41
DUTCH
The Wedding Day, 6:55 P.M.
Outside on the terrace of the main reception room, Dutch stood with Vee, Ethan, and Trevor. Uncle John and Harrison Vaughn had declined the cigars, so it was just the four of them again.
Trevor and Fiona had already been introduced and had their first dance. She danced with her uncle to something by Christina Aguilera, and he danced with his mother to “Mr. Wonderful.” What a douchebag. People still ambled about getting drinks, and there was going to be some light dancing before the speeches and the start of dinner.
When Dutch spoke to Ethan and Vee about giving a speech, they’d mutually agreed to say a few words each, and keep it generic. All the lies of Fiona is so lucky to have found you, and Congratulations to the new Mr. and Mrs.! in lieu of one long, drawn out speech by any of them. Plus, none of them even knew him well enough to say anything deep—there were no memories of them as children, as high school pals, as college buddies, and adults navigating their way through careers.
They were all strangers to Trevor.
Trevor held his left hand up, where his ring glistened off the overhead light. “I’m a married man. Can’t get rid of me now!” he said with a chuckle.
“We don’t mind. We’ll keep you,” Dutch said, still hoping for a way out of his mess.
Ethan held up the cut cigars. “This one is especially for you. It’s got the groom ring on it.” He handed it to Trevor.
“Thanks, buddy,” he said, looking at Ethan, then switched his glance over to Dutch. “Actually, I should be thanking you. You’re the one who got them for us. What a guy,” he said, clapping Dutch on the shoulder, which still made him cringe. “God, I’m starving. All this socializing, I haven’t been able to eat.”
Ethan produced a windproof lighter and shoved it in front of the cigar at Trevor’s mouth. He took a couple of deep puffs as Ethan stared. “Good?”
“Excellent,” Trevor said with a cough.
The rest of them lit their cigars and got a couple of puffs in before the door opened, and Fiona appeared.
“Trevor, come on! They’re doing Kool and the Gang now. You know I have the glitter bin set up for the Instagram video! Let’s go!”
He looked back at the boys, coughed, held his throat for a moment as he crinkled his nose, and then raised his eyebrows. “Happy wife, happy life, am I right?”
They all placed the cigars in an ashtray outside and followed him in.
The unmistakable first notes of the song started to play, and everyone got on the dance floor. At the far end, there was a huge box filled to the brim with glitter—pink, silver, gold, purple, and blue. Everyone screamed as they threw it into the air, jumping up and down along with the song, and the videographer documented everyone dancing with glitter falling about the dance floor, glistening off the disco ball, and onto the ground. Everyone’s clothes and hair were covered.
Dutch and his friends all danced together. It was the first really fun time he’d had all weekend. Well, the second, after his night with Allie. She looked so beautiful, like an angel, twirling around, smiling, glitter making the pink of her dress stand out against the blond of her hair. At one point, Dutch grabbed her hand and they jumped up and down together. She widened her eyes and then winked at him and grabbed Emma’s hand with her other. She had Ethan’s hand, who grabbed Vee, who grabbed Fiona, who grabbed Dutch. Just the six of them dancing the night away, like back in college. Even though Trevor hovered near them.
“This was a great idea!” Allie screamed above the loud music. “This is going to look awesome on Instagram! I bet you go viral!”
“Did you hear that, Trevor?” Fiona said to her new husband. “How cool!”
She was all smiles, but Trevor wasn’t. Typical, Dutch thought. As a matter of fact, Dutch thought he looked disgusted as his lips curled, and he turned red. He coughed, then loosened his bowtie.
“Is he okay?” Dutch asked.
Something happened. Trevor was most certainly not okay, and he fell to the ground, convulsing.
“Trevor?” Fiona yelled, looking at him on the ground. “Trevor!” she screamed to no one. “Help!”
A crowd gathered around him, some still laughing, thinking he was doing some updated version of break dancing as he shuddered on the ground.
“What happened?” his mother Margot asked, looking on in fear.
“What’s going on?” said one guest.
“Give him some room!” said another.
“Back up!”
“Help him!”
“Trevor!”
“What’s happening?”
“Where’s his EpiPen?” Fiona wailed, her face tear streaked. “Someone get my bag on the table!”
“I’ll get it!” Allie shouted.
She ran over in such a panic that she knocked over the plates of cheese and glasses of champagne that were on the table and everything shattered on the ground. When she got back to Fiona, she emptied the bag next to her.
“Where the hell is his EpiPen?” Fiona screamed. “Someone help me!”
Dutch and his friends didn’t know what to do. When they got closer, other guests told them to stay away and let him breathe, but that wasn’t helping. Trevor’s leg was shaking, and his lips blew up to twice their size. His mouth was wide open, gasping for air that never came as he clutched his throat. His eyes were bloodshot, full of fear, and Fiona slapped him on the face as he stopped moving.
“Is there a doctor here?” Fiona cried out through her tears. “Trevor! Wake up. Wake up, please wake up!”
Dutch didn’t know if Trevor’s face was red from the constant slapping or the fact that he hadn’t had oxygen in minutes.
The DJ had finally cut the music, which made Fiona’s voice ring through the hall like nails on a chalkboard. It went on for about three or four more minutes, and after a CPR attempt by one guest, the banquet manager for the hotel found their emergency EpiPen—but Trevor had stopped breathing quite some time ago. The EpiPen plunged into his leg for ten seconds, and then out, but it was no use jamming it into a cadaver. Fiona was on the floor, Trevor’s head in her lap, and she panicked when he didn’t respond to the injection.
“What’s going on? Why won’t he wake up?” Fiona screamed and cried, inconsolable, as he lay motionless.
Everyone stood and watched the chaotic scene. There were kitchen attendants cleaning up the glass mess that Allie left behind at the sweetheart table, there were people huddled and screaming, there were people crying, and some were taking pictures and video, because if it wasn’t documented for social media, did it really happen? The wedding director ushered everyone out of the room as the paramedics came in. Fiona stayed behind with her family and Trevor’s parents. All the guests were told to go wait in the lobby bar.
Dutch couldn’t believe what he’d just witnessed. How horrific. How devastating.
How perfect.
He felt bad for thinking that. Not really, though.
They all gathered at the bar where Dutch gave a very quick explanation to the bartender on duty and asked for an entire bottle of vodka, quickly, and to charge whatever anyone wanted to his room.
Bottle in hand, Dutch went to one of the cocktail tables where his friends stood and placed the bottle there, then went back to retrieve an armful of shot glasses. He poured nine shots of vodka and offered them to anyone around them.
“I can’t believe this just happened,” Dutch said, slinging back a shot.
“Poor Fiona,” Vee said, and then did his shot.
Ethan had his shot, and then poured another. Emma looked at the shot glass of vodka in front of her, surely contemplating her pregnancy, and then decided she needed it. No one said a word as she took her drink. Allie followed Ethan’s lead by pouring another immediately after her first.
Another medic with a stretcher rolled by the lobby bar very quickly, into the ballroom. It was less than five minutes later when screams echoed and pressed against the closed doors.
“Oh my God,” Dutch said. “Do you think . . .”
He didn’t finish the question. There was no need. All heads sank low and turned away as the stretcher came out, body bag on top, and he was lifted into the waiting ambulance.
Trevor’s grief-stricken parents got into the ambulance with the body to make an official identification and likely schedule an autopsy. Fiona’s mother and Uncle John escorted her out of the ballroom, her makeup streaked all over her face. Her hair was destroyed, again, as they passed the lobby bar to take her up to the honeymoon suite. Two police officers walked behind them.
“Jesus.” Fiona’s brother Jesse was by their side, and helped himself to a vodka shot. “What the hell just happened?”
“My God. Was it an allergic reaction?” Allie asked.
“It had to be. He was allergic to peanuts, if I’m not mistaken,” Emma said.
Jesse shook his head back and forth. “Nope. Tree nuts. Not peanuts,” Jesse said, then poured himself another shot from the bottle on the table. “It’s not the same thing at all. He was able to eat peanuts. I have no idea what happened.”