style="font-size:15px;"> Tuesday, 4:00 p.m.
Bray got off the plane in St. Louis, Missouri, and shuffled alongside all the other passengers through the terminal. He’d slept the entire flight, but since it was just over two hours from New York to St. Louis, it was not nearly enough time to make up for the past three months, when any rest in excess of four hours a night was considered a luxury.
And when you made your living working as a drug enforcement agent, luxury wasn’t part of your everyday vocabulary. But now he had five whole days of downtime, a well-earned vacation as his boss had coined it, to catch up on his sleep.
For months, he’d been planning to travel to Missouri in November for Thanksgiving. Had expected turkey would be served at Chase’s upscale, albeit rather sterile, apartment in St. Louis. Had not imagined Chase would move the event to the family home in Ravesville—or that he’d add something else to the holiday weekend.
He’d been casual, too casual Bray now realized, when he’d asked Bray how he might feel about extending his stay through Sunday. Bray had assumed he was looking for help to get the house ready for sale.
He’d almost fallen off his chair when Chase had announced that he was getting married on the Saturday after Thanksgiving, and would Bray serve as a groomsman? Bray had laughed and said, “Hell, yes.” Then Chase, apparently oblivious that at Bray’s advanced age of thirty-seven it was good to have some time to adjust to shocks, had kept going. He wanted to buy the family home, to settle in Ravesville with his new wife, Raney.
“Of course,” Bray had said. Then added, “Is there anything else?”
All Chase had said was to expect a call from Cal.
He’d had to wait forty-three hours for his youngest brother to call. And when Cal announced that Bray needed to make sure he could get time off for two trips west because he was engaged and would be married at Christmas, Bray hadn’t minced words. “I’ll come but I’m sure as hell not drinking the water. The Hollister boys are falling fast, and I’m going to save myself.”
He was happy for his brothers. But he knew that marriage wasn’t for everyone. He’d come close once, but it had been a long time ago. He’d gone to war, and Summer Wright had married somebody else.
Chase had shared that she was divorced with a couple of kids. Still living in Ravesville. Didn’t matter. He and Summer were old news.
He stepped up to the car-rental counter and took the keys for the Chevy Impala. In New York, he had a sweet little BMW convertible but he rarely drove it. Paid a hundred bucks a month to park it down the street from his Brooklyn condo. He mostly worked out of an old, beat-up Honda that was owned by the agency. There was nothing on it to steal, and it already had so many dents that the joke was he could run down some scumbag drug dealer and not even have to file a report.
He found his car in the lot and was on the road in less than a minute. Ravesville was ninety miles southwest of St. Louis in the middle of nowhere. He glanced at his watch. With luck, he’d be there for dinner.
There was a lot of traffic for a Tuesday, but finally, when he was twenty minutes out, he called Chase’s cell phone.
“Red or white?” he asked when Chase answered.
“We’ve got plenty of both. Don’t worry about bringing any wine. Meet us at the church on the corner of Main and Portland. You’re just in time for rehearsal.”
“I could slow way down,” Bray said.
“Get your sorry self here. My bride wants to meet you.”
At the edge of Ravesville, he saw the gas station where he’d worked his junior and senior years. Like most places, the gas had been self-serve. Bray had worked the inside counter, taking money, selling hot dogs and learning to hate the smell of fountain pop.
Frank Baleeze, who had owned the place, had been his dad’s best friend. Once Bray turned sixteen, he’d offered him a job.
It was probably Frank’s fault that Bray had become a marine. The man had talked about his years in the corps with such pride. Bray had wanted to be part of something like that.
When Bray had come home for his mother’s funeral eight years earlier, Frank had already sold the station and retired to Florida. Even so, Bray stopped in at the old place for gas.
They no longer sold hot dogs, and all the soda was in cans. Their main business was lottery tickets.
It was just more proof that the old saying about not being able to go home again was indeed fact.
The church was close, and Bray found a place to park. For as long as he could remember, his mother had been a regular attendee at the Lutheran church. He and his brothers had been baptized and confirmed here. His parents had both had their funerals here.
When Bray entered, he saw Chase first, standing next to a very pretty woman with short white-blond hair. Then there was Cal, with his arm slung around a stunningly beautiful woman with dark hair.
Next came hugs and introductions. Once he’d met Raney and Nalana, he was convinced that his brothers might have fallen, but they’d landed in cotton. The women were gorgeous and nice.
“Reverend Brown would like us to do a walk-through,” Raney said, pointing to the minister at the front of the church.
Clara Brown had performed both his father’s and his mother’s funerals. She was close to sixty and had a soft voice, but when she spoke, people listened. She’d known his mother better, and the eulogy that she’d delivered had been heartfelt and poignant, a fitting send-off for a good woman.
Bray waved to her. There was a middle-aged woman he didn’t know sitting at the piano. He gave her a quick nod and belatedly added a small smile. His partner on the job would have been proud. The guy, who’d recently met his one true love after a nine-month spree of online dating, was always telling him he needed to do that more. “You’re scary tough,” Mason would say. “Unapproachable. That turns people away, especially the babes. Try smiling.”
Every once in a while, he remembered.
“Nice to see you again, Bray,” Reverend Brown said. She stepped off the altar and walked toward them. “Just so you know,” she said, looking at Raney, “my ceremonies start and end on time. My assistant will be stationed with you and your attendants in the back of the church. I’m counting on the three of you,” she said, switching her gaze to the three Hollister men, “to figure out how to get yourselves out of the back room, through the side door and standing at the altar once the second song starts. Can you manage that?”
“I’ll keep him from running out the back door,” Bray said.
“No worries there,” Chase said, winking at Raney.
“I hope not,” Reverend Brown said, a smile in her voice. “It’s unfortunate that the maid of honor and other bridesmaid couldn’t be here for rehearsal, but I’m counting on the rest of you to fill them in.” Bray remembered that Chase had said that Raney wanted her two friends to be able to spend Thanksgiving with their families, so the women wouldn’t arrive until late Friday night.
No big deal. How tough could it be to walk down the aisle?
Tough enough that ten minutes later, Reverend
