3: 3
3.
At the ceremony, hundreds of pairs of eyes clung to me, thick as a swarm.
The dull, swelling ache from the pinched nerve at my waist spread, crawling up my spine.
Scraps of whispering worked their way into my ears.
"Well, this is something. Who wears pink to their own wedding?"
"Even stranger, in a minute she has to serve tea to the ex-wife."
"What kind of custom is that? The ex is clearly making trouble for her."
I stood in the heels, fighting to keep my balance.
For a dazed moment I remembered the past.
Once, in a grand setting just like this, facing the gossip, Conrad had taught me to strike back.
I turned my head to the man beside me without thinking.
He lifted his wrist and checked his watch.
"Hurry up. Serve the tea, keep to the schedule. Don't waste time."
There, in the roar of my own wedding, my heart sank all the way into a pit of ice.
Holding the teacup, forcing down the churning pain, I walked to Mabel Simmons, my face gone numb.
"Miss Simmons, please have some tea."
The smile froze on her face, then curdled into displeasure. She drank it down, slow and unhurried.
From behind her she produced a cash gift envelope and pressed it into my hand with a false smile.
The guests crowding in to watch egged us on.
"Clever bride! Calling her Miss, not the ex-wife."
"But a gift from the ex-wife has got to be fat. Open it, let everyone soak up the luck!"
Their urging carried a spectator's mockery. I opened the envelope gently.
Inside, nothing.
The whole room went dead silent for a beat, then erupted.
"Empty? An empty envelope on a wedding day? That's about as unlucky as it gets. The ex really is vicious."
"Right, that's just spiteful."
The gossip all rushed toward Mabel.
She looked flustered, her eyes reddening fast.
Conrad's brow creased. He shot a glance at me and said it lightly.
"Mabel isn't that kind of person. The guests are all watching. Stop with the tantrums."
He thought I'd rigged it.
I twisted the corner of my mouth. Nothing but bitterness there.
Fine.
It was only a deal. His opinion didn't matter.
Once the ceremony was done, the debt Conrad had shown me and my mother would be paid in full.
Right on cue the emcee's voice rose, bright and loud. Time for the couple's shared ceremonial cup.
I drew a deep breath and lifted my hand to take the cup.
The next instant, Mabel's foot buckled under her and her body pitched, out of control, toward the attendant girl.
The two cups on the tray tipped over, the porcelain shattering.
The room broke into chaos at once.
Everyone was waiting for me to lose my composure, watching for the joke.
"Oh no! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to."
Mabel covered her mouth, hurrying out her apology, the corners of her eyes tilted up in delight.
Again and again. It never ended.
I clenched my fists, the fury climbing all the way to my throat.
But before it could break loose, Conrad waved a hand, impatient.
"It spilled, forget it, we won't do the cup!"
"Go get yourself cleaned up. This has dragged on long enough."
He turned his head and swept a look my way, a warning underneath it.
"Give her any more grief and I'm done being nice."
I looked at the glass on the floor, something rising in my chest.
But a stabbing, bone-deep pain shot through my lower back like a needle,
and Conrad's words came back to me.
"Behave for one day, and I'll cover one more day of your mother's medical bills."
It yanked me back to reality in an instant.
I couldn't afford the gamble.
I bent down and gathered up the broken porcelain.
I set the shards into my own palm, and the moment they bit into the flesh, the pain burned from my hand all the way to my temple.
This much pain was nothing next to the injury in my back from being made to stand in heels.
I turned meekly and withdrew without a word.
Behind me came a man's voice, a little panicked, a little hesitant.
"Beulah..."
It was swallowed at once by the noise of the hall.
Eighteen hours left.
...
At daybreak, someone eased the door of the wedding suite open.
I looked toward the doorway without thinking.
Conrad stood there, his steps faltering. As if he meant to come in.
But someone called him away.
From the corridor came Mabel's soft, coaxing voice.
He turned and went that way.
Without hesitation.
I rolled over and stared at the ceiling.
I hadn't slept all night. There was a thin crack in the ceiling, running from the edge of the chandelier to the corner of the wall.
I spent the night counting how many bends there were in that crack.
Seventeen.
The sky went fully bright.
Four hours left.
Pat Lambert brought in breakfast, her face anxious, not daring to meet my eyes.
Unease welled up in me.
Just as I was about to ask, the phone on the nightstand rang out.
It was the hospital.
"Mr. Farley's secretary, Miss Simmons, never approved the funds. The treatment lapsed. Mrs. Henson passed this morning..."
