When Right is Wrong

(Out of Season)

The designer gown, made from yards and yards of Charmeuse silk draped with Chantilly lace, was stunning; I had to admit. Even though it was my mother’s choice, not mine. “Your father and I want everything to be perfect,” she’d chided when I objected that it simply wasn't me. In truth, I preferred not wearing one at all. Not to this wedding. Not for the man who'd be waiting at the altar.

And yet...

Not only was my gown a pricey spectacle to behold, my make-up was also flawless, and every strand of my long ash-blonde hair was perfectly in place. I’d been waxed, peeled, powdered, and puffed until my skin looked as dewy as a newborn babe's.

The women in my family—my mother and three sisters—along with my Aunt Gertie—she’s the aunt with a perpetually pinched face and sour expression—had spent all morning making me the most beautiful I’d ever been, or could ever hope to be again. To any onlookers, the day promised magnificence. They weren’t aware I was in a dress I hadn’t wanted, or of Aunt Gertie’s continual clucking of disapproval. She was, perhaps, the only person who truly cared that this dress… this wedding… this life I was being forced into… were not of my choosing.

When they spun me around for inspection, the mirror reflected a bride in all her glory. On the outside, I appeared radiant… except for my eyes. Since the windows to one’s soul make hiding the truth difficult, they couldn’t disguise the resentment and anguish creating chaos in my heart.

“It’s just wedding day jitters,” my mother reassured me when she caught me quietly crying in my room the night before. Despite what were meant to be comforting words, I didn’t miss the genuine sympathy in her gaze. That look of understanding broke me, and the dam burst. Not because of her compassion. I lost all emotional control because she knew. I didn’t doubt that her sympathy for me was real. The painful betrayal was her support of my father; her unwillingness or inability to take a stand against him, even for something so important… for her youngest daughter’s future and happiness.

“Oh, Lani,” she said softly, gathering me in her arms, “I’m so sorry. Perhaps your father’s right, though. Maybe it is for the best.” Gently rubbing small circles on my back as though I were still an infant, she held me, waiting for the waterworks to dry up.

 My father, who always seemed to have perfect timing, chose that moment to walk by my bedroom. Apparently having heard us, either my blubbering or Mom’s words, he peered through the door she’d only pushed partially closed.

Naturally, he caught me sobbing against Mom’s shoulder and warned, “Just so you realize, young lady, I’ve already paid out thousands of dollars for this wedding. It’s too late to change your mind.” He ran a hand backward from his slightly receding hairline; a sure tell of his agitation. Dad always did that when he was frustrated, anxious, or angry.

Definitely anger, I thought, from his expression when I lifted my head from Mom’s shoulder to meet his eyes. Or maybe there was a hint of fear, too? Surely not for me, or I wouldn’t be made to go through with this. I found that curious but was so wrapped up in my misery I didn’t chance questioning it. Questioning my father was never wise. Not even on a good day. And this was far from being a good day.

“You know damned well it’s beyond time to put the past where it belongs,” he added with the kind of harsh firmness one might expect from a strict parent disciplining a small child. “John is a decent man from a respectable, influential family. He’s well-off, solid, and ambitious with a bright future ahead of him. You could do far worse. And he must love you. After all, he waited for you until you finally came to your senses.”

“I know, Duh-Dad, it’s juh-just wedding duh-day jitters,” I mumbled between the hitches in my voice as I repeated Mom’s words. “I’ll buh-be alright.”

I cringed at myself when I realized I was no better than Mom. I couldn’t even stand up for myself on this most critical of nights. Not that it would’ve done me any good, I reminded myself reproachfully. On his good days, I’d tried repeatedly to tell him how much I didn’t want any of this. And that was before he’d spent a small fortune on something I never wanted. Now? Fat chance he’d listen, or magically turn into the kind of doting father you read about in romance novels. The kind that, even moments before the ceremony, would whisper in your ear that it was never too late to back out.

I wondered whether he truly thought marrying John was best for me… or best for him. The Tillotson family had always done business based on nepotism and/or favors owed. To my knowledge, our families owed no favors either way. Therefore, I was reasonably confident nepotism (after all, we’d all be family in a matter of minutes) would garner my father—an investment broker—a substantial share of their business.

Not that I believed my father was some calloused money-grubber. But he’d always been an extremely practical, unemotional man. A marriage to John made sense to him. Success and stability, in his mind, would always trump anything as unreliable as love… as unreliable as a certain ebony-haired, guitar-playing wanderer with eyes the color of a cloudy sky who….

But I can’t think about Aiden now. I shouldn’t think about him ever again, I tried telling myself. Face it, you’re about to walk down the aisle and pledge your life to another man. And remember? You said you’d be okay?

 A sudden stillness among the guests stretched throughout the sanctuary as strains of Wagner’s Wedding March began filling St. George’s Cathedral. It was my signal to begin the walk from which I’d never recover. Almost in rhythm to the age-old tune, other sounds filled my head: the sudden rush of blood caused by the hammering of my heart, along with a thoroughly disgusted, high-pitched mental voice.

 Lies! Who are you kidding? You’ll never be alright again, my mind screamed in protest.

 It was true: the man waiting for me at the other end of the aisle was everything my father proclaimed him to be. He was solid, driven, and had sworn often he was in love with me. I’d laughed when he’d first declared his feelings, certain he’d been jesting. Then I suspected it was more likely I’d been the challenge for which he wouldn’t accept defeat.

But he had waited. And waited. For more than a year, he’d waited while Aiden and I laughed, loved, and planned a future together.

 Meanwhile, when we ran into each other, which was frequent (to the point that I began suspecting someone engineered the meetings), John would ask: “Has your boyfriend taken off yet?”  He always said it with dripping sarcasm. “He will, you know. That’s what he does. Now, me, I’m reliable. You’d never have to worry about me leaving.”

The last unexpected meeting with John was the day Aiden formally proposed, saying, “I’ve finally saved enough money that I can ask you to share your life with me.”

I threw my arms around him, nearly knocking him off balance. “Yes, yes, yes,” I said repeatedly until he stopped me with a passionate kiss, then promised to take me shopping for my engagement ring the following day. Because we were so thankful for each other, and it was our favorite time of year, we decided on a Thanksgiving Day wedding.

On my way home, I stopped at the convenience store for gas when John pulled his shiny new Porsche in behind me. He sidled up beside me and reminded me, “Just say the word when you’re ready, Lani. I already have the ring.”

Elated by Aiden’s proposal, I was bursting to share the news with anyone within earshot, so I told John he needed to save the ring for someone else. Aiden and I were picking one out the following day.

His face flushed, but he sounded as nonchalant as ever when he said, as always, “Don’t be surprised if he takes off on you. Remember, that’s what he does. And I’ll still be here with that ring.”

Aiden did have a history of moving from town to town every few years, first with his parents, and then, having inherited a wandering spirit, on his own. He wanted to see what he could of the world before he settled down, he’d told me. “But I knew the moment we met, Lani, you were the one I wanted to settle down with. One day I’ll ask you if you might want that too… if you’ll have me.”

And he’d finally asked me. I believed him with my whole heart and soul: he was ready to commit... to me. And I had faith we’d eventually settle down together in a place we’d make our home once we’d explored what we could of the world together.

I made the mistake of telling my parents about the run-in with John and what I’d told him. My father turned beet red when he realized what I’d just announced, and boomed, “Absolutely not. Under my dead body will you marry that boy!”

I was flabbergasted. I didn’t expect it to be a joyous announcement as far as my dad was concerned. He’d long since been ‘Team John,’ and had done his best to sell me on John’s “many fine qualities.” But I never, ever would’ve expected such a vehement negative reaction.

Mom, who initially looked as though she were happy for me, settled back into her seat and stayed silent.  I looked at her quizzically. She didn’t meet my eyes. I looked back at Dad, who did meet my eyes, and his were full of steel.

“I’m sorry, Dad, truly I am, if you disagree with my decision, but I’m an adult and capable of knowing my own heart and mind. I love Aiden. I don’t love John. I’m not even sure I like John. And because I love Aiden, I choose him. I’m going to marry him, Dad. If you can’t be happy for me, please, at least don’t make it difficult for me. It’ll be a small, intimate wedding, but I’d still like for you to give me away.”

 “Hmmph!” was Dad’s only angry response before he turned his attention back to the financial section of the newspaper he’d been reading.

Later, Dad went out and didn’t return until late that night. Aiden didn’t show up to take me ring shopping the next day. Initially, I was worried. Then I got pissed, thinking he could’ve at least called to say he was running late. And then I was crushed when I couldn’t reach him. In desperation, I called Aiden’s employer, who said Aiden had been a no-show at the garage for several days.

 The bottom of my world dropped out. For weeks, I reported to work more zombie-like than human, then retreated to my room at night, barely sleeping, hardly eating. Eventually, John called. I didn’t talk to him that day, or the next. I didn't accept his calls for the next three weeks either. Finally, after pressure from my family to cut him some slack, to at least meet him for coffee and see what he had to say, I gave in.

Justifying the meeting, I told myself it would be an opportunity to look him in the eye and ask if he’d been culpable in Aiden’s departure. Why I hadn’t considered it before then, I couldn’t say, except that John never struck me as someone capable of something so nefarious. His sincerity was convincing, and I walked away believing him innocent of any wrongdoing.

We got together another half-dozen times for coffee, “as just friends,” he vowed, saying he would be a friendly ear. And it did help. He was a good one-sided conversationalist when I didn’t feel like talking, yet listened patiently when I needed to vent over Aiden’s disappearance. He consoled me when I needed it without pitying me. Most importantly, he kept his promise without pushing for more.

When the day came that he couldn’t get away from the office for coffee and asked if we could have dinner instead, I said yes. Three months from that first dinner, he kissed me goodnight. It wasn’t the lips that had once fit so perfectly against mine, but I didn’t hate the kiss. Three months after the dinner date and the kiss, he dropped to one knee on my front porch and proposed.

Along with the rest of my Dad’s qualities, good and bad, he had excellent hearing. Before I could say my heart wasn’t yet healed enough for that, the front door flew open, and he welcomed John to the family. Things snowballed from that point despite my every objection.

And here I was, in the July heat—instead of the chill air of November—walking past 500 wedding guests, to the wrong man, wondering why the hell I was allowing other people to force me into a marriage I didn’t want.

I’d never considered anything strange about my parents’ reaction to my engagement announcement. When I realized Aiden was missing, I did find Dad's unusual disappearing act that night a little suspicious... which led me to question him about Aiden’s disappearance. Dad vehemently denied knowing anything about that man, virtually parroting words John had often used: “That’s what he’s always done, Lani. Now stop with the ridiculous accusations.”

Even Mom was testy when she asked how I could even think of throwing out such allegations.  So I let it go. Until now.

Now, as I looked down the aisle at my fiancé’s face, I saw what I could swear was sad regret. There was definitely no sign of happiness. It made me think about that flash of fear I thought I saw in my father’s eyes the night before. I snuck a glance at the man walking me down the aisle. I couldn’t see into his eyes, but his jaw was twitching. That was another tell of his. Jaw twitching was a sure sign of extreme stress or nervousness.

Why would he be stressed out or nervous, I wondered. This is what he’d wanted… what he’d essentially demanded. I flashed another look at the less-than-thrilled groom, then one at his father. John’s dad looked positively gloating. Not happy for his son, but gloating. What the hell?

Things began falling into place, at least sort of. Pieces of the puzzle were still missing, but enough connected to send a slither of fear up my spine. I didn’t know what happened with Aiden, but I suddenly knew that whatever had happened was a conspiracy between our fathers, at the very least. Had John also been involved after all?

When we reached John’s side, I didn’t remove my hand from the crook of Dad’s arm. Instead, I turned toward the crowd of influential well-wishers and began, “I know you expected to see a wedding today… ”

I didn’t get a chance to finish apologizing that there wouldn’t be one, when the door burst open. Like we were actors in some obscure B-rated drama, a plainclothes detective, followed by a clutch of uniformed officers, held up a badge and announced, “Pardon the interruption, folks, but we’re here to take Gerald Wilkerson (my father), Elbert Tillotson (John’s father), and John Tillotson into custody on charges of first-degree murder. As he spoke, the deputies advanced on the three suddenly ashen-faced men to cuff them and lead them out.

As a noisy clamor grew ever louder with the guests’ shocked disbelief, the sobs of my sisters, and the outcries of our mothers frantically trying to reach our fathers, my Aunt Gertie sat back with a satisfied smile. I almost understood her reaction. She’d never been Dad’s biggest fan. Then she noticed what had to be abject horror on my face. All the time I’d been so angry at Aiden for proving Dad and John right, he’d really been gone… and at their and John’s father’s hands. My heart shattered all over again.

It took only seconds for my aunt to be by my side, helping hold me up.

“Why?” I rasped. “What were they up to that was so bad they had to take Aiden’s life? Oh God, Aunt Gertie, Aiden’s dead!”

“I know, sweet child,” she crooned, “and I’m so, so sorry. I’m also sorry we’ll likely never understand why. While it’s cold comfort,” she nodded toward the officers blocking our mothers from following, “their timing kept you from making a monumental mistake.”

“I wasn’t going through with it,” I admitted through far too familiar tears.  “I couldn’t. I didn’t belong here, not with John.

She nodded, her own eyes shiny. “No. No, you didn’t. Those officers didn’t belong at a wedding either. But thank goodness, they were here.”

With an arm still around my shoulders, she tugged me forward. And then, shockingly, Aunt Gertie winked. “Where I think we do belong right now is the bar down the street.  There’s no better place to drown sorrows. So let’s get you changed out of this monstrosity and go tip back a few.”

I knew she was trying to help me feel better. That wouldn’t. However, nothing would. I’d never see my two fiancés again. The one I loved was gone forever; the one I didn’t, I never wanted to see again.

Let my mom and sisters wonder where I went. For the first time in a long while, I would make my own choices. And I was choosing to go with my aunt. Later, I’d search for answers, but today I just needed to cry my eyes out into a glass of something that could help me forget.