My Best Man by Andy Schell (unputdownable books .txt) 📗

A family who drank martinis instead of cow’s milk. I wanted the clothes and the house and the style. I wanted to be famous. Oh, I know it’s shallow and disgusting, but why not? It’s not like I’m some horrible bitch.”

“But, Amity,” I say, impassioned, “you’re not getting any of that with me! No house, no clothes, no style. There’s only a small amount of name recognition. I’m not taking the money. I’ll be

“

poor.

She looks confidently ahead. “You’re a fine man, Harry Ford. You won’t be poor. I’m sure of it.”

I’m in a side room, off the back of the main cathedral of St. Thomas Episcopal Church. I can hear all the guests in the pews, some murmuring, some speaking outfight, some laughing. We have ten minutes to go before six o’clock the wedding hour. My cousins, Ellie and Mary, look beautiful in their butter-colored, full length bridesmaids’ dresses. Jacqueline too. Brad and two other cousins, dressed in their long-tailed black tuxes, are nearly finished with their duties seating the guests. Most of the entourage are now standing in the back of the church, shifting in their stiff shoes, waiting for the minutes to pass until the music segues and they hear the bridal march that accompanies all of us down the aisle. I peer out into the church and see my mother and Donald sitting on the aisle in the front row. Next to them is my beloved Grammie, and next to her is Winston. Across the aisle from them sit Amity’s mother and her brother and sister. I’m so happy she’s invited them

nay n,

all, and Mr. Stubbs assured me again as they entered the church that this must be the “real deal” since they’ve never been invited to “any of her other weddings,” and that this would be the first time he would actually give his daughter away. I still haven’t found out how many other weddings there were. I guess I’ll never know all there is to know about Amity Stone.

But all I need to find out about her at the moment is her location.

I don’t see her anywhere, and when I query Jackie as to her whereabouts, she shrugs, telling me, “I don’t know. I’m not sure, because I don’t know.”

I walk back into the holding room, wipe my palms for the fortieth time, try to catch my breath, slow my heart down. None of it works. Fuck, if only I could breathe.

“You OK there, buddy?” my cousin Brad asks, poking his head into the room.

“Fine!” I answer, gulping more air.

“Five minutes,” he says, counting it down.

Fuck. Where is she? I go back out and take another look at the crowd. It’s too many people. Mother and Amity promised to keep it small, intimate. But there must be three hundred people here which doesn’t seem intimate in the least. I glance up at the family pew again. No Winston. He’s gone.

No Winston. No Amity. Oh, fuck, I can’t even think it. I turn back to the wedding party, ask my relatives and Jackie, “Has anyone seen Amity or Winston?”

“Winston just walked by. He went down the hall, that way,” Brad answers.

“Your brother is handsome,” Jackie tells me, smoking a cigarette in her bridesmaid’s dress. “He’s handsome when he walks. Really handsome.”

I’ll be right back,” I tell them all. “Don’t start without me.” They all laugh nervously, and I start heading down the hall. When I was a child, the limestone hallways of this church were

sacred, holy, hallowed. They were so much larger than I was, and I always felt I was being led by them, that there was some mysterious force that determined my direction independent of my desire for control. And it still feels that way now …. that as I aged and grew larger, so did these stone halls. And I’m still captive to their power. As when I was a child, I walk softly, with great care not to let my heels make any sound, lest I disturb God. And as I approach the voices of familiarity, they don’t hear me any more than God does. “Two million dollars. Made out to Amity Stone,” Winston says.

“How thoughtful of you to pronounce my name correctly,” Amity tells him coolly. “Is it spelled correctly?”

“The T’s are crossed, and the I is dotted,” he assures her.

I clutch my heart. I’m afraid it will disintegrate. My face flashes hot, and my ears ring. The one thing that made me believe in her was that she hadn’t taken Winston’s offer. I can hardly hear them as they continue.

“It better be a cash-equivalent check, darling’, or I’m fixin’ to be Mrs. Harry Ford in about two minutes.”

“Same as cash,” Winston vows. “I couldn’t put a stop payment on it if I wanted to.”

“Hand me your pen, darling’. I’m going to endorse this bad boy right now.”

The muted sound of the wedding march, floating down the limestone hallway, begins.

“They’re starting the music. How are you going to do it?” Winston asks her excitedly.

I hear her scribbling with his pen. “You leave that to me,” she answers confidently.

God, what do I do? God, can you hear me? What the hell do I do now? You’re telling me I made the wrong choice. Nicoloo It should have been Nicolo. Never do anything for money. But that’s not what I did! I did this for love. For Amity. So that she could have a family and a life in which she’d be valued and loved. How

could everything turn out like this? I start walking back down the hall toward the chapel, letting my heels smash against the floor so that God hears me as well as that Texan Eve and my brother, the serpent she’s cut a deal with.

“Harry!” Amity yells behind me. “Harry, come back!”

“Let him go,” Winston calls after her. “It’s easier this way. It’s done I”

I hear her own heels clicking against the floor as she approaches. “Harry! Come on,” she says, looping her arm