I didn’t, pushing through past idling engines, the distant sound of radios, the hushed whispers of another set of bystanders, now watching me.
“Miss!” the cop yelled again. He was coming toward me now. I squeezed around a final bumper, feeling hot chrome on my leg, then looked to my right, where the EMTs were huddled over something bulky in the road, a blanket draped across it.
Everything got slower, suddenly: the banging approach of the cop’s footsteps, the slow roll of a nearby car creeping forward, my own breath, now audible and jagged in my lungs. One of the paramedics was on his radio now, another racing along the opposite sidewalk with a gurney, wheels rattling. Every sound so specific and unique I already knew I’d remember it later, and forever. A sob escaped my lips, primal and terrifying, as I felt the cop grab my upper arm.
“Miss!” he barked, pulling me back. “You cannot be here. Go back to the sidewalk.”
“No,” I said. His broad shoulders and dark uniform were blocking my vision: all I could see was myself, thrashing, in the mirrored lenses of his sunglasses. The outside view, again, but this time I was fully within it as well. Why was it that you felt most alive at the moments so close to death? “You don’t understand.”
I was out of control, I knew this. He had to seize my other shoulder as I continued to try to dodge past. “Can I get some help here?” he barked over my head. Finally, I craned my neck enough to see around him. The paramedic was replacing his radio slowly, exchanging a look with his partner, who wasn’t rushing anymore.
No, I thought, a million memories spilling over in my brain all at once. That damp sand on the dark beach, a boy in a white shirt, billowing, the bouncy notes of a pop song ringtone. All familiar, like a slideshow I’d watched so many times. But then, as the cop gripped my arms, pushing me back, something else: a room full of flowers. A scruffy dog in my side view, his head out the window. Candles lit and then re-lit, a group of people moving on a makeshift dance floor. All those weddings, and kisses, and leave-takings, the faces of so many brides and grooms blurring in my head. Love is what it’s all about, William had said to me all those months ago, although at the time, these were just words. I wondered if he’d feel differently now. I knew I did. Because standing there, tears streaking my face, I would have given anything for another shot at what I’d passed up, uneven and imperfect as it was. Life didn’t begin cleanly, and it surely never ended that way. We were blessed with whatever we had in the middle. It made sense that it be messy, too.
“Get back,” the cop shouted, pushing me off him with both hands, and then I did lose my grip, stumbling over my own feet and bumping against a parked car behind me. I could feel people looking at me, the sudden glare of attention as I came back into my own body and awareness, this here, this now. I put my hands to my face, sinking to my knees in the grass by the sidewalk, my feet throbbing beneath me. I was still there, huddled into myself, when I felt something scratchy and alive brush my cheek, then nose. I opened my eyes.
Ira.
“Hey,” I whispered, not quite sure he was real, even as I reached out, touching the wiry scruff at his neck. His tail, now waving, thumped the car behind him. “What are you—”
A shadow fell over me then, and I looked up, past his wriggling body, to see Ambrose standing above me. I thought I might be dreaming until I saw the pink soda in his hand, along with the end of the dog’s leash, his wrinkled shirt, that one curl loose over his forehead in the heat. Not the idealized details of dreams or fantasies, but those of real life, this life. As he crouched down, his face worried, to get closer to me, he was about to say something, but I didn’t give him the chance. Already, I was reaching up, my arms tight around his neck, and I pulled him to me and pressed my lips against his. At first I could feel his surprise, but then he was responding, his hand moving through my hair, fingers against my neck. It was primal and epic, nothing like mellow, and as it went on for what felt like forever, I could hear traffic beginning to resume, Ira circling us, barking, the world moving on. This time, though, I was okay to be left behind a few minutes for a kiss, a beginning, my own walk, sunset or not. Whatever I was allowed.
CHAPTER
27
“BEE? IT’S Louna. Can I come in?”
No answer. I looked down at the water in my hand, then my watch, which told me we had ten minutes before the ceremony was supposed to begin. Reaching down, I tried the knob. When it turned, I gently pushed it open.
“Bee?” I said again, peering inside. The room where she’d been getting ready was just above where the ceremony would take place, by the hotel’s infinity pool: I could see the chairs we’d lined up earlier, now filled with guests, through the window. “Are you in here?” Still, nothing.
I pulled out my phone, ready to send a BRIDE AWOL text if necessary, then walked past the small sitting area, closer to the window. Down below, I could see William up by the flower-covered arch, checking his own watch. I saw him shoot a look down the aisle. A second later, my phone beeped. My mom.
WHERE IS SHE?
I walked over to the bathroom door, which was closed, and stood listening for a second. Nothing. Then, distantly, a sniffle. Shit.
BATHROOM, I texted back. Then I knocked. “Bee?”
A pause. “Yes?”
“It’s Louna,” I said. “We, um, need to get downstairs.”
“One sec.” I heard her blow her nose, which did not bode well, and looked at my watch again. When the door opened, though, she was smiling, even with a tissue in one hand.
“I’m allergic to something, can you believe it?” she asked, turning back to the bathroom counter, where I saw an array of over-the-counter allergy medicines lined up. “My big day and I can’t stop sneezing.”
“You still look beautiful,” I said. It was true: even with a bit of a red nose, her hair was perfect, pearly pink lipstick in place, clearly happy. Whew.
She smiled at me. Then sneezed again. “Shoot,” she moaned, grabbing two more tissues out of the nearby dispenser. “This is not how I wanted this to go!”
“It will be fine,” I said, handing her the water. “I bet once you get outside it will stop.”
“That’s where most allergies originate, though,” she said, blowing her nose. “You forget I’m marrying a med student. Who probably did not expect, after all this planning and money, to be wed to someone whose nose is redder than a clown’s.”
“I’m sure that is not what Kevin cares about,” I told her, bending down to fluff the bottom of her form-fitting, lace-covered dress around her shoes. “Weddings are about love, and love tolerates everything. Even red noses.”
“Nicely put.” She cocked an eyebrow at me. “You’re good at your job.”