“You’d know how to do that?”
“Have some faith in me, would ya? I’ve been studying up on stocks. Been keeping it to myself, didn’t want to jinx it, but I made some connections already. Even got myself a snazzy suit for the interview.” Buster pats our daddy’s old jacket that he wears. The piano roars to life on the other side of the door. “I reckon it’s time to get you hitched.”
I swallow. “I reckon it is.” Looping my arm through Buster’s, I say, “Don’t let me fall.”
Buster squeezes my arm against his side. “Not like I could stop you, if you set your mind to falling.”
As the doors open, I lower my head, slowly raising my gaze again, bit by bit. At the end of the aisle, there’s Roy—hands behind his back, tall, handsome, a smile on his face. Pastor Frank stands beside him, his grin bigger than Roy’s, larger than mine.
Buster starts walking first, taking me with him. With each step, the gown’s heavy fabric shuffles ’round me. The high collar itches my neck, and I restrain myself from fidgeting with the buttons like my brother did with his bow tie.
The piano music is slow, steady. I think it’s fitting for the life Roy and I will have together. No surprises. Roy’s doodles coming to life: posing in front of the Eiffel Tower, riding horses with dogs running ’round our feet, holding hands by the sea’s crashing waves. Maybe even a new drawing of me, up onstage, Roy in the front row.
I broaden my smile, finally meeting Roy’s eyes. I see love there, the kind I hope to be long-lasting and enduring, and release the breath I’ve been holding.
Buster leads me past the few in attendance: my sister, my ma, my aunt, Blanche, and Buck. And on Roy’s side, only his parents, sitting hand in hand.
A flash blinds me, and Blanche peeks out from behind her camera.
Roy stretches a hand toward Buster, shaking it, before Buster passes me to him. Roy’s hands are clammy, and it puts me more at ease. So does the way his Adam’s apple bobs, the same way it did when he first said he wanted to marry me, outside our one-day home.
“Thank you all for sharing in this day,” Pastor Frank says, pure happiness in his voice. There’s no “Dearly beloved,” no formalities. Pastor Frank knows I wouldn’t want any hullabaloo. He begins sharing a story of Roy and me as pups, and how he knew we’d end up holding hands at the front of his church.
Blanche coughs, my attention shifting to her. She gives me a thumbs-up, but a tight smile.
Now, of all times, ain’t when I should be dissecting Blanche’s brain instead of listening to Pastor Frank, but her gesture and that expression don’t seem to match. Lately, she’s been so supportive of me marrying Roy and, only moments ago, helped me into my gown, followed by a rather uncomfortable First time with a man pep talk. But part of me wonders if my best friend has simply been on her best behavior, trying to fix her mistake from when she wrote that note.
Blanche glances over her shoulder, back at the church doors. Buck nudges her, and she lips something to him.
“I didn’t think so,” Pastor Frank says, humor mixing with the glee in his voice.
Roy squeezes my hands. Heat rushes up my back as I quickly, guiltily return my focus to Roy, where it should’ve been all along.
Pastor Frank lays a hand on Roy’s and my shoulders. “Let us proceed, now that we’ve unnecessarily established that no one objects to this matrimony.”
At our pastor’s remark, a chuckle or two comes from my right. An overwhelming urge wells up inside of me to have a silent conversation with Blanche ’bout why she looked over her shoulder at the exact moment Pastor Frank asked if anyone objected to Roy and me getting married.
Roy tightens his grip. His blond hair is slicked back today, a style he’s never worn before. It appears darker, ’cause of whatever he’s put in it. And, somehow, it makes him look more dangerous, ’specially with his square chin and prominent brows.
I lean closer to Roy as Pastor Frank presents our vows and asks me if I’ll take Roy’s hand in marriage.
“I do,” I whisper.
Roy returns the sentiment, and then he’s dipping me, his mouth landing on mine, even before Pastor Frank can pronounce us man and wife.
Little Billie squeals from the first pew, and our families clap at the fact that we’re now Mr. and Mrs. Roy Thornton.
Roy grins, sweeps me into his arms, and carries me down the aisle. He doesn’t put me down ’til we’ve gone a block over, him hugging me closer against the biting wind, and we’ve stepped through the door to my ma’s house.
“Hey,” I tease. “This doesn’t count as carrying me over the threshold. I don’t live here no more.”
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Thornton, I’ve got plans for you later.”
Nerves jumble my belly at finally making Roy my Roy Toy, but I play the part, licking my lips, leaning closer. “’Bout time for those plans, don’t you say?”
“Yes.”
I laugh at the quickness and the firmness of his answer, and decide telling Roy ’bout my tattoo ain’t so crazy anymore. “I’ve got something to show you.”
“Do you now?”
I nod. “But ya can’t see it yet. It’s in a spot that’s a bit … private.”
“What is?”
“I may’ve gotten your name on me.”
His eyes light up, and he reaches for me. “Where?”
I swat his hand away. “Now, Mr. Thornton, where’s your patience?” But I realize I don’t got a lick of it either. I pull Roy out of the doorway, hiding us from our family walking toward the house. Eyes trained on my husband, I gather my wedding gown, pulling it higher, higher, having to gather the dress ’cause of its volume.
I know the exact moment my dress is high enough. And I do believe Roy doesn’t suck in air for a few seconds.
“Bonnelyn,” he finally says, pauses, whistles. “I’m going to need a closer look at that. Much closer.”
I drop my dress, biting my lip to hold in a laugh. “Not with everyone headed this way.”
Roy moans, and I laugh freely, successfully leaving Roy wanting more for a second time.
Little Billie wraps her arms ’round us both, offering us her congratulations. From there, it’s one hug after another, ’til both our families are packed into Ma’s tiny house.
I let Blanche slip by without questioning her. It’d be poor form to ask her, in front of the husband I just propositioned, if she was expecting someone to burst through the chapel doors and shout, “Don’t marry him!” And, as far as our silent conversations go, she doesn’t take the bait when I cock my head at her.
My shoulders rise, fall with a steadying breath, and I join my family in the living room for an afternoon of food and, as the day progresses toward night, some secret hooch from Buck.
In the end, my aunt and the Thorntons have gone home—Roy’s father stumbling out of the house—and I sit at a table with my wedding gown sprawled out ’round me like a moat, playing cards. Ma is wrapped in a shawl on the couch, laughing along with us young’uns, covering one yawn after another.