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

of downtown, swing into an easterly turn that continues until we’re heading north for Kansas. I look out the little window as we pass our neighborhood. The DCU campus is below, and I search the tiny sidewalks for Nicolo, knowing it may be the last time I see him. I choose one of the little antlike students below and imagine he’s Nicolo and stay glued to him until he’s slipped out of my window frame

We hurdle the sky at five hundred mph, passing over Oklahoma, moving toward our future at hyper speed Amity sits across from me and smiles, periodically holding my hand because she senses I need it. When the copilot comes out of the cockpit to offer us champagne, compliments of the Goldman family, Amity holds up two empty glasses for him and crows, “God bless the Goldmans and all their wonderful coolers.” He accidentally spills a drop on her pants while pouring and quickly showers her with apologies. “For heaven’s sake, darling’,” Amity tells him, “I’m a flight attendant. Considering all the drinks I’ve spilled on people, that’s just a drop of my karma coming back to me.” Karma comin’ back to May.

“Thanks for being so nice about it,” the copilot tells her, “and thanks again for the biscuits and gravy. Some of the best I’ve had,” he says, blushing.

“I made them fresh this morning,” she answers, winking at me. As the copilot returns to the cockpit, I realize that the magic she offers doesn’t come from her hands, but her soul. It doesn’t matter that she didn’t make those biscuits and gravy or the chicken and dumplings or the peach pie. What matters is that she offers them with so much love they taste as if they’re from her heart. She hands me one of the glasses of champagne, but I decline, so she clinks them together herself and says, “Cheers!” Then she gulps the champagne from one glass, sets it down, and retains the other.

“Harry, would you like a scone?” she asks, taking one from the tray of catered breads left by the copilot.

“No, I’m afraid I’d just throw it up,” I tell her honestly. “Darlin’, there’s nothing to worry about,” she assures me, confidently “We’re going to get through this together. You should eat.”

She hands me the scone, and I pull a piece off and stick it into my salty mouth. At least I negotiated with my mother the forfeiture of the requisite rehearsal dinner. I knew I couldn’t take another backslapping ceremony after the engagement party, and for once my wishes prevailed. No, today’s the day. It’s straight to the altar. Straight up the aisle. Straight straight straight.

Before we land, Amity announces, “Power nap!” and falls into a coma. She’s eaten two scones and drunk half a bottle of champagne, and now she’s out. How does she do it? Especially today. It’s as if she’s embracing our future with no trepidation, no caution, as if she’s certain of its sanguine outcome. I look down to the squares of farmland below and realize that the summer harvest is gone and most of the land is relaxing into the coming days of autumn. Amity sleeps through the steep descent and touchdown, and as we’re taxiing toward the private terminal, I wait, clutching my seat, preparing myself for her frightening rise from the dead. But instead, she slowly opens her eyes, like a baby bird in its nest, and blinks sweetly until she’s awake. I relax, let go of my armrests, and smile at her.

“Let’s go, Bubba!” she shouts, springing out of her seat.

“Shit, Amity!” I say, slamming against the back of my seat and grabbing my heart. Fooled again.

She takes a little carton of juice from the bread tray. “Drink some orange juice, Bubba. You’re going to need your energy today!” she chirps, reaching across and grabbing her wedding dress.

She’s right. I pat her hand. Sip the juice. Wait for my heart to descend into my chest again.

As we pull up to the terminal, we can both see my mother and Donald waiting by a shiny gold Mercedes sedan. The car is sitting right on the tarmac, next to several business jets. The pilots shut the engines down and enter the cabin to release the stairs. “After you,” I tell her, and Amity steps out, the glamorous movie star making her return. My mother and Donald wave enthusiastically, and she waves back.

Now that it’s autumn, the sun generously shares the sky with the cool dry air washing down from the Rockies that moves east to mix with the northern winds coming down from Nebraska. Autumn is my favorite time of year in Kansas. I usually welcome its arrival. Today I’m reticent, but Amity continues to hold my hand and lead me on toward the next season.

“There they are!” my mother cries, taking off her sunglasses and throwing open her arms.

“Hey!” Donald yells.

“Susan!” Amity answers, wrapping her arms around my mother.

I shake Donald’s hand and wait for him to slap a lung into my throat. He doesn’t disappoint, and when we’re done, I see that Amity and my mother are still embracing. Amity seems to be holding my mother with predilection, and when she finally lets go, she backs up to take a look at her. “You look great, Susan. Really great.”

My mother’s hair is down again, but pulled back in gold clips. And like Amity, she looks younger, more relaxed than in the past. The crisp breeze ruffles her ecru linen pantsuit as she reaches out to me. “How could anyone not love this girl?” she asks, referring to Amity.

I hug my mother, feeling her new breasts press against my own new built-up pecs, and answer, “I don’t know, Mom. But we sure do, don’t we?”

“Yes, we do,” she answers as we watch Amity wrap Donald

in a hug. “Your parents are here already,” my mother gushes to Amity. “We got a call from them. They sound very nice.”

I look at Amity with