16
Mara Usra Nichols and Daniel Lewis Foster request the pleasure of your company at their wedding celebration, tomorrow, twelve noon, location to be decided, reception to follow.
That was the language they agreed on. The invites would be printed on resort stationery and slid under everyone’s door during that evening’s entertainment. It was the first step in reuniting the island, Lilyanna said, of making nice and restoring order. Her husband, Pete, would officiate, and Lilyanna would plan the whole thing, pick the flowers, the menu, the music. Make it real elegant. Real special. That way, folks in Buildings B and C would see that the Collinses and soon-to-be Fosters had buried the hatchet. Become friends. More than friends, really—practically family! They were in their wedding, after all.
Dan had never been the type to envision his perfect wedding, but if he had, someone like Pete Collins wouldn’t be at the altar, the guests probably wouldn’t be half-starved, and the sun would exist. Despite all that, he liked the plan. Their wedding accomplished two things: First, if they completely cooperated with Lilyanna and her ilk, it ensured Mara a seat on the Piper Cherokee six-seater. Second, and this was a nice little bonus, he’d be marrying the love of his life. If everything went belly-up, at least he could call Mara his wife before the end. That wasn’t nothing.
Mara seemed uneasy. Not uneasy about marrying Dan, she loved him. Uneasy about getting in bed with the Collinses, uneasy about making pretend nice with Julio’s killers, uneasy about boarding that airplane and dooming everyone else to suffer under the oppressive rule of whoever was left. “Plus,” she asked Dan, “didn’t we also agree to start helping people?” Dan shushed her, told her he had it all under control, that it was part of his master plan, that she should just work on her vows because his were going to be real tearjerkers and she didn’t want to look ineloquent by comparison.
In truth, he had no master plan besides marrying her and getting her the hell off this island. But that was enough.
Once released from jail, they went their separate ways—Lilyanna took Mara to see about getting a dress made, and Dan was tasked with meeting Pete Collins because he insisted on chatting with his grooms before the big day. So while guests shuffled atop broken glass in single-file lines adjacent to the lazy rivers on their way to work assignments, Dan strolled toward Building A, which glimmered on the surface of the darkened resort like a polished dime.
Dan shared stoic nods with people in line as he passed. A few brave souls offered fist bumps, handshakes. When a trembling young woman looked him in the eye, Dan’s gaze found concrete. Twelve hours ago, he’d roared back onto the scene as a revolutionary. Now he was on his way to have some snacks and a nice chat with these people’s oppressors.
For Mara, he told himself.
Guards too close to ignore freely shared sentiments of dissent roughed people up a bit, a shoulder shove here, a kick in the knee there. One guest practically tackled Dan and begged for more food, said he was starving, that his wife was starving too. The guards pried him off and then disappeared with him somewhere behind Building C.
Most folks, though, were too cold to revolt any more, and the guards too cold to be particularly cruel. There hadn’t been enough winter clothing made yet, so only those with acceptable work outputs were bundled up. Others trembled in shorts and tank tops, huddled together as much as you can huddle in a single-file line.
Dan met Pete Collins on the pool side of Building A. He was dressed in a slim navy suit and shoes that reflected the resort lights. Dan hadn’t met him up close yet, despite the mandatory worship sessions. He was a pastor, alright, but not like the priests Dan had grown up with. He had a dimple in his chin, and he kept in immaculate shape, and when he smiled you knew immediately this was a guy who flossed. A streak of gray hair spouted from his forehead and was combed back through the rest of his jet-black mane, the spot where he’d been touched by God himself. He was as handsome as his wife was beautiful.
“Well, now, I know you,” Pete said, a chuckle in his throat, his grip solid. He playfully wagged his finger at Dan. “Mr. Fight the Power! You got a silver tongue up in there, don’t ya, Dan?”
Dan matched Pete’s energy, threw his hands in the air with a good-natured laugh. “Guilty as charged!” Then they laughed together, and Pete put his hand on Dan’s shoulder and kneaded it, and Dan could tell already this guy was way too touchy for his taste, but he had to play nice as per the agreement.
“How about this weather, huh?” Pete said, hands on his hips, looking up into the charcoal sky.
“Well, the sun exploded,” Dan said.
“Well, yeah, but how about these clouds, Dan? Whaddya think? Rain?”
It did look like rain, come to think of it. Would it still rain without the sun?
“Maybe rain,” Dan said with a pleasant nod.
Pete shook his head. “Boy, I tell ya. It’s like I tell folks visiting Nashville. I say, ‘Hey, don’t like the weather? Just wait twenty minutes and it’ll change!’” He slapped Dan’s chest with his knuckles and laughed as Dan winced.
“Yikes. I’m sorry about that, Dan. Rico tagged ya pretty good, huh? That guy’s a crack shot, I tell ya what. Glad he’s on our side, right? Just boom , you know, no thinking. Line up the shot and bang . Meanwhile, I can’t even hit my azaleas with the garden hose out back without a step stool and a prayer. Can ya believe it?”
Pete’s hand found Dan’s shoulder again, squeezed him in real close as they walked toward the entrance of Building A.
“So I hear you’re finally taking the plunge, huh? I hope you’re practicing your yes, dears—you’re gonna need ’em!” He laughed and laughed. “No, no, I’m just foolin’. I like to have fun, keep things light, you’ve probably noticed. They say I’m not like the other pastors, all buttoned-up. Sterile. No, sir. I think one of the most amazing gifts God gave us was humor, don’t you, Dan? So, my thinking is…what better way to use that gift than to spread His word?”
Dan could just feel Pete capitalizing God’s pronouns in those sentences.
“Tell me, Dan—is it okay if I call you Dan?”
Dan forced a big smile. “Sure you can, Pete.”
“Tell me, Dan, are you religious?”
“No. Catholic.”
That got another good chortle out of Pete. “Wuh-oh! Watch out for this one! We got a jokester over here. I love it. Say, what about your bride? She looks very—she looks—what’s the deal there, Dan?”
“Her mom’s Hindu. But Mara’s not real into it.”
Pete wiped his forehead theatrically. “Whew! That’s a load off. Don’t wanna have to do the Allahu Akbar stuff up on the altar if I can help it, ya know? Gives me the willies.”
“That’s not—”
“Come on inside.”
Pete waved at the guards, who eyed Dan with suspicion but then stepped aside. The automatic doors slid open, and they waltzed shoulder to shoulder into Building A, a feeling of incongruence washing over Dan. Building A’s lobby felt like it belonged to another resort entirely. It was like the Palace of Versailles, with marble walls, a grand staircase, a three-piece band playing softly in the corner. Dan and Pete stood under one of two twinkling chandeliers. Across the massive atrium was a bar and its bartender, a man in a bow tie shaking drinks like nothing had happened. Building A visitants mulled about the space, laughing, drinking, smoking cigars. There was food everywhere. A buffet stretched along the left side, with a build-your-own hash brown station and fresh-squeezed orange juice and a chef preparing omelets. And were those…? They were . Stacks of candy bars—the ones stolen from the resorts’ vending machines—were free to take. Dan watched in awe as a woman opened a Crunch bar, took a bite, decided it wasn’t what she wanted, and tossed the rest away.
Brody Sheridan, his man bun rattier than ever, lay passed out on one of the deep leather sectionals, his shirt open and a girl comatose atop him, breasts spilling from her bikini. Dan’s fists clenched. A woman near the doors to the beach was literally receiving a massage.
A staff member offered a silver platter of Bellinis to Dan and Pete. Pete waved her off, but Dan snatched one, took a big gulp, swallowed his anger.
For Mara.
Pete ushered him quickly through the lobby and past two pairs of doors off a side hallway. Dan recognized the room from Tizoc’s website. The movie theater, an exclusive amenity for visitants of Building A. Ten descending rows of luxurious leather recliners before a stage and fifty-foot-wide screen, better than any of the theaters back home. The stage glowed, basked in the light of dozens of candles of various heights, and a glass pulpit had been erected in the center. Pete hopped onstage—he sure was spry for his age—and held his arms out.
“Well? Whaddya think, Dan?”
Dan looked around, feigned his approval. “Can we watch Dunston Checks In ?”
“ Dunston Checks In ? What? No! Can’t you see it? We’re converting this into the island’s church!” Pete sprung from the platform, put his hand on Dan’s back, led him forward. “Can’t keep using the Great Lawn as it gets colder. Don’t you just think people need the Word of God now more than ever? We’ve got guys from Building C using some of the fresh lumber for crosses, those should be installed this afternoon. Over here is where we’ll put the choir, I think.” He punched Dan’s shoulder. Ow. “And here’s where we’ve been accepting donations, which are just pouring in. People are so generous in times of need, wouldn’t you say, Dan?”
Pete signaled to a dark corner on the right side of the stage. There sat piles of food, toiletries, stacks of cash and jewelry. A man appeared and dumped another haul—gently used clothing.
Pete shook his head, like, Can ya believe it, put his hands on his hips and smiled. “More where that came from, Wally?”
“Way more,” Wally grunted, disappearing again.
“You’re actually collecting donations,” Dan said.
“Well, sure, Dan. A church only runs on the generosity of its flock. And it seems that God graced this island with the charitable sort, praise be. Not everyone on the island is mutinous, you know.” He sifted through some of the donations. “Folks in Building C, especially, which I gotta say, really chokes me up when I think about it. Those who have the least, giving the most. If that doesn’t tell you everything you need to know right there, boy, I don’t know. When’s the last time you went to church, Dan?”
“Been a while.” For this reason exactly. Dan’s fa?ade was fading, his smile morphing into gritted teeth.
Pete wagged his finger, laughed. “Your generation, Dan. I tell ya. It’s your generation. We need to bring the youth back to the church. That’s our role. It’s why I try to talk to these kids in their language, you know? At their level. I got a group of kids that skateboard in the parking lot of our church back home in Nashville, right, and they’re vaping, and they’re listening to their Wiz Caliphate, and security wants to chase ’em off. And I say no, Dan, right, I say, No, let me go talk to them. And I talk to ’em, and I say, I get what you boys are doing. You’re just hangin’ with your homies. And I say, Actually, I’m inside the church and I’m just hangin’ with my homie too. And their eyes get real big like, Wow, okay, this guy is speaking our language. No adult has ever talked to us like this. And I say, Wanna know my homie’s name? JC. And they’re thinking, Who’s JC? Who’s this JC guy? And I tell ’em, Dan, I tell ’em: Jesus Christ. That’s my homie. And suddenly they get it. And they wanna be a part of it. It’s about talking to them on their level, Dan.”
Dan wondered if he killed Pete if anyone would think to search for his body in the donation pile. Wally appeared and dumped another pallet.
“Guess you didn’t come here to listen to me drone on about the state of the church, did ya, Dan? Let’s find a quieter place to chat, give Wally some space to work.”
Pete shuffled Dan from the chapel, back into the hallway, and then inside a corner office that overlooked the black beach. It was Brody’s, no doubt about that. Antique pistols were framed near the window and a massive sound system hung from the back wall. Photos of Brody and that girl from the atrium, must’ve been his girlfriend, littered every surface. They were in exotic locations around the world, clearly drunk, high, whatever. In more than half the pictures, Brody made a V with his fingers and licked the space between.
“Sorry about the mess, Dan, sheesh,” Pete said, wading through piles of paperwork stacked on the floor. “If cleanliness is next to godliness, we need to baptize this Brody fella, pronto.” He chuckled. “I’m just kidding, he’s a good kid. Little over his head, here, but that’s why we’re helping. Take a seat.”
Dan pulled the chair next to Pete. There was another stack of paper on it. He plopped it on the desk.
“Yikes, that one’s my fault,” Pete said, wetting his finger and sliding the top page from the pile. “This one’s a head-scratcher. You know anything about energy, Dan?”
He knew this building was zapping all of his, but beyond that, not really, no. He somehow produced a curious grin. “Why do you ask?”
Pete waved it off. “Ah, it’s nothing. Just says here this island runs off eight megawatts of power. I read that and I said, you know what I said? Mega- what ? No, it’s just unusual because boy, that is a lot of power. I know they got the observatory up there, but geez Louise. It’s enough for a small city. Tell that to your folks who are upset about the rationing.”
That was kind of weird, maybe, but Dan had no reference point. And besides—
“You’re here because you’re getting married!” Pete said, slapping his knees and leaning forward. “How wonderful. Now, tell me a little bit about your bride.”
Dan didn’t wish to talk to this man about Mara. Dan didn’t wish to talk to this man about anything. His mind returned to the chapel. That pile of donations was really big, and the people outside were really cold.
“Mara is—” Dan paused, felt his words collide into each other.
“Oh, come on now,” Pete said. “It’s just guy talk. Just a couple of guys here. Tell me about Mara, Dan. Why do you want to marry her?”
“I’m in love with her.”
“Well, now, that’s a good start!” He crossed his legs, tilted his head. “What do you love about her?”
Dan rubbed his neck.
“Let me start,” Pete said. “I love my wife, Lilyanna, because she is kind and ambitious and an amazing mother to our two children. I love her because she is a leader of people. Women see my wife, and they see someone they can look up to, someone they can trust, someone who wants the best for them.” A mischievous smile crept across his face. He tapped Dan’s outer thigh. “And she can wear the heck out of a tracksuit!” He laughed. “See, Dan? Just guys here. All good.”
Dan drained the remainder of his Bellini. Play nice, he said to himself. Play nice, play nice, play nice.
“I love Mara because she’s Mara.”
Pete pursed his lips. “Come on, mister, that’s a cop-out.”
“No. What I mean—what I mean is, she’s always Mara. I change depending on who I’m talking to, where I am, how self-conscious I’m feeling moment to moment. But Mara is always…Mara. She’s unafraid to be herself, to express exactly how she’s feeling, all the time. She’s authentic, I guess.” Dan scratched the top of his head. “And…she cares about people. So, yeah, I admire that. I love that about her.”
Pete received this with a knowing nod. “She’s Mara,” he echoed.
“She’s Mara.”
Pete smiled, tapped Dan’s thigh again. “And I bet she can wear the heck out of a bikini!” Dan imagined breaking this guy’s fingers one by one so he could never playfully tap anyone again. “Y’all want kids?”
Kids? The sun exploded. Who’s thinking about having kids?
“Boy, you should have kids. It can be challenging, you betcha. But I tell ya, there’s no greater blessing. No greater blessing.”
“Okay.”
Pete was testing Dan’s patience, you betcha, and if he didn’t get out of here soon, he’d say something that would ruin Mara’s spot on that plane.
“You know, I feel really bad about not finishing my coat templates yesterday,” Dan said, standing. “Really bad. Think I’m gonna get back to it.”
“Oh, gosh, already?” Pete said, standing himself. “But I like that, a man who knows the value of a hard day’s work. Okay.” He balled his fists and boxed the air. “Hope you don’t feel like you just went twelve rounds with the champ.” He laughed, coiled his arm around Dan and led him to the door. “I just like to get to know my grooms, you know, helps me craft the ceremony. We’ll let the girls work out the finer details. And I wanted you to see the venue! Pretty slick, huh?”
Dan couldn’t get married inside Building A. It was opulent and cold and smelled of self-tanner and greed. Mara would hate it. Plus—and he couldn’t believe he was admitting this to himself—an idea was tugging at the back of his head. A dumb idea, probably, definitely, but boy, it had itself a good grip, and it was tugging like a son of a bitch. For it to work, though, they would need to get married somewhere else. They’d need some distance between the ceremony and Building A, they’d need to be somewhere like—
“The beach,” Dan said.
“What’s that?”
“We want to get married on the beach.”
“The beach?” Pete laughed. “It’s forty degrees, Dan my man. And who knows what tomorrow’ll be? By the way, so much for global warming, huh? Those liberal pundits on PBS must be pulling their hair out.”
“So we do a couple of bonfires. Mara always wanted to get married on the beach, Pete.”
Pete placed his hands on his hips. “Gosh, Dan, I don’t know. You sure you don’t wanna see the crosses first? They’re gonna be big, boy. Jesus could’ve been four hundred pounds and still fit on one of these things.”
Dan stripped all pretense from his voice. This time, it was he who squeezed Pete’s shoulder. “We’re working with you, Pete. We’re working with you. But you need to work a little with us too. Mara’s always wanted the beach.”
Pete wriggled under Dan’s grip, choked on a smile. “Geez then. We’d better give her the beach then, don’t you think? Happy wife, happy life, I always say.”