CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Robert Chen was a romantic. Not a hopeless one.
He didn’t consider romance hopeless. That was the opposite of what romance was.
Despite Hollywood’s fixation on tragedy, Robert saw romance as the purest form of hope.
Romance meant having faith that the love you felt for another would last a lifetime.
It meant enjoying life in the most wholesome way conceivable by sharing it with someone else. That wasn’t tragic. It was beautiful.
He didn’t trouble himself with the fact that over half of marriages ended in divorce. That wasn’t his business. His job, and Diane’s was to make the most beautiful day of a couple’s lives as beautiful as possible.
He whistled the wedding march as he stepped out of his van and unloaded his supplies.
The various vendors selected by the groom and bride would handle the flowers, the food, and the service, but Beautiful Dawn Wedding Planning handled what Diane called the “soft touches,” sprigs of berries on the ends of the pews, the red carpet down which the bride would be escorted, the small gift bags provided to every guest, and various other odds and ends that rounded out the edges of the greatest day in each small history they made.
Robert’s job was to organize all of those soft touches and, when the vendors arrived, to make sure that the arrangements all flowed seamlessly to make the event perfect.
He glanced appreciatively at the venue. They’d chosen a good one.
Gesu Church was the oldest and most important Catholic church in Miami.
It had been lovingly maintained by the Jesuits of Antilles and its gleaming white facade sparkled in the sunlight as though it had been opened only the day before.
History and newness. Timelessness. The future and the past seamlessly melded together. Perfect for a pair of bright-eyed individuals cementing their commitment to a life shared.
He walked up the porch steps, gazing at the three wide arches forming the colonnade above.
Strictly speaking, he should be taking all of this through the back of the church, but he liked the grand porticos and foyers of these old churches, loved the sense of grandeur, the weight of it all.
He and his own wife had been married in a courthouse, unable to afford anything so remotely as grand as this, but when they renewed their vows for their fifteenth anniversary, he planned to do it here at the Gesu.
He entered the chapel and stopped, stunned speechless by the beauty he was witnessing.
The ceiling was a brilliant mosaic of blue patchwork, with gleaming gold filigree.
Stained glass windows depicting scenes from Christ’s ministry and symbols such as the Immaculate Heart of Jesus bathed the oiled olive wood pews with a soft, vibrant glow.
But it was the sanctuary that truly awed Robert.
The domed ceiling above the altar depicted Christ ascended to Heaven, arms outspread benevolently to the congregation below.
A marble facade was decorated with Corinthian pillars and statues of the Blessed Virgin flanked by the Apostles Peter and Paul.
To Peter’s right, Salome and Mary Magdalene blessed parishioners.
To Paul’s left, James and John exhorted the faithful.
This was going to be a very auspicious wedding. Lawrence and Ming Wei were going to enjoy a happy lifetime together. Robert was sure of it.
He crossed himself and said a brief prayer of thanks that he got to be a part of this. His eyes shone with gratitude as he pushed his cart toward the altar. He would set the sprigs of juniper berries from the sanctuary to the foyer, then retrieve the garlands next.
Since he was the only one inside at the moment, he lifted his voice in song. “Salve Regina, mater misericordiae; Vita, dulcedo…”
His voice trailed off when he saw a figure lying prostrate in front of the altar. A woman, kneeling in supplication, forehead pressed to the floor. His cheeks heated, and he called, “Sorry, ma’am!”
While many churches kept their doors locked these days, many others still adhered to the old Catholic rule that the Sanctuary be left always open for those seeking God.
Robert was pleased to know the Gesu was one of those churches, and a little embarrassed that the fact that he didn’t need a key wasn’t clue enough.
Then again, this woman was hidden from view until he was halfway down the aisle.
She didn’t respond. He flushed a little deeper. The poor woman was clearly in anguish. He had interrupted a very intense supplication.
He kept as quiet as possible as he pulled his cart to a stop and reached for the first sprig of berries. His hand stopped when he saw the bl—
No! It’s not blood. It’s probably wine. She got drunk and spilled it when she came here to pray.
That might be why she was sleeping. She had passed out and hadn’t woken yet. And that smell was probably… Well, maybe she was homeless and hadn’t bathed in a while. It definitely wasn’t blood mixed with sh—
“Stop,” he whispered quietly to himself. “She’s sleeping. That’s all. Hey!”
He barked that last part in a tone that his wife had never heard in their fourteen years and nine months of marriage and only once before when they were mugged outside of a convenience store and the would-be thief held a knife in front of her face.
The woman didn’t move. She was also dressed in a very nice skirt that looked expensive and a silk shirt, white save for where the bl—the wine—had stained it just above her waist. Diana had a skirt just like—
A pop went off in his head. Sound muted around him. Light faded, his vision tunneling until the woman’s flowing auburn hair—the same color as Diana’s—was all he could see. He stared at her and tried to speak again, but his lips wouldn’t open. All that came out was a throaty, “Mmmm… Mmmm…”
He stepped forward, knees trembling so badly he nearly fell on top of the woman who was definitely not Diana. He reached for her shoulder and touched her gently.
She rolled over, left arm swinging in a wide arc and flopping at an almost ninety-degree angle as she fell to her back.
Her left leg swung slowly, like a gate slowly creaked open by a breeze.
The face of Diana Walker, his friend and business partner of nine years was horrifying as it gazed back at him with milky eyes.
The hole in her skirt and the stuff coming out of that hole drove every scrap of hope from his mind.
He screamed, but since he couldn’t breathe, all that left his mouth was a wheezy Haaaaa.
He fumbled for his cell phone, not realizing he was stumbling backwards until the back of his leg hit a pew, earning another Haaaaa, and a lurching one-eighty.
He dialed nine-one-one and lifted the phone to his ear, choosing to keep staring at the red velvet upholstery of the pew rather than at his mutilated partner.
A calm, emotionless female voice asked, “Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”
He opened his mouth, but he still couldn’t speak. Help. Help.
“Hello? Hello?”
Spots formed in his vision. He slapped his cheek to shock himself into some semblance of functionality. Breath shuddered into his lungs, and he released a hoarse cry of “Help!”
“Sir? Where are you?”
“Gesu Church. She’s dead. Oh, Christ. Oh, Blessed Mother. Oh, fucking hell!”
“Sir, calm down!”
But Robert was beyond calm. He sank to his knees, dropped his phone, and brought his hands to his ears, fingers clawing into his scalp.
And finally, he screamed.