miffed on God’s behalf.”
“Which is
presumptuous of you, don’t you think. Maybe He likes it that people
appreciate the beauty of His church.”
“Yeah,” he
drawled. “I’ve suspected for a while that God’s a lot less
mean-spirited than I am... Aha! You laughed,” he said, poking his
index finger toward her, like he’d caught her out cheating at a
kids’ card game.
“God!” she
said, meaning the profanity, not the divine being.
And she
laughed again, too, because in a strange way, yes, she found he was
right and it was better to have the Reverend Mac using his normal
voice and being slightly cruel and light-hearted about her grief
and remorse. It was better than if he’d gone gentle and
understanding – or if he’d let her off the hook completely like Mom
and Dad had when it all started eleven years ago in London, like
she’d wanted them to – because his lightness did suggest that maybe
the world wasn’t going to end after all.
“Would you
like me to liaise between you and Charlie about the dress?” he
offered in the end. “I could call Mrs Keogh…” He sounded hopeful
about doing that.
He hadn’t
offered anything about the other stuff she’d said. Not really. He’d
said to think about it. Give herself space. Don’t assume that there
was no way out. He’d said to come see him again or call any time.
He’d given her his priestly business card. In a weird way, it did
help that he had listened to her without pretending. She didn’t
want her medication sugared any more.
About the
dress, she said, “No, I’m fine,” but didn’t really mean it.
He said, “Are
you sure?” And she told him no again, sincerely this time.
She was
suddenly afraid that he might try to liaise her and Charlie back
together, while liaising about the dress. And she was afraid that
she would want him to succeed in the endeavor but Charlie
wouldn’t.
Then she got
in the car again – the Rev Mac walked her to it – and drove to
Jersey.
Chapter
Four
Was it bad luck
to eat a wedding cake when the wedding it was intended for had
never taken place?
Mom and Sarah
debated this question for most of the drive down to the Craigmore
Hotel. Now that Emma was safely out of the way of such a ghastly
errand, they needed to collect the boxes of individually crafted
centerpieces – individually crafted, of course, by the actual bride
– and hand over the payment.
And possibly
collect the cake.
“What will
they do with it if we don’t, though, Sarah? Throw it away? Eat it
in the kitchen? Or palm it off on another bride? Wouldn’t that kind
of karma be worse?”
“I just think
if Emma found out she wouldn’t be happy.” Sarah turned onto 9N. Dad
had gone ahead in the other car because they had so much to carry,
and he was already out of sight.
“But she’s
already not happy,” said Billy from the back seat.
“So you think
we should eat it, Billy?”
He needed
additional data to reach an informed decision. “What kind of cake
is it, again?”
“Chocolate
with strawberries and cream.”
“Let’s eat
it.” Decision made.
“How are we
going to get it home?” Sarah tried, feeling that Billy had betrayed
her. What evil things boys’ appetites were!
“Disassemble
it,” Mom answered. “Get them to box each tier separately.”
“It’ll look a
mess, after that.”
“So that’s
good because then Emma won’t recognize it,” Billy pointed out.
They found Dad
locked in a polite but steely debate with the hotel manager over a
refund on the drinks. Mom touched him on the arm. “We’ll pack up
the centerpieces, Eric. And the cake.”
Dad looked
alarmed. “The cake?”
“It’s been
discussed. We’re aware of the underlying issues.”
Five minutes
later, Sarah was crossing the shiny rink of the hotel’s gorgeous
lobby with a box full of centerpieces stretching her arms wide and
suddenly –
Oh, you know,
the worst things in life happened like this.
Out of the
blue.
Always!
They
“Which is
presumptuous of you, don’t you think. Maybe He likes it that people
appreciate the beauty of His church.”
“Yeah,” he
drawled. “I’ve suspected for a while that God’s a lot less
mean-spirited than I am... Aha! You laughed,” he said, poking his
index finger toward her, like he’d caught her out cheating at a
kids’ card game.
“God!” she
said, meaning the profanity, not the divine being.
And she
laughed again, too, because in a strange way, yes, she found he was
right and it was better to have the Reverend Mac using his normal
voice and being slightly cruel and light-hearted about her grief
and remorse. It was better than if he’d gone gentle and
understanding – or if he’d let her off the hook completely like Mom
and Dad had when it all started eleven years ago in London, like
she’d wanted them to – because his lightness did suggest that maybe
the world wasn’t going to end after all.
“Would you
like me to liaise between you and Charlie about the dress?” he
offered in the end. “I could call Mrs Keogh…” He sounded hopeful
about doing that.
He hadn’t
offered anything about the other stuff she’d said. Not really. He’d
said to think about it. Give herself space. Don’t assume that there
was no way out. He’d said to come see him again or call any time.
He’d given her his priestly business card. In a weird way, it did
help that he had listened to her without pretending. She didn’t
want her medication sugared any more.
About the
dress, she said, “No, I’m fine,” but didn’t really mean it.
He said, “Are
you sure?” And she told him no again, sincerely this time.
She was
suddenly afraid that he might try to liaise her and Charlie back
together, while liaising about the dress. And she was afraid that
she would want him to succeed in the endeavor but Charlie
wouldn’t.
Then she got
in the car again – the Rev Mac walked her to it – and drove to
Jersey.
Chapter
Four
Was it bad luck
to eat a wedding cake when the wedding it was intended for had
never taken place?
Mom and Sarah
debated this question for most of the drive down to the Craigmore
Hotel. Now that Emma was safely out of the way of such a ghastly
errand, they needed to collect the boxes of individually crafted
centerpieces – individually crafted, of course, by the actual bride
– and hand over the payment.
And possibly
collect the cake.
“What will
they do with it if we don’t, though, Sarah? Throw it away? Eat it
in the kitchen? Or palm it off on another bride? Wouldn’t that kind
of karma be worse?”
“I just think
if Emma found out she wouldn’t be happy.” Sarah turned onto 9N. Dad
had gone ahead in the other car because they had so much to carry,
and he was already out of sight.
“But she’s
already not happy,” said Billy from the back seat.
“So you think
we should eat it, Billy?”
He needed
additional data to reach an informed decision. “What kind of cake
is it, again?”
“Chocolate
with strawberries and cream.”
“Let’s eat
it.” Decision made.
“How are we
going to get it home?” Sarah tried, feeling that Billy had betrayed
her. What evil things boys’ appetites were!
“Disassemble
it,” Mom answered. “Get them to box each tier separately.”
“It’ll look a
mess, after that.”
“So that’s
good because then Emma won’t recognize it,” Billy pointed out.
They found Dad
locked in a polite but steely debate with the hotel manager over a
refund on the drinks. Mom touched him on the arm. “We’ll pack up
the centerpieces, Eric. And the cake.”
Dad looked
alarmed. “The cake?”
“It’s been
discussed. We’re aware of the underlying issues.”
Five minutes
later, Sarah was crossing the shiny rink of the hotel’s gorgeous
lobby with a box full of centerpieces stretching her arms wide and
suddenly –
Oh, you know,
the worst things in life happened like this.
Out of the
blue.
Always!
They
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