“Well, I’ll drive you. Don’t be silly, baby.”
“No. He’ll take me. Won’t you?” She narrowed her eyes at Levi, wishing looks really could kill.
Levi cleared his throat. “Is that all right, Mr. Holland?” he asked.
“Don’t ask him,” Faith snapped. “I’m giving you an order, soldier. Get to it.”
“Watch it,” he muttered.
“Faith, it’s not his fault,” her father said. She turned her eyes on him, and he actually held his hands up in defense. “Sweetie, I really think you need to take a few days at least—”
“I’ll call you when I land.” She kissed her father’s cheek, and the horrible weight crushed down again. “I love you, Daddy,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry about all this. I’ll pay you back.” The tears threatened again. No, no. Not now. Bottle and cork. She could fall apart later.
Then she tromped down the porch, stepping on the hem of her dress and tearing it. So what? She should burn the damn thing, right along with her own white hoodie (which had been a gift from Jeremy, ack!).
There was Levi’s car, a cheap rental with Michigan plates. She got in, stuffed the stupid dress down and gave Blue a few pats on the head as he tried to climb in with her. She wished she could take him. Hang on. She could take him. Dr. Buckthal had told her that some dogs could sense an oncoming seizure, and she’d had Blue registered as a service dog, more because she wanted to be able to take him with her wherever she went than because she thought she might need him. But he was registered all the same.
“Wait a second,” she said and went inside the house. Her sisters were there, Coll and Mrs. J., too, murmuring, asking, talking, but it was all white noise. She rummaged in the file drawer where she kept Blue’s records, and voila. Grabbed the paper, turned to the rest of them. Everyone was talking, offering advice, pats, trying to hug her, but they were like birds, fluttering around her head, and she waved them off.
“Look,” she said, her voice wobbling. “I’m gonna go to California for a few days. Maybe take that honeymoon solo, I don’t know. But I love you all, and I’m so sorry about this...fiasco. I’ll call you, but right now, I have to get out of here.”
“Let me drive you, Faithie,” her brother said, his voice so kind that her eyes swam again.
“I’ll come with you,” Pru offered.
“Nope. All set. Thanks, though.” She grabbed Blue’s leash, figured he could eat hamburgers until she bought him dog food, then went back out to the car, where Levi was waiting. Blue leaped in the back, smiling and wagging, and thank God the dog couldn’t speak, because honestly, if someone else said something kind or nice to her, she was going to lose it.
Levi Cooper would not be nice to her. She could take that to the bank.
The rat bastard got in, started the car and gave her father a wave. She waved, too, her head fizzy with adrenaline.
She’d fly to San Francisco, stay at the Mark, where she and Jeremy had been booked for four nights, their wedding gift from his parents. Liza could come, and they’d drink the honeymoon champagne, and, hell, maybe they’d take that Napa wine country tour, too.
She didn’t look at Levi, and he didn’t talk. Too bad he hadn’t been stricken mute on the altar.
She stared out the window, cushioned in a bitter fog. Occasionally, people would see that she was wearing a big white dress or that Levi was in his dress blues, and they’d beep their horns and wave. Her face felt carved out of stone.
After an eternity or so, they got to the swooping Buffalo-Niagara Airport, so oddly beautiful, and went in. People congratulated them. She didn’t answer. For the first time since her mother died, she didn’t try to be nice to anyone. Just showed her ID and her ticket and passed through the gate, getting some odd looks from the screeners. Guess they hadn’t seen a jilted bride yet. “My fiancé turned out to be gay,” she said to one. Blue woofed and wagged his tail.
“Oh, wow,” the woman said. “You didn’t know?”
“No. He did, though,” she said, jerking her chin at Levi. Then she put on her ridiculously pretty shoes, grabbed her carry-on—damn, it was heavy—and went to the waiting area at her gate, which was only about ten yards away, and sat down. Looked at the clock. Seven hours till her flight. Maybe she’d have a seizure to pass the time. Stress brought them on sometimes. It’d be better than sitting here, having to think about Jeremy. Just the thought of his name caused a sob to heave in her chest. Blue flopped down on the floor, wagging his tail as a toddler passed him.
Levi was talking to someone. You’re not a ticket-holder, asshole, she thought. So, there. But, no. He was telling the screener all sorts of things, scraps of his words floating to her—wedding fell through, her friend, don’t want her waiting alone.
Her friend. What a crock that was. But Mr. Hero got through; who could turn down a guy in uniform, home on leave from the war on terror? He came toward her now, his eyes resigned, mouth in a straight line.
Before he got to her, Faith wrapped Blue’s leash around the chair leg and got up and went to the ladies’ room, dragging her suitcase with her. The handicapped stall was the only one big enough with this ridiculous dress. She reached back and yanked at the buttons, yanked harder, tearing a few loops, then wriggled free, hopping, banging her shoulder against the wall. Out of the white merry widow and stockings, out of the beautiful white shoes that peeped so endearingly from under her skirt. She’d packed all sorts of cute underwear, adorable bra and panty sets, silky short nighties. Pretty little outfits for daytime, lovely dresses for those romantic dinners she and Jeremy wouldn’t be having.
She changed into some yoga pants, a tank top and sneakers—she’d been planning to exercise on her honeymoon to keep the extra pounds off, not be one of those wives who immediately began letting herself go the second the wedding was over. Oh, no. Not her.
Then she wadded up her dress and banged out of the stall. Paused, debating whether or not to stuff it into the trash. What does one do with a wedding dress when one has been jilted? Yes, Martha Stewart or Miss Manners or Amy Dixon, what does one do? One certainly doesn’t want to preserve it for one’s daughter, not when one won’t be having a daughter any time soon, since one’s fiancé is gay.
She remembered calling Jeremy after she’d bought the dress. Daddy had taken all of them to Corning, to a beautiful bridal shop, and the very first dress she’d tried on had brought tears to his eyes. She’d called Jeremy to tell him mission accomplished, and he’d said, his voice warm and loving, that he knew she’d be the most beautiful bride ever, because she had the most beautiful heart. (Gah! How could she have thought he was straight?) Then she’d talked to his mom, to tell her all the details, and Elaine had been so touched that she’d cried.
Oh, lordy. There were those strange choking noises again.
She didn’t throw the dress away. She couldn’t. Instead, she walked out of the bathroom, the dress under her arm, dragging the suitcase behind her. Levi was watching the door, talking on the phone, to Jeremy, no doubt. Because those two had no secrets. He hung up as she approached.
“Do something with this,” she said to Levi, shoving her dress against his chest and continuing on to a row of hard plastic chairs where her dog waited.
In
