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Kate
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FURY GRANTED KATE the first peace she’d had in months. At first, she felt torn open. She couldn’t even claim to be as gullible as a teenager when her own daughter figured out that Lucy had played them all for fools. Soon the hole left behind filled with outrage. That burned hot and quick and flickered out, smoldering with her disbelief in the human capacity for cruelty. It didn’t matter anymore whether Lucy meant to be cruel or not. In the end, Kate was a bit thankful. Lucy had taken with her the possibility of a choice.
Now, when anyone mentions that name, Kate’s blood runs cold as snowmelt. She can almost see why her mom never talked about the Robeson boy jumping from Maiden Leap. The Robeson boy, the Van Buren girl. We dare not speak their names. To take one’s life, to rip oneself from the pack, cuts short any chance for understanding and provides every opportunity for supposition. And then? Dismissal.
The family prepares for the wedding with solemnity, the men in gray pinstripe, the women in sage green satin. Brace got a haircut, actually trimmed his golden bangs for Mark and Ray. Kate beams—so handsome, his own man now. Samantha seems more nervous than she was for the play. But even if she makes a mistake, she’ll still nail it.
Kate paces by the door to the garage, running over the lines of her toasting speech one last time. Erik stops for an inspection. She kisses his cheek. He smiles a bit. It’s taking him a while to warm back up to her. She must be patient.
“Brace,” Kate calls out. “Do you have the keys to the church?”
“Yep.”
“In your pocket?”
“Yes!”
“All right, guys, I’ll see you at the park.”
“Okay, Mom.”
“Bye, hon.”
Kate carefully slides into the new Camry, its interior polished and still smelling of the showroom. By the time she reaches the lift bridge she can already see the decorations brightening Wilson Park, rows of white folding chairs, sheer linens flowing in the breeze.
When she arrives in the dressing tent, there’s not much to do except receive the requisite touch-up by the hair and makeup stylists. Then she joins Mark for moral support.
“Hey, look at the ceiling.” She reaches up to his left nostril and plucks a rogue hair.
“Ow!” His eyes water.
“Sorry, I didn’t think it was attached.”
Mark sneezes. “Bullshit. Do you do that to Erik?”
“Of course. I’ll have a talk with Ray about technique.” Kate brushes off his white satin lapels.
Mark raises his chin and looks down at her. “Lucy’s here.”
Kate straightens a tie that doesn’t need straightening.
“Did you hear me?”
“Yeah, I know. So what?”
Mark searches Kate’s eyes with his level gaze. “We had a long conversation. She fought hard to keep that picture out of the paper. She was only in this to take down Sojourn and Marrisota.”
“Or so she says. I can’t believe you’re suddenly defending her.”
“You gotta admit, she’s one hell of a method actor for the cause.”
“Are you kidding? She didn’t fool me for a second.”
Mark grins his knowing grin that says, yeah she did, but not the way we’re talking and so I’ll be a pal and won’t mention it. “Well, you need to talk to her. Soon.”
A bitter laugh escapes. “Not today I’m not.” She had not expected this from Mark. Maybe it was because he was too focused on the romance of his wedding day but he seemed to have lost all vitriol in the past weeks. “Why didn’t you tell me about the blog?”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“I didn’t need your—”
“Stop stressing me out on my big day.”
“You brought her up.”
“Now, listen, she said she wouldn’t stay for the reception, cause any trouble. But she won’t be in town much longer.”
Kate shrugs, looks at her phone. “Looks like you’ve got twenty minutes.”
He bites his lip. “What do I do with twenty minutes?”
“Run. Run for your life.”
“Very funny.”
“Come on.” She hooks his arm. “Let’s watch the riverboats.”
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MARK AND RAY stand under an ivy-covered trellis, Kate to Mark’s right and Ray’s brother to his right. Between the two pairs, the female pastor from Minneapolis Unitarian welcomes the crowd with a short benediction.
Samantha rises from her chair and steps to the side of the trellis. She faces the audience and slowly, quietly begins “Somewhere” from West Side Story. It’s surely not lost on anyone here that there is a place for Mark and Ray, that their someday is near, no matter what the Claudia Larsons of the world try to do. Samantha’s voice rises and rises, out across the wind and well past the crowd. She holds the final high note, eyes closed. Kate fights tears knowing the havoc it will wreak on her makeup. When Samantha finishes with a simple smile, Kate looks to Erik, who does not appear worried about makeup.
Everyone turns to the pastor. There’s something about wedding ceremonies that make Kate’s mind wander. This one is no different. It’s the same sermon, always. An attempt to describe the magic that holds two people together. Promises that are damned difficult to keep for years on end. Ray’s vows are succinct, Mark’s go on and on. Kate struggles to pay attention to the back of Mark’s head, but soon her gaze meanders into the crowd.
In the second row, Lucy Van Buren sits in a strapless, cream dress beaming at Mark, as proud as a sister. It takes great effort not to steal too long of a look at her chest, where the hint of a tattoo arcs above the breastline. If Lucy had stayed in Wicasa Bluffs, it would be her up here supporting Mark. The two of them had an affinity long before Katie came along. But Lucy let him down by not sticking out the small town life, never writing or calling, and then by coming back the messed up way she did. Everybody had their reasons; everybody had their little spites, wounded kids, the whole crowd of them. On this day, as Samantha just sang, she should find a way of forgiving. Mark seems to have.
The pastor spreads her arms. “I now pronounce you husbands for life. You may now kiss.”
Ray clasps Mark’s neck, his thumbs resting on Mark’s jaw and his fingers part the back of Mark’s curly, orange hair. He kisses Mark deeply without hesitation. Then, as he draws away, Mark stumbles a little, eyes blinking, and everyone chuckles. The rest is a blur of people and noise and the procession to the Crystal Ballroom conservatory up the well-manicured footpath.
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THE SOFT CITRUS scent of eucharis and rosemary herbs fills the sunlit ballroom. Mark and Ray take up their places in the middle of the wedding party table, flanked by Kate and Ray’s brother.
After the first course, Kate stands, she relaxes her hand on the cordless microphone and channels Samantha’s confidence:
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Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! It is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
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She looks down at the husbands. “Ray, this lover of Shakespeare here next to you was not born to be a minstrel. But he is a seer and a truth-teller.” She lays a hand to her breastbone. “How do I know this? Because the day he met you, he called me from New York at four in the freaking morning and told me that he just met the man he was going to marry.” She allows time for the chuckles and the Ahhs. “I’ve taken him at his word ever since.
“It feels odd in a way, to welcome you to a family of friends that you joined long ago. But we—all of us here—want you to know,” she laughs through the rest, “you’re not getting out of Wicasa Bluffs alive.”
Applause fires around the ballroom and Mark cackles with glee. Ray stands up and hugs her. He whispers in her ear, “Mark was right.” He sniffles. “It was worth it. All these people bearing witness. We needed this. Thank you, honey.”
The tumbling peal of church bells rolls down the bluffs. People turn in their seats. “That’s Grace Lutheran!” Mark says with a yelp.
“Whoa.” Ray turns to him. “How’d you swing that?”
“I didn’t.”
“Guess someone up there loves you.” Kate looks out at her daughter and husband. Erik winks at her. Hopefully, Brace will make it back in time for cake.
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LATER, KATE DANCES in Mark’s arms to big band swing. They twist sloppily back and forth, cheeks reddened by champagne. Nearby, Erik dances stiffly with Ray, Samantha dances with Zev, while Brace and Jamie stand on the periphery making polite conversation.
When the music slows, Mark sighs. “Well kid. The Great Foxtradamus has put away his crystal ball.”
“No.”
“Two of the couples I thought would stay together are getting separated. And it looks like Barb and Randolph are getting back together. Totally goes against my sleep-side theory.”
Kate clicks her tongue. “Some people. Can’t predict ’em.”
A vague cynicism rains down on Kate as she releases Mark to his husband.
Social Services may or may not award them a little boy to raise as their own. If it does, it will not be because Mark and Ray were married by the pastor of a hippy-dippy church, but because the child needs parents and these two men are his best shot. Mark spent a fortune on a gorgeous ceremony and filled everyone with prime rib and cake and liquor until they were rolling around with appreciation. After the bouquet is thrown and the last slice of cake is frozen, where will the guests go, but back to their insulated lives and legally sanctioned marriages?
Kate steps out into the flowered courtyard for a breath of fresh air and squints up at Maiden Leap. A figure in white stands at the edge then turns and walks away.
B L O G G I N G M Y S O J O U R N
One Woman’s Journey to Whatever
I Damn Well Please
I have no idea why two people want to staple themselves together for life. My parents’ marriage ran at extreme temperatures: icy disdain and scorching hate. Fought like cats and cats. And now my mother is this lonely old woman still pining after my crazy dad and hasn’t got a clue how to date again.
Still, you have to admit, when even gay people are trying to marry it must be a proclivity with some value, right?
If Vicky’s daughter was speaking to me right now, she would have the answer.
Posted by Liesl ~ 5:00 pm ~ 1 Comment
Elphaba commented:
Gibbons are the only apes that mate for life. They’re even more consistently monogamous than humans. But they live alone together and don’t belong to a troop, to protect against interlopers. Nobody knows yet which is the better approach, in a pack or in isolation. It varies species to species.
My vote is for pack. And the pack wants you back.