laughed. Arden fixed him with a calculating look. She narrowed her eyes and pointed at his chest with her bouquet. “You are especially unprepared, Ducky.”
“Fucking hell.” Duncan sighed and cupped his hand around his forehead. “Not you, too.”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Temperance appeared around the corner of the greenhouse.
He held his breath, but she stole it anyway.
Sunlight reflected from the glass panes of the greenhouse, setting pale fire to every elegant centimeter of her. She wore a buttery-yellow sheath dress with cap sleeves and a low square neckline, and her hair was in a thick side braid that curved long and loose over her shoulder. In her hands, she carried a small bouquet of creamy yellow wildflowers.
She was a sunbeam come to life.
She kept her attention downward as she approached, tiptoeing a bit on the still-soft earth. When she looked up, her gaze collided with Duncan’s and held, and her bottom lip dropped into a tiny little oh.
Duncan widened his stance and curled his toes in his wingtips to keep from being tugged bodily into her orbit. He clasped his hands in front of his waist and fought the urge to crack his knuckles or push his fingers through his hair.
Arden took her place at the front of the lineup to prepare for the processional. Mercy and Maren kissed their husbands, and Frankie sidled up next to Mal, slipping her arm through his. Mal made a rumbly noise in the back of his throat, stabbing at the ground with his cane in his free hand. Frankie responded with an incandescent grin.
Temperance stood beside Duncan, and he lifted her arm by the wrist to link it through his for the walk down the aisle. It flopped like a cold noodle, so he squished it between his ribs and his forearm to keep it in place. He leaned closer and murmured, “Hey, bestie. Here we are again, at a wedding.”
“Please don’t,” she whispered, keeping her eyes forward.
“Just making polite conversation.”
Temperance squared her shoulders. “I know what you’re doing.” She had a white-knuckle grip on the little bouquet of flowers, and there was a visible flutter at the base of her neck when she swallowed.
Duncan lowered his mouth to her temple. “I know you’re going to come to me tonight, Temperance. Maybe we should just plan it this time.” The sun passed behind a bank of clouds, and for a moment, the world dimmed. The breeze was warm and warned of rain.
Temperance leaned forward and tapped Mal on the shoulder.
Mal turned and gave her such an imperious look down his nose, it was comical.
“Let’s trade,” Temperance said to him.
“I am not—” One of Mal’s eyebrows lifted in synchrony with an upward curl of his lip. He looked to Duncan. “—walking down the aisle with him.”
Frankie hooted a delighted laugh.
“Oh, for god’s sake.” Temperance bristled like a little pine cone. “You know what I mean.”
Frankie turned then, without releasing her grip on Mal’s arm. He grunted and planted his cane again for balance. “You two work this out.” Her eyes danced between Duncan and Temperance. “Goth Rainbow Dash here is walking down the aisle with me. I’m his emotional support extrovert. Bride’s orders.”
Mal expelled a loud, long breath through his nose.
“Harry,” Temperance leaned out and whispered loudly down the lineup. When Harry turned, she said, “Let me walk down the aisle with you.”
“That’s not how this works,” Frankie hissed. “You can’t walk down the aisle with the groom.”
“What the hell is that smell?” Duncan said.
Bewildered, Harry said, “Huh?”
Maren and Mercy gave them all a hearty shush.
The violin trio began playing the processional music—an upbeat instrumental rendition of “You Are the Sunshine of My Life” by Stevie Wonder. In front of them, Frankie subtly swayed her ass.
“Stop moving.” Mal’s cane cast a shimmery rainbow in an arc around him.
“Can’t help it. You’re a human disco ball,” Frankie said.
“You’re a human wrecking ball,” said Mal.
“Oh my god, you two.” Temperance groaned.
Arden started the procession, and Harry followed. The rest of the wedding party proceeded slowly behind them, and Duncan and Temperance brought up the rear.
“Looks like you’re stuck with me,” Duncan said.
Temperance inhaled through her nose and blew it out through pursed lips, long and slow. The exhale smelled like peppermint and cream and the indescribable essence of her, and Duncan wondered in that moment if he’d actually ever get to kiss her again in this lifetime.
They disengaged to take their places on opposite sides of Harry. A ripple of thunder sounded in the distance. Clouds scudded in, heavy with the promise of rain. They blocked the sun at the same moment the string quartet eased into a gentle rendition of “Here Comes the Sun” by the Beatles. When Rowan rounded the corner of the greenhouse escorted by Ma and Dad, she brought her own kind of light with her.
Harry wavered on his feet when he saw her. Duncan pressed a hand lightly against his brother’s back to anchor him, and Harry let out a shuddery breath and stood taller. Midway down the aisle, Rowan glanced from the arbor to Duncan, her eyes glossy with tears. Thank you, she mouthed, and Duncan inclined his head with a gentle nod.
Ma and Dad each gave her a hug when they reached the end of the aisle, then quickly sat down.
With little regard for patience or restraint in the name of tradition, Harry and Rowan both laughed out loud once they were face-to-face. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her off the ground, kissing her without hesitation. The audience erupted in applause and laughter, and Colby Everett did a few looping trills of his loud two-finger whistle. The officiant—an extraordinarily tall friend of Rowan’s named Aida—playfully waved the end of a colorful scarf at them and said it wasn’t time for that yet. She welcomed everyone with a brief speech about how the union between two people was the cultivation of a new future. How real love itself was a force of nature as discernible as a storm or the tides.
Again, Harry and Rowan kissed prematurely, and the audience laughed.
They said their vows.
“You are my nourishment…”
“My wildness, and my weakness…”
Duncan leaned sideways and caught a glimpse of Temperance. Her jaw was set, and she blinked fast to hold back tears.
“I can’t believe you’re mine,” Duncan heard Harry say. “I can,” Rowan answered.
As they slid rings onto each other’s fingers, the storm arrived.
Clouds brought premature nightfall in an instant. The leaves on the grapevines flapped in the rising wind, and a few cold globs of rain dashed against Duncan’s shoulders so hard it felt like they’d been hurled intentionally from the sky. The audience murmured and shifted in their chairs. Temperance looked a little unsteady on her feet.
Dad popped up from the front row and cupped his hands around his mouth: “Husband, wife. Married! Done. Everyone to the barn!”
A long rumble of thunder, then the sky let loose.
Chairs tipped and feet slipped in the grass. Silk scarves were caught by the wind, whipped skyward like colorful birds. Excited screams and nervous laughter were punctuated by booming thunder. Duncan glanced around for Millie. She was already sprinting barefoot toward the bank barn with the other guests, her high-heeled shoes dangling from her hands by their straps. Good.
Everyone had sachets of dried lavender to toss at the newlyweds after the ceremony, and the wind caught those, too, scattering leaves and tiny purple petals into the air like fragrant snow. Duncan spit a few pieces out of his mouth and hung back with Nate to make sure everyone was on the way to the barn.
“Go!” he called to Nate over the howling wind. The change in air pressure made his voice sound muffled inside his head. Nate took off to catch up with Maren and the kids, and Duncan scanned the retreating crowd for Temperance.
Nearly two decades of practice made him good at finding her fast. She ran like a gazelle, effortlessly loping across the lawn, but she suddenly swerved. There was something confused and unnatural about the way she moved.
Was he fucking dreaming again?
He glanced upward. No sky-ocean.
Temperance fell.
Duncan was by her side in moments. “Are you okay?” he shouted, extending a hand. A grass stain slashed across the front of her dress where her knee had hit the ground.
“I’m fine,” she yelled back. The wind whipped her braid into her face, and she shoved it away. When she got to her feet, she slumped to the ground again after a single step.
Duncan put his hands under her arms and lifted her to her feet. “What the hell is going on?”
She jerked away from him and fell again, pressing her hand to her ear. Raindrops pummeled them in earnest now. Everyone else had reached the barn. Lightning blew like enormous flashbulbs. The storm was right on top of them.
“Hell with this.” Duncan scooped Temperance into a bridal carry, and ran.
A crowd had gathered in the wide doorway of the bank barn, watching them approach. Duncan bent at the knees to set Temperance down beneath the roof’s overhang. She took a few lurching steps, dropped her bouquet, and bent at the waist to throw up.