Just One of the Guys(106)

“You know very well I’m not divorcing Mark,” she says. “In fact, I might as well tell you, I’m pregnant.”

The car swerves to the right as Mom and I shriek. “Lainey! That’s wonderful!”

She blushes. “Yeah, well, he’s a new man and all that, you know? So maybe a girl this time.”

Mom is dabbing tears. “I’m so happy, Elaina, sweetheart,” she says, hugging Lainey tight.

I am, too, and if a flame of envy is dancing in my heart, well, I’m pretty used to it.

“Oh, look, there’s the church!” Mom exclaims. “This is so exciting! I barely remember marrying Mike, I was so sick with Jack.”

“Jack’s a bastard? I knew it,” I comment. Sure, we kids did the math, but Mom and Dad never admitted it. They insisted that Jack (weighing in a nine pounds, twelve ounces) came two months early.

Men in suits wait for us, faces obscured in a sea of umbrellas. Some, no doubt, are my brothers. And Trevor. And Dad.

Jack helps me out of the car, as I am awkward in my long dress. “Lucky, why are you wearing a dress?” he asks. I flip him off cheerfully. “Sorry, Chas,” he amends, ushering me inside. “You clean up nice.”

“Thanks, Jack. How’s Dad?” I glance around. Dad is talking to Matt. Angela waves to me from a pew.

“Dad is eerily fine,” Jack answers.

“Chas, can you load this film for me?” Lucky asks. “I’m all thumbs.”

“Yet you defuse bombs for a living. How reassuring.” I take the proffered camera and do as I’m told.

Lucky laughs. “Put a dress on her and she’s all high and mighty. I like you better when you’re one of the guys.”

“Join the club,” I murmur, handing his camera back to him. “Here.”

“Hey, Chastity.”

I turn around. “Hi, Trevor.” I bite my lip. “You look very handsome.” And tired, and a little sad.

He smiles, but his eyes don’t join in. “You…that’s a nice dress.” He closes his eyes briefly, acknowledging the lameness of his compliment.

“Thanks,” I say, forgiving him.

He clears his throat. “Chastity, what’s your dad doing here?”

“Oh, you didn’t hear? He’s giving away the bride,” I say, forcing a smile.

His eyebrows bounce up in surprise. “Are you kidding me?” he asks too loudly.

“Trev! Over here, bud,” Mark calls from a front pew. Trevor hesitates.

“Go ahead,” I say. “I have bridesmaidy things to do.”

Still looking stunned, he walks toward the front of the church, glancing back at me. I shrug.

Mom bustles in behind me. “There you are!” she says, as if I were hiding. “Where’s your father?”

“Right here, Betty. Can I be the first to kiss the bride?” Dad smooches her cheek. “Don’t you look gorgeous,” he says, and he seems to mean it. He’s all Cary Grant today, smiling and debonair, good grace and manners. Mom grins up at him.

Seeing them smiling moonily at each other, I wait. Wait for Mom’s smile to fade in abrupt realization. Wait for her to make the announcement. To call it off. Wait for her to glance down the aisle at Harry, five foot seven—too old for her, too chubby—and then stare at my tall and handsome, strong and heroic father and realize that no one will ever fill Mike O’Neill’s shoes. To declare to everyone that true love has conquered, and she and Dad will stay together, happier than ever, till the day they die.

But she doesn’t. Instead, she adjusts my dad’s pin, a Maltese cross, the symbol of firefighters. Then she checks to see that all her granddaughters are in place, and they are, a shimmering mob of creamy pink satin. Sarah nods at the choir loft and walks down the aisle to where Jack and their boys are sitting. The organ starts playing, and the girls begin their march. First Sophie, strewing pink rose petals, then Olivia, her coppery curls bouncing. Then comes Annie, who is scowling at Luke as he tries to take her picture. Claire, holding baby Jenny, comes last. When they’re all seated in the front pews with their brothers and parents, it’s my turn.

I take one more look at my parents, together for the last time, arm in arm, smiling. Do it, Mom, I will her. She smiles at me as if she’s reading my mind. Being Mom, she probably is.

“Go on, honey,” she whispers.

So I do. Heart aching, I do.

Trevor is watching me as I make my way down the aisle. I hope I’m smiling, but I bet I’m not. I can’t seem to feel my face, actually. Trev looks…odd. Bleak. The way I feel.

Then I’m past him, already at the plain little altar.

“You look lovely, Chastity,” Harry whispers.

How can my mom be marrying a man I’ve only met four times? How can this guy be the one who will sit in my father’s chair?

Mom and Dad are right behind me. Dad kisses Mom’s cheek, shakes Harry’s hand, and I surreptitiously wipe away a tear. Dad turns away, and my throat slams shut. No, Daddy! Fight for her!

But Mom is beaming. Harry is beaming. Dad sits in the second row with Mark and Elaina, picks up Dylan and kisses his cheek, possibly, I think, to hide the tears in his eyes.

And then, without a lot of pomp or circumstance, my mother turns to Harold H. Thomaston and becomes his wife.