Chapter 15: Father of the Bride

“Remember to step off on your left foot.” Tiffany gripped my hand tightly as we waited in the side room off the church vestibule.

I managed not to laugh. She had every right to be completely distracted but reminding a retired master sergeant to step off with the left foot was pretty funny. I squeezed her hand. “You look beautiful, Tiffany.”

She gave a wan smile. “At least the morning sickness made sure I didn’t stress-eat too much.”

I did laugh at that. “Tara was afraid you’d have to get the dress taken in.”

She started to respond but stopped, taking a deep breath to steady herself as Marcus DeLuca formally gestured for us to take our places. I gave him a nod. His tuxedo was understated, just right to fit in without standing out. The only spark of color was a small gold lapel pin of a stylized grenade with seven flames. I recognized it from deployments in the Horn of Africa. La Légion étrangère. The French Foreign Legion.

I chuckled to myself. He had said he hadn’t always been a wedding planner.

The first notes of Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March” filled the air around us.

There was just enough time for us to straighten up before the enormous wooden doors slid open.

The slow, steady march down the huge aisle let me get a clear look at everything — streamers of navy-blue silk, trimmed in champagne, which looked suspiciously like pale gold to me, lining both sides, running from pew to pew, peaking at clusters of flowers. Eric and the groomsmen were to the right, opposite the bridesmaids running from a brilliantly smiling Tara, in her light blue dress, to the short figure of Delaney in dark blue. Delaney was mostly trying to mask her discomfort, occasionally shooting glances at Sheree.

This was supposed to be solemn; I was giving my daughter away. But I had to suppress a grin.

Just a couple of years ago, I’d known I would never have this. I’d already lost my daughters.

All the shit Charlotte had pulled, all the crap I’d fallen into. But over the last several months, I’d gotten my daughters back. I glanced at Delaney and saw a tiny smirk. Hell, I’d even gained one more, one that definitely took after me. I honesty had a hard time picturing giving her away at a wedding, though.

I may have smiled a little more than I was supposed to.

Charlotte was reasonably safe the entire ceremony. Delaney had exaggerated a bit, but Charli was definitely starting to look different; artificial and odd.

Tiffany and Tara had very carefully placed flower arrangements to separate us while they had ensured Sheree was seated next to me, just in case. My smart girls had matured into very smart women.

The ceremony flowed flawlessly from the opening to the kiss. I didn’t even feel like strangling Charlotte, and she actually seemed to be focused on something besides herself for once. She watched the proceedings with an introspective softness I hadn’t seen since before the divorce.

Sheree, on the other hand, watched joyfully, tears of happiness flowing. She gave me a little shrug and a tiny twist of a smile as she took my second handkerchief. The other one was already stuffed into her clutch, soaked.

Just before the recessional started, Sheree slipped out the far side of the pew and out toward the entrance. She hadn’t said anything to me, but Tara and Tiffany had leaned heavily on her for everything from getting invitations out to last-minute decorating, so I wasn’t particularly surprised. Much to my annoyance, that did leave me escorting Charlotte back down the aisle to the church entrance.

She pasted on a completely artificial smile as we walked out.

Tiffany and Eric waited in the antechamber as we passed on out so we could line up. I fell into line next to Sheree, who was smiling so broadly it had to hurt.

I glanced up and down the line. “Where’s Delaney?”

“She’ll be here in a moment; she’s takin’ care a’ some things.”

Before I even had time to ask anything, the new couple started down the steps to applause and cheers, under showers of the wild rice that had apparently replaced white rice at this church, in some kind of misplaced belief that rice could harm birds. I’d trekked through enough bird-filled rice paddies to be pretty sure that wasn’t an issue.

Throwing the rice was supposed to ensure fertility, or so I’d heard, but all things considered, that wasn’t going to be a problem.

Tiffany was glowing. I’d heard of that before, but I’d never really seen it, not like this. Eric looked like he was somewhere between ecstatic and terrified, but that was okay. It’d been a long time, but if I remembered right, that was how a groom was supposed to look.

Eric suddenly stumbled to a stop right in front of Sheree and me, staring past us. Tiffany caught his arm and looked at him with a brilliant smile.

I turned to look, but I already knew what was coming, just from the sound.

The streamers of flowers were new. I hadn’t seen them before. And the magnetic “Just Married” signs on the trunk and doors were new.

The smooth rumble of the Fury’s engine was pretty familiar, though, and the slight figure that popped out after the car slid to a smooth stop was clearly Delaney.

Sheree beamed, and I realized what she’d been up to. Delaney must have had help to quickly change from her bridesmaid dress to the black chauffeur’s uniform and hat she was wearing.

The best man, whose name I’d never really bothered to learn, stared open-jawed for a moment at the almost-blinding car; all bold red and flawless white and brilliant chrome. He shook his head at Tara. “Who lets her drive that?”

Tara laughed. “She does. She built it.”

Delaney very formally opened the passenger door and allowed the bride and groom to get seated before closing it, walking around and effortlessly pulled away.

The best man watched the Fury until it was gone. I was sure I heard a whimper from him. Marcus DeLuca stared after the car for a moment, standing behind the videographer. “Quite a remarkable young woman.”

Charlotte smiled with pride. “Of course she is; she was the top of her class at Chapel Hill Medical School.”

Marcus blinked laconically. “Oh yes. Tiffany. She is remarkable as well.”

Confusion flickered across Charlotte’s face, but she quelled it quickly and turned to talk to one of the innumerable guests I didn’t recognize.

Sheree hooked her arm through mine and guided me just a bit away from the crowd. “Delaney and Tiffany wanted that to be a surprise. Eric really loves old cars, so Tiffany thought that it’d be special. She’s taking them to the reception, then to their hotel near the airport afterwards so they can make their plane tomorrow.”

I shrugged. “Technically, she has a permit, so it’s legal until she leaves the airport.”

“She promised to go right back to the yard after she drops them off. She doesn’t want to take her baby down the rock road to the cabin. We’ll have to meet her there.”

“I like it, but that leaves an extra limousine.”

Sheree smiled. “Charlotte and her escort will take that smaller limousine; you and me, Tara and any of the bridesmaids who want to ride with us, get the big one.”

“You all do realize I’m not actually going to kill Charlotte during the wedding?”

“We know, but that woman pure aggravates the hell outta you, and she does it on purpose most of the time. Why give her the opportunity?”

The forty-five-minute ride to the Glenwyk Country Club hall was far more pleasant than expected.

Tara wedged herself next to Sheree, barely recognizable. Her usual cold-lawyer face was gone, replaced by an almost childlike joy for Tiffany. As far as I could remember, Tara was never the one with dreams of a big wedding, but I could see she was caught up in it, at least for now.

“Did you see Allen’s face when Delaney pulled up?” She shook her head, laughing.

La’ketha leaned over and grabbed her hand. “I thought he was gonna cry.” She looked up at Sheree. “That was a great idea.”

Sheree gave me a tiny smile and a “you caught me” shrug before responding to La’ketha. “You said they were all gearheads, and I figured it’d go over well.”

Tara smiled. “I bet we don’t hear a lot of talk about their cars at the reception.”

“Talk about a cool car they bought when there’s a fifteen-year-old girl in the room who completely rebuilt a classic car from the ground up? I don’t think so.” La’ketha laughed with evil glee.

Cocktail hour was a cover for the photographer to take the wedding pictures, so I was pretty glad I’d paid for the open bar at the Glenwyk. It kept the guests busy and out of trouble.

I drank ginger ale. Alcohol hadn’t been my real problem, and I would certainly toast the bride and groom with a sip of champagne, but there was no point in taking any real chances.

Sheree had been kidnapped by Tara as soon as we stepped out of the limo; she needed help wrangling the people for pictures.

Much to my amusement, Delaney found herself explaining how she’d restored her baby to a respectful audience of rapt groomsmen. She was a little hesitant at first, but once they asked her a couple of technical questions, she warmed to it and was soon drawing diagrams on napkins.

After the toasts and speeches, and after being served a remarkably edible meal, I found myself seated between Charlotte and Sheree. I was also seated directly across the table from the governor’s wife.

The governor was making professionally meaningless small talk with Charlotte. He droned on and on, laughing at his own jokes, with his perfect plastic hair and perfect flawless tux.

Tuning him out was relatively simple. The governor’s wife was a slightly different problem. An elegant, older woman with short silver hair and a smile that would have seemed placid but for a slight wry twist, she used it on me very precisely. “Charlotte says that you and she are on remarkably good terms despite the divorce.”

I felt Sheree grip my leg tightly, and she leaned forward. “Les is really dedicated to his kids. He’s always put them first, you know.”

“That’s all too rare these days, isn’t it?” The governor’s wife shifted over to Sheree. “Charlotte told me you were a dancer at one time?”

Sheree gripped me harder but smiled evenly. “It was a long time ago. I just got too old.”

“Really? Competitive ballroom or stage?”

Sheree only hesitated for a second. “Stage, I guess. Exotic.”

The governor’s wife gave her a completely honest smile. “Well, you certainly still have the figure for it.” She leaned forward, and stage whispered. “I thought about doing that when I was in college.” She shot Sheree a wink and a knowing smile.

Sheree relaxed her grip a bit. Whether or not the governor’s wife was serious or just using long-practiced political skills, she’d certainly gained points as far as I was concerned.

The governor’s wife made adept small talk for the next several minutes, and I was beginning to suspect she was probably the reason for the governor’s success.

Just as I was sure I had identified the tune the band was playing, a familiar crawl flashed up my spine. I turned instinctively, switching my ginger ale to my left hand by reflex. I knew that feeling, that cold hiss of warning, the feeling of an approaching ambush.

A square-cut guy in his thirties stopped abruptly about eight feet away. He cocked his head slightly, glancing sideways at an older man talking animatedly with Charlotte.

His right foot shifted back, and I saw his hand twitch toward his hip. He paused and slowly forced his hand down.

“Not a good idea. Too many witnesses, and I’m just standing here.” I took a sip.

He nodded slowly.

I waited until he relaxed. “Who are you?”

“Nobody, really. Just the judge’s security.” I could see him forcing himself to relax.

“Let me guess. Judge Knowlton.”

He gave a slight, cynical smile. “You have a minute?”

“Sure. Let’s get out of the way so people can enjoy themselves.” I walked out onto the balcony and stood at the railing. “What do I call you?”

“Keller.” He followed, staying well back. He eyed the medals on my tux. “It’s even more impressive in person than on paper.”

“Let me guess; you’ve seen my records. I’m starting to think they’re giving them out in cereal boxes.”