Burn (Pure #3)(78)

For now, he feels alone, cut off.

Caged up.

As the tailor is bustling around him, Beckley walks in. “Getting all gussied up, I see.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m getting married,” he says to Beckley, half statement, half question.

“Does Iralene know?” Beckley says, joking. But the joke falls flat. He’s marrying the wrong girl, after all.

Partridge steps away from the tailor and says to Beckley, “Anything?” knowing Beckley will understand that he’s asking about Lyda. It’s always the first thing he asks.

“No,” Beckley says. “You’ve got to cut her some slack, right? It can’t be easy.”

“She was the one who pushed it,” Partridge says, his voice hushed. He hasn’t heard from her in so long now that he can’t help but think she’s punishing him—or is she having doubts? Then it hits him. “You don’t think she talked me into this because she wanted to get rid of me, do you? I mean, maybe even subconsciously?” Partridge refuses to whisper in front of the tailor, sick of all the secrecy.

“I don’t know how my own subconscious works, much less hers.”

The tailor coughs politely to get Partridge’s attention. He’s holding the jacket on its wooden hanger. Partridge lifts his hand, telling him to hold on.

“So you think it’s possible? She didn’t come back with me into the Dome. I wanted her to. I begged her. But then she said she surrendered herself to get back in, so I thought…well, I thought she changed her mind. But now maybe she’s changed it back.”

“You two are having a child together. That’s a bond that lasts forever.”

“It makes us parents, Beckley. It doesn’t mean we’re in love.” His own parents fell out of love. He figures it happens to most couples. His parents had stayed married even though his father knew that his wife had fallen in love with Imanaka and had his child. Partridge steps over to the tailor, pulls the jacket from the hanger, and shrugs it on. “Love doesn’t last. It’s not permanent.” He feels sick, yanks the jacket a little to make it feel less confining. “And now it’s my goddamn wedding day.”

“You should try to enjoy it,” Beckley says.

Partridge looks at his reflection. He’s a fake, an imposter. “How am I supposed to enjoy it? If Lyda still loves me, this will hurt. If she doesn’t, then what’s worse than that?”

“Do you mean that?” Beckley says.

The tailor flips up the collar of his shirt and starts tying the bow tie. Partridge nods. “Of course I mean it.”

“What if you let Lyda talk you into marrying Iralene because it’s what you wanted—you know, subconsciously, as you put it.”

“Don’t tell me about my subconscious!” Partridge is suddenly furious. Now that he’s caged up, his anger flares quickly.

Beckley shrugs. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to throw your own logic back at you.”

Partridge stares at Beckley a moment. There’s something about him that’s different from other people in the Dome. Beckley has these moments when he just has to be honest—as if he can’t help it.

“What?” Beckley says.

The tailor is cinching the cummerbund around Partridge’s waist.

“I refused to pick a best man,” Partridge says. In fact, Purdy and Hoppes handed him a binder of appropriate best men, and he slammed the binder shut and told them to shove off. “But maybe I was wrong.”

“You’re not thinking…”

“No one gives me shit the way you do, Beckley. And that’s what friends do.” He thinks of Hastings back when they were roommates. They always shot back and forth at each other. And then there was Bradwell, who always put Partridge in his place, and El Capitan, who wasn’t always the nicest guy, but he spoke his mind. “Will you do it?”

“I think you’re supposed to pick someone from your…well, your own social class.”

“Here’s the added benefit. Choosing you will piss off a few people from that class.”

“I don’t know…”

“Look, you have to stand next to me as my guard anyway. You might as well have something real to do while you’re up there. You just have to hand me a ring, I think. You can handle that, right?”

“I think there’s a toast too. I have to get up and say something.”

“Just say, To the lovely couple! Raise your glasses! Cheers! That’s all it takes.”

“Why not someone else?”

“Like who? Weed? You think his jaw has healed up? Is he able to chew solid food again?”

“I guess that wouldn’t be the best pick.”

“It’s you, Beckley. So let’s get you suited up, okay? If anyone asks, you can say you’re just following orders.” He holds out his hand and Beckley shakes it. As he lets go of Beckley’s hand, he says, “This is still good for the people, right? I’d just like to hear someone say it.”

“It’s good for the people,” Beckley says. “They need this.”

“I know.” He feels nervous all of a sudden. It’s his wedding—sham and all. He’s got to do this right. His father’s not here—he killed his father. Killed him. But now he needs someone to give him advice. Isn’t that what a young man needs on his wedding day? He puts on his shoes. “I need to see Glassings.”