“Ingrid’s nothing like Mum,” I say, toying with a small string that hangs from my sleeve. “The opposite, really.” It makes me quite sad to think of my beloved mother looking down on this mess. She really must be disappointed in old Frank. I know I am.
“And a good thing,” my father says. “Your mum and I … never a good match.”
I laugh but without humor. “You can say that again.”
“Son, I know you don’t hold me in the highest regard, but I was always honest with your mum. She knew who I was and what I was about. She never held that against me.”
“Doesn’t make how you treated her right or decent.” I feel like a child again, sad for my mum and angry at my father for making her feel like less of a person because she didn’t fit into his idea of what a wife of a man like him should be. She was one hundred times the person he is. Even now, I love her ten times more than I could ever love him. Perhaps that makes me a bastard, but it’s the truth.
My father shrugs. “People grow older. They change. Sometimes they change and grow together, sometimes they change and grow apart. That’s the way life is. I wasn’t responsible for your mother’s happiness. That was entirely up to her.”
I cannot answer him. To do so would be to say the things he’s needed to hear for going on twenty years, and those kinds of conversations are better kept for non-wedding days. Making that decision to keep my thoughts to myself, I feel the warmth and wisdom that was my mother’s domain seep into my bones. It makes me think that she really is here, guiding me. My father is right about one thing; my mother never did hold his actions against him. She loved him until the day she left us for bluer skies.
As I’m trying to think of a more neutral topic to discuss while we wait for the signal that the bride is ready, a commotion outside the door takes my attention. I’m glad for the distraction. Deep emotional topics and my father do not mix well. I’m already feeling a little bit feverish.
My father ceases his grooming and turns towards the door. “Find out what that is, will you?” He mumbles some harsh language before going back to his reflection.
By the time I get across the room and to the door, it’s clear this isn’t just a matter of guests arriving and greeting one another. Someone is yelling.
“Ingrid?” my father says, striding across the room.
I pull the door open and enter the hallway, taking several steps down it and around a corner until I’ve reached the balcony that looks over the front foyer. I’m gobsmacked at what I see. My father stops just next to me.
Edward is there, trying to push his way through a crowd of people, and Ingrid is hitting him over the head with a bouquet of flowers. Petals are flying everywhere.
“Oy, lay off me, ya bloody slag!” Edward yells.
I’m both shocked and entertained by the idea that my dolt of a brother has not only crashed the wedding everyone expected him to avoid, but he’s also managed to call his future step-mother a slut in her own home. Brilliant. I knew I could count on him.
“Edward!” I yell, giving him something to home in on.
“What is the meaning of this?!” yells my father, his voice ringing in my eardrums long after he’s done shouting.
“I want him out of here!” Ingrid screeches. “Out! Do you hear me! Take him out!”
“Not bloody likely!” Edward yells, letting himself out of his jacket to escape the well-meaning guests trying to keep him from getting upstairs. They are left holding it, empty of its wearer, as he takes the steps two at a time in our direction. He’s wearing his white shirt and bow tie with suspenders holding his trousers up, and he does look dashing, I must admit, even with the tattered flower petals littered throughout his hair.
“Frank! Don’t you dare talk to him!” Ingrid shouts, holding up the bottom of her dress so she can also mount the stairs in a hurry.
Edward reaches the top of the staircase breathing hard, but he doesn’t stop there. He rounds the corner and grabs both my father and me by the sleeves. “Come on, then. In you go.” He shoves us ahead of him and into my father’s study, several doors down from the bedroom.
My father and I stumble into one another as Edward turns and slams the door shut behind us, locking it soundly in place.
Moments later there’s a banging and screaming just outside, but Edward ignores it completely. He puts his hands on his hips and grins hugely. “Sorry I’m late. Did I miss anything?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Jennifer
I’M STANDING OUT IN THE back yard admiring the roses that are everywhere and the fact that Ingrid somehow put together a wedding in mere days, when the sounds of a crazy woman start coming through the back doors leading out onto the terrace. Crowds of people standing around are filled with their murmuring voices as everyone tries to figure out what’s going on.
I quickly step over to one of the people hired to work the wedding. “What’s going on?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I have no idea. Some woman is going nuts in there, though, sounds like.”
Time to investigate. I hate that I have these stupid strappy heels on. I have to take every step very carefully so I don’t slip and bust my ass on the marble floors.
When I get to the foyer, I find everyone looking up.
“What’s going on?” I ask a teenager who’s standing there smiling.
“Dude … the bride just totally went nuts on this guy and they ran upstairs.”
“Is that her yelling?” I ask. The sound of the voice is familiar but definitely has an unhinged quality to it.
“Yeah, man. Whoa. She’s wicked pissed.”
I push through the onlookers to reach the stairs.
“I’m not sure you should go up there,” a large guy says, blocking my way. He looks like a bodyguard.
“I’m definitely sure you shouldn’t try to stop me,” I say, looking down at my belly for emphasis.
He steps to the side. “It’s your funeral.”
I hiss at him as I pass him by. Idiot. As if a cranky bridezilla is any match for me. I’m practically a mom now. I am fearless.
I’m huffing and puffing with the exertion of climbing all those stairs in heels. Following the sounds of door-pounding down the hall and around a corner, I find what I’m looking for — Ingrid standing outside a room, having a fit. She has the skeleton of a bouquet hanging from her hand, most of the petals from the flowers gone. Many of them litter the ground around her.
“Edward, I swear to God, I will end you,” she says, trying to both shout and be discreet at the same time. “I will end you, do you hear me!” She pauses, notching her voice down to something near pleading. “Frank, don’t listen to anything he says, okay, babe? Please, just give me a chance to explain. Let’s talk. Let me in, sweetie.”
My mouth goes into the shape of an O as realization settles in. Ingrid’s been a baaaaad girl, apparently. Holy shit. Talk about drama. I’ve never been to a wedding like this before.
Ingrid turns around and catches me standing there staring at her with my eyes bugging out.
“What are you doing here?” she asks.
I try to act all casual, like I didn’t just hear what I heard. “Just coming up to see what’s wrong. You okay?”
She turns to face me fully. “This is all your fault.”
“All my fault? What are you talking about? What’d I do?” Now I’m just confused. And a little scared. Ingrid looks like she’s ready to strangle someone. Maybe me.
She takes a few steps in my direction, her eyes narrowing to slits. “Everything was going just fine until you showed up. Everything.”
I take a few steps back. I don’t like the way she’s suddenly so focused on me. I’m getting that poisonous viper feeling from her again. One of my hands goes to my belly and the other towards the wall as I teeter on my heels trying to reverse down the carpeted space.
“Ingrid, today is your wedding day. I know you’re majorly stressed, and I get that, believe me, I do. How about you and me go downstairs an
d have some champagne while we wait for the guys to catch up? Edward’s been gone a long time, and I’m sure he has a lot to talk about with Frank and William.”
Her voice comes out as a growl and a crazy scream all mixed together. “He told you?!”
I put my hand on the railing, almost to the top of the stairs now. “Told me what? No, I haven’t talked to Edward at all.”
“You’re a liar,” she says, walking faster. “A liar!”
Her hands come out towards me and there’s blood in her eyes.
I turn to avoid her and my heel catches in the deep carpet fibers.
A collective gasp comes from all the people down below, but I have no time to appreciate what’s happening. I’ve lost my balance and my weight is shifting down.
Down, down, down.
I scream as I feel myself tipping backward, past the point of no return and unable to stop gravity from taking over.
All I can think about is my baby and what is about to happen to him…
CHAPTER TWELVE
William
“NO, YOU HAVEN’T MISSED ANYTHING, you bloody arsehole,” I say, looking from Edward to my father. “What’s the meaning of showing up like this, getting everyone in an uproar?”
Edward is still grinning, acting the fool. “You know I always like to make an entrance.” He shifts his gaze to my father. “However, this time, that was not my intention.”
A very inelegant snort of disbelief leaves me. “Unbelievable.”
Our father sighs. “Son, obviously you have something to say, so say it. I haven’t the time for the drama today. I’m to be married.”
Edward moves over to my father’s desk. “You might want to take a look at this before you do the dreaded deed.” He busies himself with turning on our father’s computer.
“What is that?” my father asks as the bright light of hope begins to shine in my chest. I envision my brother standing there in blue tights with a red cape. Super Edward, to the rescue!
“Yes, brother, what is it?” I move to stand at his side, trying to keep the glee from my voice. This is going to be better than Christmas morning. I think. Please let Edward not have cocked this up too.
“Just a little home movie I made. An amateur production to be sure, but I believe it will get the point across.” He clicks twice on the icon for the file he has brought on a thumb drive.
“What is it?” our father asks, coming over to stand at Edward’s other side.
Edward sounds like a museum docent when he replies. “Please save all your questions for the end.” He turns the monitor so my father can see it more clearly.
The image starts out grainy but then becomes clearer as the camera-person behind the lens makes some adjustments. We are staring at a bedroom in a hotel.
“I recognize that,” I say, pointing to a hideous lampshade. “That’s your hotel room in Scotland.”
Edward puts an arm around me and pulls me into a side-embrace. “Well done, brother. Gold star for you.”
I elbow him off me. “Fuck off.” I say it with the fondest of emotions filling my heart.
“Why are we watching your empty hotel bed?” our father asks. I believe he, like I, has an inkling of the answer, but he’s playing the fool, pretending things are not happening that actually are.
“Wait for it …” Edward sounds positively gleeful.
There’s a sound we can hear on the video over the ruckus Ingrid is still causing outside the office. It’s a knocking at a door, presumably the one leading into the hotel room.
There’s a short conversation that follows and some rustling sounds before two figures appear in the frame. One is wearing a suit and the other a gown. They are kissing passionately and then falling to the bed together.
“What is the meaning of this?” our father says, sounding very agitated. “Did you call me in here to watch a skin flick mere minutes from my wedding?”
Edward goes very sober. “Father, this is not an impromptu bachelor party. Watch and see.”
The three of us go silent as does Ingrid outside the door, making it very easy to hear what’s happening in the movie. “Edward, you are so bad,” says this woman. This woman with long legs, blond hair, and a face very much like the woman my father is about to marry.
“I hear that’s how you like it,” Edward says, pulling roughly at the woman’s dress at the shoulder. It tears and she slaps him.
“Watch the dress. Frank bought it for me and he’ll wonder what happened to it.”
I feel sick for my father, but I cannot look at him. I do not want him to see me pitying him.
“Fuck the old man,” Edward says to her. “You came here for me, now I expect you to follow through.” Edward grabs her and kisses her hard on the mouth. “You’ve been after me for months. Time to stop playing games and put out what you’ve been offering.”
“And here I thought I was being so cool about it,” she says, breathless.
“You’re not cool about anything, Ingrid. You’re a bloody whore and we both know it. Stop wasting our time by pretending otherwise.”
She slaps Edward on the face and he grabs her wrist. They stare each other down.
I, and I assume my father as well, wait for the reprimand that never comes from her lips.
“I love it when you call me a whore,” she says, smashing her mouth to his, making me think for a moment that her jaw is about to become unhinged so she can swallow him whole.
No one’s hitting anyone anymore as they become more involved in their … lovemaking or whatever one calls this horrible mash-up of jealousy, deceit, and rage. I cannot be lovemaking. No … it’s more like … revengemaking.
She looks as though she’s enjoying it, though, regardless of what it is. It would be impossible to deny, even by my besotted father, based on the sounds she’s making and the parts of my brother she’s taking in hand. Within less than a minute they’re both mostly undressed and all over one another on the bed. I have to look away, lest an image be burned into my brain that will torture me for all of eternity.
“Shut it off,” my father says, his voice beaten down and very old-sounding. “Just … turn it off. I’ve seen enough.”
“But wait,” Edward says, sounding too happy, “you’ll miss the part where she gets on her knees and …”
Edward never gets the words out.
My father brings a right hook around so quickly, neither of us sees it coming. I didn’t even know the old man had it in him.
Edward’s head snaps back and then he falls into me, sending us both to the floor in a pile of limbs.
Our father stands over us, wheezing with obvious anger and pain. “Get up,” he says in a voice rough with anguish. “Get off the fucking floor so I can kill you with my bare hands.”
I’m scrambling to get out from under my brother when I hear a scream come from beyond the door, out in the hallway.
And I’d know that distress call anywhere.
“Jennifer!” I shout, crawling to my feet and stumbling towards the door.
Screams of dismay and fright reach my ears as I wrench the door open. I get to the open part of the hallway just as the peach-colored mass of frothy material is settling on one of the lower steps.
The world stops spinning in that moment, I am convinced of it. Time stands still as I take in everything: Ingrid standing at the top of the stairs, a shocked expression on her face; the people below, some of them with hands over their mouths in surprise; a large man bending over with hands outstretched; Jennifer, lying in a heap, not moving, on the third step from the bottom of the staircase.
I cannot breathe. I cannot hear anything but a loud ringing in my ears. I feel as though I’m going to vomit.
“Noooooo!” I cry as I fly down the stairs to reach her.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Jennifer
“BEDREST. ONE WEEK, AT LEAST. After that we’ll see how she’s doing and let you know if she can get up and move around normally.”
The doctor c
licks his pen and slides it into his breast pocket.
“Thank you very much, doctor,” William says, “not only for your care but also your willingness to allow Jennifer to recuperate at home. I didn’t know that doctors made housecalls in the United States.”
“We don’t,” he says, not sounding all that pleased to be admitting it. “But your father can be very convincing when he wants to be.”
William clears his throat, like he’s embarrassed. “Yes. Well. I can understand what you mean. Not many people feel comfortable saying no to Frank Stratford.”
“I’ll be back in three days.” The doctor is looking at me now. “You have a home health nurse who will be in twice a day to check your vitals and view the tape from your monitor. Call me on this number if anything unusual happens.” He hands William a business card with a phone number written in ink on the back.
“Unusual?” William frowns. “I’m not sure I’m qualified to make that diagnosis. What would be considered unusual?”
“Contractions. Sharp pains. Loss of consciousness.”
William’s Adam’s apple goes up and down several times as he swallows over and over.
“Don’t worry,” the doctor says, patting him on the shoulder. “You’ll be fine. I have every confidence she’ll come through without a hitch.”
I smile as William and the doctor walk out the door. Within seconds I’m half asleep again. Ever since my fall down the stairs at Frank’s house yesterday I’ve done nothing but sleep. I just want all of this awfulness to go away, and sleep helps me fast-forward through it.
William walks back in the room a little while later, a mug in his hand.
“Hi,” I say, sounding as groggy as I feel.
“Hello, my darling.” He sets the mug down. “How are you feeling?” Sitting on the side of the bed, he reaches out and strokes my hair, being careful not to touch the bump near the back of my scalp.
“Poopy.”
“Hmmm … poopy. That doesn’t sound good at all, does it?” He leans down towards the floor and comes back up with one of my slippers in his hand. “Perhaps these will make you feel better.”