The congregation sat in their rows and whispered lowly to each other at her entrance. She took a seat, and stared back at them, boldly.
The men were in identical suits, purchased at Pamida. Every woman wore a long jean skirt, with panty hose visible at their ankles, and each had a white long-sleeved blouse that Rachel recognized as a Simplicity pattern. She shuddered.
The front of the church was bare, except for a freshly built platform, and a tall, freestanding candelabra. None of the candles were lit.
Krystal walked down the aisle without a veil, without bridesmaids, without flowers. Rachel couldn’t help but think she deserved it.
At least she got to wear the wedding dress she had chosen months before, when Bert was still a heathen. Thankfully, she had the foresight to choose a dress that was long-sleeved and demure.
The ceremony was insanely boring, endlessly polite. Rachel kept her eyes on Jake, who stood up front, and off to the side. He kept the swollen eye out of sight, so he stood at a weird angle. Most of the time, he looked down at his shoes.
She was shocked at his outfit. No flair whatsoever. Brown slacks, brown jacket, white shirt. No tie, no pocket square, no hat, no shoes with platform heels. Plain loafers, the kind with no tassels.
The reception was held outside. Rachel found Jake immediately, and they sat together in the grass, watching the line of people lay out hot dishes and cold salads on folding card tables.
Bert glared when he saw them together, and Rachel met his eyes without fear. Jake’s hand reached up to touch his eye.
Reverend Foote approached them, and Jake busied himself with blowing the tiny stars from dandelions gone to seed. Rachel knew that this was how dandelions spread, multiplied, and hoped they would infest the entire church property.
“Reverend Foote,” he said, and held out his hand.
“Paula Sherwood,” said Rachel, and shook.
“I’m pretty sure that’s not your name,” said the reverend.
“It’s the name my satanic cult gave me,” said Rachel. “I know it sounds awfully pedestrian. We like to remain inconspicuous.”
“Thank you for coming.” He pulled his hand back and reached down to touch Jake’s head. Rachel put an arm around Jake as he flinched, narrowed her eyes at the reverend.
“I’m here for Jake,” said Rachel. “And the macaroni salad.” Rachel flashed devil horns on her right hand, until the reverend left, stammering. They continued to watch the wedding party, and Rachel lost herself in counting shoes with Velcro closures.
“Why isn’t Rocky here?” Rachel assumed he would have been invited.
“Bert says we’ve already got one freak in the family.” Across the lawn, Bert was kneeling in the grass, deep in prayer, as the parishioners filed past him. Instead of wedding gifts, they dropped baskets of food as they passed. A tradition for the man of the family, perhaps, cheap plastic weaves straining to hold the cans of beets and green beans. It was up to Krystal to thank them, as Bert remained in prayer.
“We’re not poor,” said Jake, as he watched this parade of cheap dress clothes, offering up dusty cans from their pantries. “We don’t even go to the food bank.”
“This church is weird,” said Rachel. Bert continued to kneel, and Reverend Foote placed his hands on Bert’s shoulder blades, a blessing. Rachel could see Bert’s forehead, sweating with the calisthenics of prayer. He was shaking now, and the parishioners shouted out glad tidings as they continued to pile the food around him.
“If he starts speaking in tongues, I’m kidnapping you,” said Rachel. “This is some fucked-up church.”
“I think I caught him speaking in tongues at home,” said Jake. “Or he was choking on a piece of steak.”
Rachel pulled a dandelion from the grass and held it in front of Jake’s face.
“Your mom didn’t get her flowers,” she said. “But I think you need a corsage.”
Rachel took the dandelion and slipped it through the buttonhole of Jake’s jacket. They watched the wedding guests milling about, until the reverend’s wife announced that it was time for pictures.
“Aren’t you going to go up there?”
“No,” said Jake. “I refuse. I don’t want to be in any of the pictures. Because of this.” He pointed at his eye, still swollen, ringed with a circle of yellow and blue bruises.
Jake’s absence didn’t seem to bother Krystal or Bert. They held the baby and stood with the pine trees proud and sturdy behind them.
The reverend’s wife gave them directions on posing, something Jake should have been doing.
Bert held the baby while Krystal leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.
“My family!” He announced this to applause as the camera flashed.
Rachel could not bring herself to look at Jake. She sat in the grass and reached for his hand.
The Flood Girls versus Sullivan’s Best Western