The Heart's Ashes
Page 117
With a smile, she dropped the stack of napkins on the hall table, appearing in front of me, her hand on my shoulder. “Take a breath.”
“Okay.” I folded over a little. “Breath. Good idea.”
“All good?” She leaned down a little to meet my eyes.
“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.” I straightened up. “No paper bag necessary. I’m just so excited. I—I’m afraid I might just run down the aisle.”
Emily laughed and used my shoulders to direct me to the stairs. “I’m sure David will be more than happy if you do. Nothing can ruin this day for that man.”
As we reached the base of the stairs, the memories of childhood, and David, skittered into my mind, echoing off just about every object in the house. I drew a long, deep breath through my nose.
“One bride coming up,” Emily announced.
“Oh, good.” Vicki placed a plate of scrambled eggs on the table in my spot; the smell of toasted bread and salt drew me toward the table by my nose. “I was just about to come wake you.”
“I wish you’d woken me sooner.” I shuffled into the chair, pulling my sleeves over my hands.
“Why?” Vicki put a coffee on the table. “So you could drive us all crazy with your panicking?”
“Yes.” I frowned. Why else? Jeeze.
“Give me that.” She grabbed the salt from me and put it on the bench across the room. “You are as bad as your father, Amara-Rose.”
“Hmpf!” I folded my arms, but only for a second since hunger overtook and forced me to swallow my temper with my toast.
“Morning, honey.” Dad kissed my cheek, sat beside me, then unfurled his newspaper.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Ready for this one?” he asked his paper.
“This time—so, so ready, Dad.”
“Glad to hear it.” He winked, then disappeared behind the daily news again.
“Dad?” I said, looking at the blinking light on the camera by his arm. “If you don’t turn it off we’ll run out of battery for the ceremony.”
“It is off.” He rolled a corner of his read to look at the camera. “That’s what the little light is, isn’t it?”
Groan.
“No, Greg.” Vicki left a plate of toast on the table and picked up the camera. “That means on.”
“Oh.” He hid behind the paper.
“How’re the guys this morning?” I asked Dad.
“One’s pacing, the other’s sitting down and standing up every thirty seconds.” He kept his eyes on the paper. “I’ll leave it up to you to figure out which one’s which.”
“Did their suits fit? Do they need any help with their ties?”
Dad looked at me, his brow arched high. “Well, they’re closer to being ready than you are.”
“I won’t take long. My dress pretty much just slides on and this mess of braids is coming out, so—” I left it at that and popped a fork-tip full of Vicki’s light, fluffy scrambled eggs onto my tongue.
“Don’t mind me.” Emily appeared out of nowhere and tugged at my plaits. “I’ll just get the base of these braids out now—it’ll save time later.”
“Ouch,” I protested, trying to co-ordinate the fork with my jerking head. “Em, can you be gentle?”
“No.”
“Some of us around here are human, you know.” Emily stopped tugging and held still; Dad and Vicki didn’t even look up. I did mean that as a joke, and if I’d never met David, the possible implications of my attempt at comedy would’ve been nil, but we paused a moment longer anyway until the satisfaction of normality quenched our concern.
I shoved another heap of toast toward my mouth, missing the cave and hitting my teeth a little, then dropped my fork onto my plate; I’ll eat when Emily’s done yanking my hair out.
“So, Dad?” I asked after a little hesitation.
“Yeah, honey.” He sipped his coffee.
“Is Mike okay, do you think? I mean, did he seem—”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” Emily dropped my hair and walked away with a huff.
Dad and I watched the light in the entrance disappear behind the front door.
“What’s that all about?” I said.
“That was a little insensitive, Ara,” Vicki butted in where she wasn’t welcome.
“What? So, I’m not allowed to ask how my friend, who was supposed to marry me, is feeling today?”
“We’re all aware this is hard for Mike, Ara, but it’s hard for Emily, too.” Vicki motioned to the front lawn through the window, where Emily sat with her face in her hands.
Vicki went back to the stove and Dad rose from his seat, placing the camera on the table in front of me. “You know, I’m not too good at running this thing. You never know what might be on it.”
Before I looked up from the camera, Dad disappeared out the front door. “Why are you staring at me?” I whispered spitefully to the palm-sized image catcher. I wonder what Dad meant by You never know what might be on it. Is there something on this thing he wants me to see?
I looked over at Vicki, then back at the object in question.
It’s supposed to be bad luck to see the groom before the wedding—mind you, tradition didn’t help with my other wedding.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” I said to the camera, snaffling it under my shirt and bolting up the stairs.
Okay. On button. I know where that is.
The camera bleeped, the small screen lighting up as I closed my bedroom door with my ankle and flopped onto the bed. Several thumbnails showed images of the setup outside, Vicki’s face, Skittles, Sam and then a grainy, dark room, with two figures in the frame, the image at an acute angle, as if it was filmed half upside down; the zipper in the foreground a giveaway that Dad left the camera on top of the bag.
With a shaky finger, I pressed play. A static rushing made it hard to hear the voices, but David’s smooth tones rose above it all.
“This must be hard for you,” he said, and I think he placed his hand on Mike’s shoulder. The bright morning sun dominated the background, turning the boys into silhouettes. The taller guy looked down and nodded; I pressed my finger to the screen and the volume increased.
Mike chuckled. “Understatement.”
“Okay.” I folded over a little. “Breath. Good idea.”
“All good?” She leaned down a little to meet my eyes.
“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.” I straightened up. “No paper bag necessary. I’m just so excited. I—I’m afraid I might just run down the aisle.”
Emily laughed and used my shoulders to direct me to the stairs. “I’m sure David will be more than happy if you do. Nothing can ruin this day for that man.”
As we reached the base of the stairs, the memories of childhood, and David, skittered into my mind, echoing off just about every object in the house. I drew a long, deep breath through my nose.
“One bride coming up,” Emily announced.
“Oh, good.” Vicki placed a plate of scrambled eggs on the table in my spot; the smell of toasted bread and salt drew me toward the table by my nose. “I was just about to come wake you.”
“I wish you’d woken me sooner.” I shuffled into the chair, pulling my sleeves over my hands.
“Why?” Vicki put a coffee on the table. “So you could drive us all crazy with your panicking?”
“Yes.” I frowned. Why else? Jeeze.
“Give me that.” She grabbed the salt from me and put it on the bench across the room. “You are as bad as your father, Amara-Rose.”
“Hmpf!” I folded my arms, but only for a second since hunger overtook and forced me to swallow my temper with my toast.
“Morning, honey.” Dad kissed my cheek, sat beside me, then unfurled his newspaper.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Ready for this one?” he asked his paper.
“This time—so, so ready, Dad.”
“Glad to hear it.” He winked, then disappeared behind the daily news again.
“Dad?” I said, looking at the blinking light on the camera by his arm. “If you don’t turn it off we’ll run out of battery for the ceremony.”
“It is off.” He rolled a corner of his read to look at the camera. “That’s what the little light is, isn’t it?”
Groan.
“No, Greg.” Vicki left a plate of toast on the table and picked up the camera. “That means on.”
“Oh.” He hid behind the paper.
“How’re the guys this morning?” I asked Dad.
“One’s pacing, the other’s sitting down and standing up every thirty seconds.” He kept his eyes on the paper. “I’ll leave it up to you to figure out which one’s which.”
“Did their suits fit? Do they need any help with their ties?”
Dad looked at me, his brow arched high. “Well, they’re closer to being ready than you are.”
“I won’t take long. My dress pretty much just slides on and this mess of braids is coming out, so—” I left it at that and popped a fork-tip full of Vicki’s light, fluffy scrambled eggs onto my tongue.
“Don’t mind me.” Emily appeared out of nowhere and tugged at my plaits. “I’ll just get the base of these braids out now—it’ll save time later.”
“Ouch,” I protested, trying to co-ordinate the fork with my jerking head. “Em, can you be gentle?”
“No.”
“Some of us around here are human, you know.” Emily stopped tugging and held still; Dad and Vicki didn’t even look up. I did mean that as a joke, and if I’d never met David, the possible implications of my attempt at comedy would’ve been nil, but we paused a moment longer anyway until the satisfaction of normality quenched our concern.
I shoved another heap of toast toward my mouth, missing the cave and hitting my teeth a little, then dropped my fork onto my plate; I’ll eat when Emily’s done yanking my hair out.
“So, Dad?” I asked after a little hesitation.
“Yeah, honey.” He sipped his coffee.
“Is Mike okay, do you think? I mean, did he seem—”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” Emily dropped my hair and walked away with a huff.
Dad and I watched the light in the entrance disappear behind the front door.
“What’s that all about?” I said.
“That was a little insensitive, Ara,” Vicki butted in where she wasn’t welcome.
“What? So, I’m not allowed to ask how my friend, who was supposed to marry me, is feeling today?”
“We’re all aware this is hard for Mike, Ara, but it’s hard for Emily, too.” Vicki motioned to the front lawn through the window, where Emily sat with her face in her hands.
Vicki went back to the stove and Dad rose from his seat, placing the camera on the table in front of me. “You know, I’m not too good at running this thing. You never know what might be on it.”
Before I looked up from the camera, Dad disappeared out the front door. “Why are you staring at me?” I whispered spitefully to the palm-sized image catcher. I wonder what Dad meant by You never know what might be on it. Is there something on this thing he wants me to see?
I looked over at Vicki, then back at the object in question.
It’s supposed to be bad luck to see the groom before the wedding—mind you, tradition didn’t help with my other wedding.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” I said to the camera, snaffling it under my shirt and bolting up the stairs.
Okay. On button. I know where that is.
The camera bleeped, the small screen lighting up as I closed my bedroom door with my ankle and flopped onto the bed. Several thumbnails showed images of the setup outside, Vicki’s face, Skittles, Sam and then a grainy, dark room, with two figures in the frame, the image at an acute angle, as if it was filmed half upside down; the zipper in the foreground a giveaway that Dad left the camera on top of the bag.
With a shaky finger, I pressed play. A static rushing made it hard to hear the voices, but David’s smooth tones rose above it all.
“This must be hard for you,” he said, and I think he placed his hand on Mike’s shoulder. The bright morning sun dominated the background, turning the boys into silhouettes. The taller guy looked down and nodded; I pressed my finger to the screen and the volume increased.
Mike chuckled. “Understatement.”
