Together, Andie and her father started down the aisle.
A camera flashed in her face. Then another. It was like staring into a strobe light. At this rate, she'd not only be filing a married couple's tax return this year, but she'd also have to mark yes in that little box that asks "Are you blind?" Andie focused on the burning candles on the altar as she continued down the aisle.
Friends and relatives beamed as she passed. They made her feel beautiful, though all of her life she'd been told she was beautiful. She resembled neither of her adoptive parents, of course. She had the prominent cheekbones and raven black hair of the American Indian mother she never knew. The deep green eyes were presumably from an Anglo father. The result was striking, an exotic ancestral mix.
Halfway down the aisle, Andie slowed the pace. Her nervous father was walking way too fast. His hand was sweating in hers. She squeezed it, then released. Finally, they stopped before the minister, standing side by side. The loud organ ceased abruptly.
Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. The minister raised his hands, then lowered them, instructing the crowd to sit. A quiet shuffle filled the church as two hundred guests lowered themselves into oak pews. When all was quiet, the minister raised his voice and asked, "Who gives this bride?"
The question echoed against Gothic stone arches. Her father swallowed hard. "Her mother and I do."
Andie could barely recognize the shaky voice. He lifted her veil and kissed her on the cheek. "I love you," she whispered.
He couldn't speak. He turned and walked to the front pew, taking the seat beside his wife.
Andie climbed the two marble steps. The groom reached for her hand. She turned away, however, and faced the guests. She drew a deep breath, then spoke with self-assurance. "I know this is unorthodox. But before we get started, I want to thank some people."
The guests seemed confused. Her parents looked at one another. Nobody moved.
Andie continued, "First, I want to thank my parents. Mom, Dad. I love you both very much. I want to thank Reverend Jenkins, who has known me since I was a gangly teenager and who has been looking forward to this day probably more than anyone. I also want to thank each and every one of you for coming today. It means so much to have your friendship, your support." Her voice trailed off. She averted her eyes, then drew a deep breath and looked squarely at the clock in the back of the church. "But most of all," she said, her voice shaking, "I want to thank Linda, my lovely sister and maid of honor." She glared to her right.
"For sleeping with the groom last night."
The crowd gasped. Andie whirled and hit the groom squarely in the chest with her bouquet. Anger and embarrassment rushed through her veins. She hiked her long white wedding dress and ran for the side exit.
"You son of a bitch!" her father cried, charging toward the groom. The best man jumped forward to restrain the old man but knocked him flat in an accident that looked like a sucker punch.
"My back!" He was groaning, sprawled on the tile floor. The best man towered over him, Mike Tyson versus Red Buttons.
"He pasted her father!" someone shouted.
It was like the cheap shot heard 'round the world, as a dozen other men leaped from their pews, some to help the fallen father of the bride, others to take up the attack. Rick's buddies came to the defense. Shouting led to shoving, and in a matter of seconds a black-and-white pile of thrashing men in tuxedos was rolling toward the altar. A shrill scream rose above the uproar as the horrified maid of honor raced for the exit.
"Get her!" shouted the flower . Girl.
The crowd scattered. Women screamed. Fists were flying. A groomsman was suddenly airborne, slamming into the lectern.
"People, please!" shouted Reverend Jenkins. "Not in the house of the Lord!"
Andie didn't stop running. She burst through the exit and headed down the hall. It sounded like a soccer stadium riot behind her. She hoped no one would follow. She needed to be alone. She ducked into an empty office and quickly locked the door.
She was out of breath, shoulders heaving. Part of her felt like crying, but she fought back the emotions. He wasn't worth crying over. He wasn't worth marrying.
A tear ran down her cheek. She quickly brushed it away. Just one tear. That much she would allow. As she leaned against the wall, her shoulder blade inadvertently hit the light switch behind her and cut off the light. The room went black. She smiled weakly, recalling her grandpa's dying words.
"Turn out the lights, the party's over," she repeated softly.
The thin smile faded, and she was alone in the darkness.