Chapter 5 - The Processional
I didn't drive away.
Instead, I drove my truck around to the back of the estate, parked near the maintenance sheds, and walked back up through the maple trees toward the stone chapel.
By 11:00 AM, the chapel was packed. One hundred and seventy-six people—our family members, college friends, coworkers, and neighbors—sat in quiet reverence beneath towering stained-glass windows depicting coastal scenes of Newport.
I had slipped in through the heavy side door just as the prelude music ended. I didn't wear a tuxedo; I wore a dark charcoal suit, a crisp white shirt, and no tie. I stood quietly near the back pillar, half-shadowed by stone archways, completely unnoticed by the congregation whose eyes were fixed on the double oak doors at the front.
Then the string quartet struck up the opening chords of the processional we had chosen together six months ago.
The heavy oak doors swung wide open.
Sunlight poured through the stained-glass windows, catching the floating dust motes and illuminating the aisle in a golden glow.
And there she was.
Claire Bennett looked breathtaking. Her ivory lace dress hugged her figure perfectly, trailing a cathedral-length veil behind her. Her father Richard held her arm proudly, beaming at the crowd. Her mother Diane was already weeping softly in the front pew, clutching a lace handkerchief.
And Claire smiled.
Not nervously. Not apologetically.
She smiled like she had won.
She believed I had surrendered. She believed my aversion to conflict had won out, that I had swallowed my pride, put on a smile, and decided to play my assigned role in her grand theatrical production.
She walked down the long aisle, step by step, her eyes scanning the pews until they locked onto the front altar where I was supposed to be standing.
When she realized the altar was empty, her triumphant smile faltered for a fraction of a second. But she kept walking, assuming I was simply stepping out for a moment, or waiting by the minister's side just out of sight.
May you like
She reached the front row. Her father lifted her hand, turning to place it into mine.
Except there was no hand to take.
