

### Trying the Knot

by Todd Erickson

Copyright 2013 Todd Erickson

Smashwords Edition

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Electronic adaptation by www.StunningBooks.com

The Eighties are dead! And maybe a bridesmaid too. At the dawn of the Nineties, six recent college grads reunite for a hometown wedding. On the eve of the ceremony, the bride's stepsister sleeps with the groom and then overdoses on pills. Getting hitched without a hitch? Not likely, for this crew.

Table of Contents

chapter 1

chapter 2

chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

chapter 6

chapter 7

chapter 8

chapter 9

chapter 10

chapter 11

chapter 12

chapter 13

chapter 14

chapter 15

chapter 16

chapter 17

chapter 18

chapter 19

chapter 20

chapter 21

chapter 22

About the Author

chapter one

part i – stray

Labor Day Weekend, 1991

As the morning sun infiltrated the room, Nick forged toward semi-consciousness. In his torn, grass-stained underwear, he languished in the heat. Too exhausted to draw the blinds, let alone crack a window, he shielded his eyes from the sunlight with the crook of his one arm draped across his face. The room reeked of stale beer and cigarette smoke. While growing up, the air had been thick with the sweaty smell of rambunctious adolescence, but now he was an invading stranger in this bedroom that had incubated him into adulthood. The September air was as stagnant and suffocating as a forgotten fallout shelter.

In the distance, a telephone blared incessantly. Scratching his chest, he automatically reached to turn off an alarm clock that was no longer there. He peeled open his eyes, pried his tongue from the roof of his mouth and recoiled. It was as if the sunrise had reversed the hands of time, and he was back in high school; imagining his parents upstairs in their twin beds mortified his newly minted adult sensibility.

Provoked beyond the threshold of his hung-over patience, he rolled out of bed and searched for the cordless phone that had disappeared into the cluttered recesses of his past. Kneeling on the hardwood floor, he steadied himself using an old desk where a few small game skulls had found their eternal resting spot alongside the hunting knife he used to disembody them. He had long ago abandoned these dusty mementos of his boyhood. Positioned near the phone jack, he reeled in the cord as if it were a fishing line. He used to employ this trick hourly during the height of his teenage popularity. To his dismay, he retrieved only half a phone.

"Damned cordless fucker," Nick raged under his breath. He kicked a suitcase full of soiled clothes across the floor. To his pained surprise, his foot found the telephone. His head throbbed and stomach churned as he hobbled around on one foot trying not to put any pressure on his sore toe. He was so dehydrated it was hard to breathe.

Attempting to grab the blaring phone, Nick capsized in a dizzy whirl spin and landed near a broken stereo topped with a few sticky cassette tapes. Although his shoulder felt all one hundred eighty-five pounds of his hearty frame, he managed a cordial, though albeit agitated, "Good morning."

The line went dead.

He hurled the demonic instrument and winced when it bounced off the knotty pine paneled wall. The impact caused a rifle leaning forever in a corner to fall in his direction. Not two minutes later, his muddled brain was once again besieged by penetrating screeches. He scrunched his brow and crawled across the hardwood floor, which felt like broken glass.

This awakening was more harrowing than when his sister used to stumble home in the middle of the night and fart in his slumbering face. Nanette was perhaps the most beautiful female specimen Portnorth had ever produced, but she considered small town beauty a curse. Her only compensation was indulging in shockingly crude behavior generally overlooked by an adoring public. Throughout their formative years at every twisted turn, Nick's easy-going nature was the perfect foil to thwart his sister's subversive disposition.

Elbows digging into his knees, he eased himself onto the edge of the unmade bed and stroked his naked pecs, which he often wore like an indelible fashion accessory. Defeated, he ran a hand through his sandy brown hair and said amicably defeated, "Again, good morning."

"Oh, thank God," she trailed off as her voice wavered distressed. "Something awful has happened, Nick."

"What is it?"

"It's just terrible." Kate's sobs made it impossible for her to continue.

Bracing himself, he wondered what mishap could have rendered his bride-to-be so inconsolable on the eve of their wedding day. Awaiting her to regain composure, he thought maybe the DJ had backed out, or the caterers quit, or her dress was ruined.

"It's okay, Katie, honey, whatever it is, can be fixed. We'll just work around it," he said as if their wedding cake had merely slipped out of the hatch of her aunt's station wagon.

As if reading his thoughts, she replied, "No, it's nothing like that. This is serious. So very awful."

"Well, what is it then?"

Something so awful she could not utter the words. "I don't understand why, why she would do a thing like this."

"Do what, who did what?"

"It's so senseless."

Growing alarmed, but also intrigued, he inquired, "Honey, what're you talking about? What's going on?"

Her whimpers of distress digressed into full-fledged sobs, and mounting dread seized his entire being. While she attempted to speak, his mind raced over the events that had transpired last night. Finally, he asked, "Where are you?"

"I-I'm, oh, God, at the hospital."

"The where?"

"The hospital, Nick, we're all at the hospital."

"Is my dad or mom working in the ER?"

Unable to form words, Kate passed the phone to whomever she was with, and Nick hoped it was his father, or mother.

"Nicholas, it's me," Chelsea said with curt authority. "A bridesmaid has tried to kill herself."

"What?"

"It's Evangelica."

"Huh?" he asked in disbelief.

"It's Vange, she's in a coma. Get ready, because Benjamin and Thaddeus are on the way to pick you up."

Thinking how obnoxious Chelsea was with her way of calling everyone by their full names, he asked dumbfounded, "Chels, why the hell –

Misinterpreting the direction of his inquiry, she cut him off. "Because Katherine's a total mess, near hysterical. That's why, Nicholas. Your dad wants her to take a Valium, but she refuses." Before slamming down the phone, she added reluctantly, "We need your help, so get your ass here A-S-A-P."

To the dead line, he muttered, "Uptight bitch."

Not exactly a pacifist, but in many ways a human pacifier, Nick despised all forms of tension. Generally, his mere presence was enough to quell even the most disharmonious situations, but Chelsea was too wound up for him to work his magic.

Sitting on the edge of his boyhood bed, he shook his head unbelievingly. Feeling an upward surge in his gut, he cradled his abdomen, which gurgled with the fermenting remnants of last night's party. He collapsed backward onto the down-filled comforter and rubbed his hands over his face. Shutting his dry eyes, he scratched his testicles with such intensity it seemed as if he had discovered a new hangover cure.

Lying on his back in his underwear, his stomach convulsed. He had inherited his nurse mother's tendency to put on weight while his sister was as reed thin as their doctor father. When his midsection accrued unwanted flab, he merely jogged the excess padding away unlike his mom, who packed on the pounds in order to repel his fitness fanatic dad.

Before long, Nick found himself kneeling in front of the toilet. He repeatedly heaved until his insides erupted with such force the regurgitated booze and bile splashed back at him. Shakily, he mopped the puke-polluted toilet water from his face. He remained on his knees clad in his vomit-splattered, grass-stained underwear, until well after the bile and booze was expelled from his stomach.

What the hell was she thinking?

Nick assured himself Vange's alleged suicide attempt had nothing whatsoever to do with him, or with what transpired between them last night. They had hooked-up for old time's sake. He and Vange had a twisted sort of relationship, they were merely old friends who fooled around occasionally. Nothing more needed to be said. Screwing outside the tavern was just as natural an occurrence as all the other times when they had too much to drink, run out of conversation, and found themselves conveniently alone. There was no reason not to let it happen, he rationalized; after all, he was not married yet. Hell, the ring would not be on his finger until tomorrow.

"Damn her," he muttered to the puke-filled toilet.

It was positively creepy she would pull a stunt like this on the day before his wedding to her own stepsister. He had no inkling as to how she landed in a coma, but last night he had intervened to prevent her from drinking herself senseless. He surmised this alleged suicide attempt had to have been an unfortunate accident. Just maybe, he thought, she inadvertently wound up comatose when the alcohol flooding her system collided with a miscalculated dose of sleeping pills. It happened all the time; it even happened to his mother once. His dad told him about it long after the fact, at about the same time they were speculating whether or not she was a closeted lesbian.

Despite his limited access to the most vague details, he reasoned it had to have been an overdose. Vange was not the kind of person to slit her wrists and watch herself die – she could not sit still long enough. And her legendary vanity rendered any sort of disfigurement out of the question, which meant drowning, jumping or hanging were not an option. He could not imagine her fashioning a noose and trying the knot.

Rubbing his eyes, Nick hacked up the phlegm lodged in the back of his throat and regretted having smoked so many cigarettes. Thad kept handing them to him for lack of anything to say. Kneeling before the toilet, he could still smell the traces of her perfume on his bare chest.

In the moonlight, her pallid shoulders shone luminescent while her sad eyes flickered, ablaze with determination. Leaning against the tavern, she tossed an empty plastic cup in the bushes and lit a joint before handing it to him. "Here, you might as well indulge in a few vices before you're taken into captivity."

He took a hit of the weed. Being with her seemed more clandestine now that they were practically related. They had not hooked up since before Kate's father married Vange's mother. Leaning against the tavern, he arched his back and closed his eyes in anticipation. She rolled herself onto him and snarled seductively before chewing open the buttons of his shirt. She littered his chest with kisses until her teeth found his left nipple. He dropped the joint on the ground where it smoldered, wafting between them like incense. As she wrapped her heart-shaped mouth expertly around him, he doubled over in ecstasy, thinking he was being swallowed up into heaven.

As she stood up, he palmed her breasts and hiked her short dress over the curves of her full hips. Reaching between her fleshy thighs, he pressed his wrist against the wetness he found there. As he cradled her buttocks with his open hands and lifted her until their mouths met, she wrapped her legs around him. Half naked and shivering with chilly nighttime desire, they fumbled to the piss-soaked earth. The sweetness of the fresh cut grass intermingled with the briny wet soil to concoct an intoxicating aphrodisiac.

As Nick thrust his way inside her, she recalled, "I saw your mom in church last week."

"What?"

"She only noticed me because I was wearing cashmere," Vange laughed.

"Could we please leave my mother out of this?" he asked perturbed, and she clutched his shoulders as he cupped her full breast in his large hand.

"Then this time make it last forever," she whispered, before twisting her tongue into his ear. A master at seizing the moment, she skillfully maneuvered her way on top without missing a beat.

As always, they relished every moment together. Sport fucking in the hinterlands was a recreational pastime that provided each of them with more of a charge than almost anything else. In fact, it was about the only thing they ever really had in common, besides their mutual disdain for team sports. Since high school graduation, he had evolved from an all-American jock into a medical student, and she had grown from a teen tart into a small town tramp. He was college educated, and she was a beauty school drop out. But at one time in the not-so-distant past, they had pursued a sexual charge from half the high school population. Their overblown reputations, his as a stud and hers for being a slut, were the culminating results of their efforts. Of course, most of their pursuits had amounted to furtive groping sessions in the dark, no doubt embellished or minimized by their respective dates.

Evangelica, despite her rather evangelical name, considered her reputation her birthright, as her mother was the local floozy; however, Nick found encouragement in his exploits from his father, who was inclined to take in frequent dips into the sullied waters of extra-marital gratification. For fear of bumping into one another with their respective dates, father and son once covertly juggled the family cottage between them. Their shared observation was getting them on the pier was a sign of a sure thing. Nick heard a rumor once his mother tossed one of his dad's mistresses off their docked pontoon boat into the lake. Vange, on the other hand, only ever heard rumors of her mother being a home-wrecker or occasionally a kept woman. Although it would never occur to Vange to compare seduction tips with her own mother, she had found herself sharing other things, mainly warding off the unwanted attention of more than one of her mother's suitors.

Taking his father's advice, Nick bagged most of the small town babes while they were in their prime because they tended to grow haggard too soon after high school graduation. In the ensuing years, since encountering the real world, most of his teen-aged conquests had descended into small town domesticity. Evangelica, of course, was the exception as it was her nature to break all the rules.

Last night's hookup with Vange replayed in his mind on an endless loop as if their drunken tryst in the dirt had lasted a mini-eternity. Flooded with such feelings of nostalgia, Nick nearly forgot his periodic one-night stand and future stepsister-in-law now lay comatose in the hospital.

Charging footsteps sounding on the stairs startled Nick upright. He cast Vange from his mind and left the bathroom to greet his two former high school buddies. In truth, he could count on two hands how many times he had spent with either Ben or Thad since high school. But as with most milestones in his life, his wedding was an opportunity to gather around fixtures from the past in order to measure exactly how far he had come along in life. Once reunited, it was as if nothing at all had changed in the past five years.

"What's the prognosis? She'll be okay, won't she?" he asked as he stepped into a pair of faded corduroys. With no answer forthcoming, Nick looked bewildered and asked, "How'd she do it?"

"Pills," Ben answered. He was too antsy to see the look of relief flash over Nick's face.

"So, it was an accident?"

"Not a chance, man. Your mom said she swallowed enough pills to drop an ox." Wrinkling his nose, Ben asked, "Hey, you going to shower, or what?"

"You think I should?"

Ben anxiously widened his dark almond eyes and tossed his longish black hair about as he shifted from side to side. The chain on his black leather coat rattled to the beat of his impatience. The word Substance was etched in faded letters on the back of the well-worn coat.

"Didn't you wear that back in high school?" Nick marveled as he searched for a shirt.

"Hey, what's wrong with my coat? You gave it to me!"

"Nothing was wrong with it, but it's the Nineties," Nick said. "Besides, I was ordered to get my ass to the hospital A-SAP."

"Chelsea," Ben said her name, and he twisted up his warring factions of Irish-Asian American features as if he had swallowed something foul, "is being a total snatch."

Half Irish and half Vietnamese, Ben was a simmering stew of multicultural diversity. The running joke was he was the melting pot personified. Regarded as a likable enough eccentric by Portnorth locals, he tried to assimilate by dressing more like a hick than even fourth generation natives, but his exotic appearance dashed any hopes he ever had of ever becoming an authentic, Grade-A local yokel. Although his antiquated leather jacket helped advance the cause, since it illustrated how out of touch he had become since moving back to Portnorth.

"How's Kate holding up?"

"She's hysterical," Ben answered, bouncing off the walls with hyper-kinetic energy.

"Stand still, will you?" Nick commanded. Ben was pacing, more like an expectant father than someone whose on-again off-again girlfriend lay in a coma. "You're making my head spin."

"Drink too much?" Thad asked. Underweight and ambiguously bland, he stood blocking the doorway uncharacteristically rigid and uncompromising.

"Something like that," Nick answered. One look into Thad's downcast eyes and Nick realized his probable knowledge of last night's transgression. One knowing glance exchanged between the accuser and accused confirmed both their suspicions. In a split second, Nick knew he was being judged guilty, and it put him on the defensive.

"I hate when that happens," Thad said.

"Well, it happens to some of us more than others," Nick said pointedly.

Ben was acting so distracted and Thad so obviously disapproving, Nick opted to shower in order to sort out his thoughts in solitude. Grabbing a towel from the back of a chair, he lifted it to his face and inhaled. Undecided, he sniffed again.

"Trust me, it smells better than you do," Ben said.

On his way to the bathroom, Nick stopped before his brooding one-man jury. He placed a hand on Thad's arm, which blocked the doorway, and he said, "Excuse me, it'll only take a few minutes."

"Sure," Thad said unmoving, and Nick ducked past him.

Basking in the comfort of the pulsating water, Nick forgot everything except for his unquenchable thirst. He swallowed the steamy water as it sprayed into his face and rinsed the previous night's rendezvous with Vange down the drain. He washed away Thad's knowing condemnation, Kate's distress, Chelsea's caustic impatience, and Ben's masked nervousness. He flushed the entire wedding along with his mother's lofty expectations and the disappointment that consisted of Kate's alcoholic father.

A nagging sense of responsibility tightened and situated in the back of his neck, and he longed to be as far as medical school would take him. Squatting in the shower, he let the water massage his knot of worries. Throughout his misspent youth, he drove his dirt bike mindlessly over country byways. Wearing only running shorts he basted in the heat and dust arising from gravel roads until a filmy sweat glazed over his bronze skin. Inevitably, he parked the motorbike alongside an isolated bridge and navigated barefoot down an embankment to jump without hesitation into the river. The swirling current never failed to exhilarate his exhausted flesh, and there he caught a pale full of crayfish to boil later and eat drowned in butter.

Ordinarily, solitary rituals held an almost religious significance for Nick, mainly because they made him feel thoroughly self-sufficient. Growing up, he frequently indulged in such escapism, especially when the confines of Portnorth threatened to engulf the sprawling parameters of his imagination.

The only other time he ever felt as carefree was while sunbathing and drifting on the boat without destination, or else during those long past, snowy Saturday afternoons he whacked away the hours on the family room floor. With his mom and dad toiling at the hospital and his sister off to boarding school, the house was his alone. Spent and half-tuned to "Apocalypse Now", he was responsible for only himself, accountable to no one and free to indulge his mind in whatever lurid fantasies he was capable of conjuring.

Long ago, while cruising through town with Ben and Thad, during yet another unproductive quest for an alcohol buyer, he asked each of them what they would do immediately after hearing the news of an impending Armageddon. Nick's initial response was to hug his loved ones and then "run naked and free along the beach, until becoming swept up into nothingness."

He wished it were possible to experience pure unadulterated freedom. Such notions of escapism seemed ridiculously juvenile to him now considering his wedding day loomed ahead, approaching faster and faster, like a speeding train he failed to dodge quickly enough.

chapter two

Standing near rows of tattered novels and moldering National Geographics, Ben exclaimed with mock excitement, "Oh, man, check it out, one for each year of our high school career." He snatched up the hardcover book and flipped through the pages. Laughing without bitterness, he made sarcastic comments about their former classmates.

"Glad I could never afford one. What about you, Thad, ever buy a yearbook?"

Mildly bored with the prospect of reminiscing his less-than-glorious heyday, Thad answered, "Um, yeah, just one. Senior year – PHS 1986. I ripped it up in a fit of drunken rage. I did keep snapshots of a deposed Imelda Marcos and Rock Hudson."

"Hey, they weren't classmates."

"Neither was the crew of the Challenger, but I kept a picture of them blowing to bits."

"That's bogus," Ben said, flipping through the stiff pages.

"I thought so."

"Whoa, Nick and Chelsea are practically on every page, no wonder they were voted Most Likely to Succeed," said Most Artistic and Prettiest Eyes. "Hey, I don't see your name anywhere. Didn't you get voted anything for mock elections?"

"Yeah, Most Likely to be Forgotten," Thad said.

"Hey, remember that time senior year, we road tripped to Saginaw to the Fashion Scare Mall to buy school clothes?" Ben asked, wearing a pair of tattered Girbaud jeans from the excursion.

Ben tossed the book to an unsuspecting Thad, which he barely caught. As if by a twisted perversion of fate, it landed open to Evangelica's senior picture. She pursed her lips wryly and looked surprisingly demure but knowingly sophisticated in black. A lump settled in his throat. They had shared the good fortune of being misunderstood and overlooked by the same lame classmates they had the nerve to think they could transcend. Perhaps in a more populated setting they would not have stood out for being poseurs in a sea of mullets and feathered-hair.

"Hey, what're you looking at? Pictures of Chernobyl?" Ben asked. "What's so interesting?"

His inquiry met only silence as Thad gazed transfixed out the bedroom window. The endless expanse of Lake Huron reflected a cloudless sky and the water appeared more blue-green than usual. It had been a few months since Thad had spent any meaningful time with Vange, but it felt much longer; all the more reason they should have gotten together to stoke the embers of their friendship.

Their second chance meeting since his returning to Portnorth occurred Easter weekend, prior to his stumbling on a job at the local newspaper. He ran into her waiting tables at Norris' Lounge. He went there seeking Ginny Norris to get her daughter's address, but rather than leaving with Chelsea's whereabouts he ended up venturing with Vange to a hotel room.

Easter Weekend, 1991

Bored with picking his toenails and fearful of post-coital intimacy, Thad slunk to an open window where he stood naked and shivering. Tiny snowflakes drifted in from the infinite blackness and melted against his skin. Evangelica sat in bed with one hand on her abdomen, smoking a cigarette and studying the stained ceiling. Of Portnorth's four motels, she requested this beachfront establishment so she could listen to the waves while thrashing around in the throes of orgasmic ecstasy.

"Without moonlight, a person could get totally lost in this shit-kicking hellhole," Thad said. He stood at the open sliding door to the balcony facing the lake. He marveled that even in the heart of the small town, night meant complete darkness. Streetlights did little to assist the moon and stars in illuminating the middle of nowhere. "What's this called, Easter Eve?"

"More like morning. Who cares, it's just another depressing holiday," Vange said disdainfully as she inhaled on a cigarette. "So, who was she? What's the story, morning glory?"

"Who? What?"

"Who was she, oh-unrequited-one? What's the story?"

"No one, there's no story."

"Bullshit. Every man has a tale to tell, and usually he thinks I wanna hear it." She exhaled a plume of blue smoke, stubbed out the cigarette and snatched her purse up off the floor. After rummaging around, she retrieved an old metal Band-Aid box, from which she fished a sandwich baggy. Deftly rolling a joint with minimal effort, Vange asked, "Who is she, Tadzio, your first true love – the reason you dropped out of school?"

"I didn't quit. I left with a BA, Vadge."

"Then why aren't you gainfully employed, Turd"

"English majors are not exactly in high demand at the local limestone quarry."

"Then teach," she shrugged, and licked the paper to form a seal.

"Teach? Like, I can't even give out simple driving directions."

"Figure it out already."

"I forgot how many stars you can see this far north," he said distantly. The moonlight outlined his pallid body as he turned away from the sliding screen door to stare blankly at her. Nearly six years had passed since they attended senior prom together. She was better looking now than back in high school. Little wrinkles framed her taunting eyes and her skin was healthier, but her stomach was slightly swollen.

Currently, she was a small town girl living alone, at least that is how she referred to herself at The Lounge. She claimed to have inherited the mantle of town slut, when her mother reformed after marrying Thad's widower uncle. His former homecoming date and newly acquired cousin possessed an overt and irreverent sensuality that both tempted and repulsed him. But earlier, cozied up to one another in the restaurant booth, her thick Medusa tresses and wide, sneering mouth awakened an abject longing inside him.

Once, he had been too afraid to kiss her goodnight, and now they had just finished having sex. It was the second time in as many months they found themselves naked together, but it didn't matter – she became someone else when he closed his eyes and fumbled his way inside of her.

"Nope. There's no story here, Cousin."

"Bullshit. Stand there much longer, dickhead, and you'll freeze to death," she said, trying to escape his empty gaze.

"It's almost April, but it doesn't even feel like spring."

"You wigging out? Let's get one thing straight; I'm not exactly a hooker with the heart of gold. This isn't a movie, it's not Pretty fucking Woman."

"Sure thing, Vadge."

"Listen, Turd, I told you not to call me that." She lit the joint and hit it deeply. "Come back to bed."

Shivering, he complied and sat hunched over at the far corner of the bed. Half wondering how he measured up, he said, "You've slept with all three of us – Nick, Ben and I."

"So what? There's nothing to live for now that I've done the nasty with the Three Stooges?" Vange said as she cocked her head back with laughter. She held the joint out for him. "C'mere and smoke a little. It'll chill you out, I promise. It's compliments of Marley."

"Your dealer?"

"My plant."

He accepted the outstretched joint and crawled to her, practically setting the bed on fire in the process. She wrapped his rigid body close, gathering him into the comforts of her fleshy warmth. In the absence of conversation, she repeatedly smoothed down his unruly hair and messed it up again. Uneasy and tense, Thad's breathing became increasingly calm after the prolonged silence. Eventually, they groped their way inside one another. This time sex was not nearly so rough and lasted twice as long.

Evangelica wrapped the dingy covers around her, slid off the bed and marched through the early morning haze as if mimicking a Greek goddess. Thad hurled a pillow against her unsuspecting back and the placid impact caught her off guard, causing her to trip over her own feet. She thrust her head forward and placed the tip of her tongue between her teeth while emitting a stream of throaty laughter. She cursed him and smiled secretly while projecting complete ambivalence.

A line from an obscure Aztec Camera song echoed in his head, "I understand the state you've reached of becoming unreachable." And he wondered if that is what they had become, unreachable, remote wreckage cast mercilessly on an unforgiving shore. Each had done haphazard, bang-up jobs of undoing their dysfunctional childhoods.

Kneeling before the knotty pine dresser, Vange searched for the cigarettes he tossed aside earlier. "You know, you didn't have to wait until we became family to screw," she said, and then she complained until finding the Camels nestled between his boots. Charitably, she gathered his clothes and dumped them in a pile on a vinyl chair.

"What's this?" Vange asked. She swiped up a silvery-blue necklace that sifted through the pile. A tiny rhinoceros, how queer."

"It was a gift."

"From her?"

"Who?"

"That chick you're so hung up on. From Li'l Miss Can't-Be-Forgotten."

"I'm not hung up on nobody," he said too defensively and rolled over.

Vange theatrically ran her fingers through her sweaty auburn mane, and she said, "Okay, have it your way. Who am I to rob you of your delusions?" She sat down, crossed her legs, and lit a cigarette. Studying her reflection in the mirror, she grew sick with guilt after each drag.

"Real men usually tell me how beautiful I am before boinking me," she said acrimoniously. "And sometimes even after."

Unconsciously toying with the necklace, she turned away from the mirror and focused on his exposed ass. It was the same sickly color as his chest. She watched as he gathered his clenched fists under his chest and burrowed his head deep into the musty pillow. Wrapping herself in the faded, sunflower-splattered bedspread, she observed, "You never lovingly whispered any corny one-liners in my ear."

"Already making demands?"

"Already trying to disappear?"

"What sort of cheesy one-liners do Ben and Nick cough up?"

"Forget them, okay."

He remained mute and flopped around. Behind his shaggy dark bangs, his bile-colored green eyes were clamped shut; she had told him last night that they were too brooding to be considered beautiful. His stomach gurgled in agony, and he attempted to recall one of his deceased aunt's home remedies. She could cure any ailment. "Once, I had this infected hangnail, and when my mum tried to treat it, I screamed for my aunt because she had these weird, shaman-like qualities."

Evangelica shook her head incredulously, and she asked, "Like, what the hell does that have to do with anything?"

Groaning, he removed the pillow from under his head and placed it strategically under his aching gut.

"I guess nothing compares to Li'l Miss Can't-Be-Forgotten," she whispered, and she dropped the necklace on the knotty-pine dresser. "What's her real name?"

"Who?"

"Your dead aunt, for Chrissakes," she said. "You know damned well who."

"Hester." He smirked despite the pain in his gut. "Hester Prynne."

"Too funny," she said dryly. "Want to take a shower?"

Silence was her answer.

"Stay here and dream away, lover boy, but I'll tell you one thing, your hospitality really leaves something to be desired." Standing in the doorway to the bathroom, she crossed her arms to constrain her overflowing breasts. "It's better to have lost in love, than to have never loved at all."

"If you say so, Cousin."

"Stop being such a pathetic dweeb. It must've been love, but it's over now. Be grateful and get over it."

Thad laughed maliciously as he asked, "Which is it, you've never loved anyone, or has no one ever loved you? Who's being pitiful now, Cousin?"

She cast him a look of pure contempt and disappeared inside the tiny bathroom. Soon after he heard water beating against the metallic shower stall. Thad imagined her blocking out the impoverished surroundings with her feet recoiling on a rust-stained bathmat home to a mossy substance, lukewarm water trickling over breasts and down between thighs, and clenched hands trying to avoid touching the filmy curtain. But it was not Vange he imagined naked.

Depressed out of half-consciousness, Thad reached for the cigarettes and lit one while gazing out at the pine trees along Lake Huron. There was something peaceful about the undisturbed northern countryside. He had never noticed until last summer while separated from Her. It was unbelievably predictable the way his thoughts drifted to Her while sitting on the beach watching a setting sun dance across a glistening lake or when running across a freshly mown lawn. With Her constantly on his mind, he took a blue note of all the things previously taken for granted. The separation heightened his lack of place in the world. Even after Her I've-found-someone-new-but-let's-still-be-friends phone call, he continued to appreciate those understated moments of isolation, but then they only reminded him of how alone he was.

Since their separation, he put his life on a dusty shelf and he had forgotten exactly where he misplaced it; moreover, couldn't generate any excuse to reclaim it. Eventually, Thaddeus, awoke too weary to remind himself it was a new day, a fresh start, and time to build new memories, which would digress into futile attempts at self-induced amnesia. The gray days blurred together, and indifference blanketed his existence.

Jolted by a familiar burning sensation, he mashed the cigarette against the bed frame. He felt more out of touch than ever. She still issued him free rides aboard a misery-go-round of self-doubt. Her whispers echoed, and Her crystal eyes pierced, but too much time had passed to remember Her with such immediacy and longing. If only he had inspired Her to wait until autumn when they should have been reunited. His dying aunt was the reason he had returned home at all last summer.

Maybe it was easy for Her to forget. They were from two different worlds. She was a hardened suburbanite with no discernible past, and he was an alienated small town hick who ached for a time when he could no longer remember everything he wished to forget.

Having forgotten he just stubbed one out, Thad toyed with the idea of lighting another cigarette. His attention fixated on the old vanity mirror. His scrawny reflection was not dissimilar to the emaciated Jesus hanging a little too languorously on a crucifix above the bed. He envied Christ's washboard abs and slowly became vaguely aroused by his own glaring nakedness.

Instantly stunned by a freezing shock of cold water, he sprang into the air and spun around in a quick whirl. Landing on his knees and lurching forward, he prepared to attack. Vange hurled the remaining contents of a plastic ice bucket in his face.

"Happy Easter, dickwad!" she cried merrily.

"What the?" he yelled. After a lengthy struggle, in which she dragged him off the bed and inflicted rug burns on half his body, he managed to pin her on the shag carpet.

"C'mon, let me go," she pleaded, thrusting her hips under his ass.

"Such a sadistic freak of nature."

As she struggled to free herself of his weak stronghold, she said, "You're making me wet."

"Isn't that the point?" he asked, maniacally peeling the bedspread from her writhing body.

"C'mon, this floor reeks. Get off!"

"I'm trying."

"Oh, that's it," she moaned, feigning pleasure, "make it feel like date-rape."

He recoiled. "You're so twisted."

"You know you want to," she said seductively and yanked him back down on her as he sat up. "My body, your choice." Straddling her, his hands probed between them and kneaded away what little resistance she clung to. Practically gnawing on his collarbone, she whimpered, "Oh, yes."

"You need to find other hobbies, you're a sex fiend," he protested, but she stuck a finger in his mouth for him to shut up and suck on. As if acquiescing in a newly discovered addiction, their moist bodies connected once again on the matted, shag carpet.

At dusk, when lamps are least efficient, Evangelica sat wrinkling his clothes in the orange vinyl chair. With her elbows resting on her crossed knees and an unlit cigarette dangling from her lips, she sat with her eyes glazed over as if her esophagus had closed up. Lounging on the bed below the driftwood crucifix, Thad held the TV remote and mindlessly channel surfed always back to CNN. Images flickered of Wolf Blitzer interviewing soldiers in the sand along with shots of rebel Iraqis, interspersed with the occasional mention of President Bush addressing the lagging economy, and Entertainment Tonight's Mary Hart covered the one-gloved odd couple, Madonna and Michael Jackson at the Oscars.

Without taking his eyes from a Lori Davis hair care infomercial featuring Cher, he said casually, "Don't let any feelings of family obligation keep you, Cousin."

Yawning, she stretched languidly and looked away. "Just because my mom is married to your uncle, that doesn't mean we're related, asshole. So, cut the cousin crap." Vange snatched up the chain she discarded earlier and whirled it around a few times. Then she placed the silvery-blue rhinoceros against her lips to cherish its momentary metallic chill.

"For the record, your new stepfather is no longer my uncle, he was just my dead aunt's husband," Thad stressed. "Hey, Cousin Vadge, how is Cousin Kate?"

Evangelica perked up at the mention of her recently acquired stepsister, Portnorth's very own prodigal daughter. "She's such a Yuppie now. She tools into town in her boyfriend's Jeep whenever there's wedding stuff to plan." Vange found it amusing to watch Kate interact with her own mother, Shayla. Kate had always done her best to deny her blue collar past, but the new Mrs. Edward G. Hesse served as a constant reminder of her less than genteel roots.

It was not any secret Vange barely tolerated her own mother. Her first real memory was hearing her father blow out his brains across the living room ceiling on Christmas Eve; she was five years old. Afterward, Shayla Whiley proceeded to marry and divorce every eligible bachelor in town. Those whom she could not coerce into marrying or moving in, she merely seduced into supporting her. Shayla's most recent conquest had been Thad's widower uncle. Although he made a boatload of money, Chief Engineer Hesse spent most days drunk and indentured to the Great Lakes; his only real homes alternated between a massive rickety freighter and shoddy taverns.

"All Kate ever talks about is her boring wedding to boring Nick," Vange said.

"I remember a time when you didn't think Nick was so boring."

"Why, he's the most fascinating bore I know, and all this talk of them is boring me to tears. Who cares, so what?" she asked, twirling the necklace. "Do you always wear this stupid thing?"

"Always."

"You know, there are better things to symbolize love for someone than a rhinoceros. What possessed her?" Vange pondered aloud, "Surely, you didn't remind her that rhinos have the largest penises of any land mammal."

Thad laughed loudly and said, "It reminded her of a story we read to one another all the time." He looked down at his feet. Picking his toenails was a pastime he treasured as much as Vange relished smoking. He also smoked, but it was joylessly and more out of habit. Each vice came with its own risk – cancer or ingrown toenails – one painful and deadly, and the other just painful. If you were really unlucky, you got both.

Trying to visualize his dead aunt, who had a few ingrown toenails removed in her short lifetime, he fiddled with his feet. He speculated that his aunt's ingrown toenail problem had contributed to her shoe obsession. Immediately after marrying his uncle, Vange's mother had a garage sale and sold all of his aunt's possessions. Maybe the women of Portnorth did not mind wearing her shoes because she was so respected, but more than likely it was because she never wore the same pair twice. It was ironic his uncle went from being married to a saint to a sinner within eight months. The scandal provided Portnorth's coffee klatch with plenty of gossip.

"What did your mom do with all the money she made from selling my aunt's things?"

Evangelica's curiosity shifted to concern. "What's up with the dead aunt obsession already? I don't know, they probably went on a Caribbean cruise or bought something totally ridiculous like a riding lawnmower."

His moribund silence made her shiver. "I can't vegetate here any longer. Let's go eat. You lured me here with the promise of a real holiday feast, remember?"

"Oh, yeah, it's Easter," Thad said. He inspected his throbbing toe while he imagined his aunt limping toward him. She was wearing a pink bathrobe with curlers in her hair, carrying a box of day old jelly donuts, and she warned him against a fate cursed with one-night stands that lingered like ingrown toenails.

Abruptly, he sprang to his feet and jumped into his Pepe jeans. He threw on her silky purple shirt because she was wearing his forest green shaker-knit sweater with holes in the elbows. He did not bother to wash before venturing outside because apathetic uncleanliness seemed the most natural attitude to sport. There was no one to impress. It was seven o'clock and the town's entire population was home, lethargic from holiday ham anticipating the series finales of Dallas, thirtysomething, and Twin Peaks.

Thad snatched the driftwood crucifix from the wall. Vange smeared lipstick across her mouth, and the matte red Cherries in the Snow made her look even more ghostly.

While riding in the truck, Thad noticed the buildings that were not boarded up were closed. The streetlights had not yet turned on, and the dismal vacancy of their surroundings was uninspiringly grim at best. As time stood still, tiny snowflakes drifted from the sheet-like gray sky. They had checked out of civilization and returned to a post-Apocalyptic aftermath. Vange drove the lone vehicle down the salt-stained Main Street with reckless abandon, and each time she accelerated he found himself pressed further against a figurative brick wall. Dread oozed from her pores as her stomach gurgled with nausea.

As they drove over railroad tracks running through the middle of town, Thad pulled his long bangs over his eyes. As a kid, he used to imagine far off destinations as locomotives carried limestone into the distance away from town. It never occurred to him to ask any one of his three generations of quarry-employed relatives where the tracks led. He only knew that they stretched far away from the one-company town's cavernous hole in the ground.

Thad thought aloud, "When did the train stop running like a getaway car at all hours?"

"Want to picnic on the beach?"

"No matter how hard you try, you can't ever see Canada," Thad said. From behind his bangs he peered deep into the hazy horizon, past the frigid succession of endless waves.

"Want to know something totally gnarly," Vange began, and she slowed the truck down as they drove past the beach. "I'm in real deep shit.

"How so?"

"I think I'm pregnant."

"Aren't you being a little presumptuous?"

"Not by you, dork," she said and slugged his arm. "It's some other unlucky bastard's little bastard."

"This town smells like winter all year round."

"And everyone's overweight, but they don't call this Porknorth for nothing."

"Don't you ever think about leaving, starting over?" Thad asked. Consumed with his own thoughts, he failed to press the issue of her baby's paternity as he looked over his shoulder at the icy lake.

"Fuck'n-A, I got big plans of sailing across the Great Lakes, just me and this kid." Vange patted her stomach. "You went away to college, look how far you got."

"Ouch."

"You're right back here, in this shit kicking hellhole in case you haven't noticed. What's the plan, Thad, you going to pick potatoes, clear-cut trees, or dig for rocks in the quarry?"

"How do you start over when you've never started in the first place?" he wondered.

The truck pulled into a gas station, and Thad agreed to buy dinner with the last of his cash. Looking like total crap was her excuse for staying behind inside the truck. As he exited the vehicle, she clanked her head against the rear window and punched away at the radio knobs. She finally settled on NPR, where a congressman was discussing the U.S. led invasion of Iraq, along with the heroic exploits of Generals Powell and Schwarzkopf and the inevitability of at least one of them becoming a presidential contender.

"See, opportunities to be a hero abound," Vange said, pointing to the radio. "You should be in the Persian Gulf, fighting for our rights to the world's oil supply."

"Real funny."

"Hey, you never said what you think of my predicament?"

"You'll get fat, and then out pops some brat who'll hate you in twelve years," Thad said, and he cocked his eyebrows and slammed the door.

Once inside the minimart, peppy harmonies belonging to the daughters of some washed up, drug-addled Sixties superstars accompanied Thad's hunt for dinner. They admonished, "Release Me" as he gripped the stolen crucifix. The disproving checkout woman monitored his every move. She wore a gray zippered sweat suit and a bulbous nose dominated her face. Little hairs encrusted with snot spewed from her snout, and whiskers compensated for the sparse tuft of gray hair crowning her too large head. Thad recognized her from going to church as a kid, and he guessed her name was Bulbous-ski.

Nothing seemed appealing, and he tried to remember the last time he ate because his insides felt hollow. Shocked, he caught a glimpse of his own reflection and barely recognized the entity staring back at him. The overhead lights cast a peculiar jaundiced glow. His hair hung in dirty strings, and his eyes were tired from lack of sleep. What was the term, heroin chic? His arms strained under the weight of the processed food as he became increasingly aware of Bulbouski's evil eye.

Losing himself in the freezer department, where Vange's silky rayon shirt provided little warmth, he remembered the two of them used to share pints of coffee ice cream while reading about stampeding rhinos; he would spoon it into Her mouth between paragraphs.

"What the hell was the name of that story?"

How many times while driving her Mercury Tracer had She whisked them to the outskirts of nowhere? Thad closed his deep-set eyes, and they were parked next to some suburban wasteland. She read aloud as he sat mesmerized. Her bobbed copper-hued hair hid Her pale eyes that reflected a childhood dulled by too many unrealized expectations. With the hope of dissecting Her secrets, he listened intently to every word falling from Her lips.

Finished reading, She said, "One day the herd will trample over us."

Before starting the car, She let him nibble on her long fingers and applied Her purple lipstick to his lips. She insisted on heavy petting as if it were 1951. Other times, She regaled Thad with tales of past lovers who dog-eared the pages of Her life script.

Shivering, Thad felt the scrutiny of the glutton in gray as he wandered toward her chilly gaze and away from the freezer department. Bulbouski smacked her gum, unaware of the saliva caked in the corner of her mouth. He felt as if she were about to unleash a stampede of charging beasts.

He bagged the groceries while she rang them up. Concerned what was taking so long, Vange met him at the glass door. She pried the paper sack from his grasp and rattled off the menu, "Cigs, Sunny-D, and Combos. What, no squirrel, muskrat, or deer jerky?"

"Sorry."

"This isn't exactly a holiday feast."

Watching Evangelica take a sip of neon colored orange drink, Thad turned red with embarrassment when she subsequently wiped the sweat from his furrowed brow and took his hand into hers.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I have a fear of rhinos," Thad said. A burst of juice exploded from her nose, and she doubled over in a coughing fit. Grabbing his arm for support, she regained her composure and searched his bloodshot green eyes; although it was Easter, they made her think of all the disappointment of Christmastime.

Thad suddenly leaned close, and he let his tongue guide a trickling stream of juice up her chin and into her quivering mouth. Unnerved by this sudden intimacy, Vange backed away and tugged at the necklace. She thrust the sack of groceries at his chest and made her way back to the pickup truck. Suddenly, she stopped and pointed to a clump of matted fur and batting which lay soaking in an oil slick in the middle of the parking lot.

"Look," she said, "it, it's a dead bunny."

The stuffed toy was nearly soiled and flattened beyond recognition. The moment seemed so fraught with symbolism and irony, she laughed until her eyes welled with tears. Evangelica placed the back of her hand against her mouth and turned away in an attempt to pull herself together. Thad wrapped her close and ineffectively soothed her bottomless sobs.

She repeated between breaths, "I'm so sorry."

"Don't cry, it's Easter," he pleaded. "Sorry for what?"

"I'm just sorry, that's all," she repeated. He wiped away her tears while she held her stomach as if cradling everything inside her for one last time.

Inside the truck, they sat in paralyzed silence. Feeling bonded because neither knew quite where to go from there, they both dreaded every second proceeding the next. Soon, not even the damp chilly air whipping against his face kept Thad seated beside her. In his mind, he found himself alone, kicking a rock along the shoulder of the road. When he was a boy, his aunt told him in her all-knowing authoritative manner, "Kick a limestone rock as you walk along. Then before you stop, make a wish and give it a good swipe."

He wondered if she kept kicking rocks even with her ingrown toenail. He wondered if she kept kicking rocks and making wishes even after cancer stopped her for good. Thad's finger felt for the chain he never took off. Although the silvery blue rhino was gone from his neck, he still had Jesus in his pocket. When the rock he was kicking became lost among all the other rocks, he pulled out the crucifix and began kicking Christ.

Thad wished for many things, but he mostly hoped for a few feature-length experiences to treasure, rather than mere isolated snapshots. Nothing ever changed for the better. Everything pleasant always digressed and filled him with revulsion and a longing to forget. So he closed his eyes and gave the crucifix one good swift kick across the highway into a half-frozen field. There in the middle of the countryside wilderness, he stood watching his breath waft toward a lone seagull.

With his hands crammed in his pockets and his collar upturned, he wondered how people became so important they left only a gaping emptiness once dispersing into the ether.

And there he waited as if there were no such thing as good byes.

When Thad entered the back door, his sister rushed toward him in a huff. She was a few inches taller and a couple pounds heavier than him. Their lack of physical resemblance was due to their having different sets of parents. They were both adopted.

"What the hell, gone for nearly three days? What were you doing?"

"Getting laid, I suppose," Thad replied, kicking off his boots. He and Vange sat outside in the truck for the past hour while Alexa rubbernecked from the house. Vange's shouts for him to get out of the cab still rang in his ears.

"Real mature."

He wiped his runny nose and clenched shut his watery eyes. She sighed shaking her head and asked, "What're you wearing? Good God, is that a chick's shirt?"

Thad threw Vange's soiled shirt at her and walked away.

Alexa stalked after him through the galley kitchen and scooped up his trail of discarded filthy clothes. She wadded them in her largish hands, of which she was overly self-conscious. Usually, she hid them under long sleeves. "Mom's spent the last couple nights sitting at the table all weird, just like when Aunt Kaye died, remember? She's at the end of her rope."

"No, she's only fallen off the wagon yet again."

"Oh my god, you leave for three days, hole up in a scum pit motel with that skank ho, our own cousin of all people. Yuck," Alexa berated him. She followed him into the bathroom and tossed his dirty clothes into the hamper. "It doesn't help that mom has to hear about your incestuous sex-capades while buying groceries."

Standing in only his saggy briefs, he turned on the shower and tested the water. Thad asked curiously, "How did she hear about me at the store?"

"Who knows? Christ-on-a-stick, hurry up!"

"Everyone in this twisted little Peyton Place know everyone else's business," Thad said.

"Just hurry! FYI, we were supposed to be at grandma's three hours ago," Alexa said. She folded her arms causing her thumbs to frame her breasts and her long fingers to dig in her armpits. She reprimanded, "So, why did you hook up with that floozy?"

She was six years his junior, but his adopted sister acted as if she had been around since his conception. It was as if his questionable behavior somehow reflected inadequate parenting on her behalf.

"It's a real drag having two mothers," he said. Knowing there was no getting rid of her, he hopped into the tub and tossed his underwear out at her.

"Ugh, you suck so much," she cried out. "Real mature."

His mind wandered freely despite a distracting cloud of smoke drifting from the other side of the shower curtain. She turned on the old clock radio he had brought in the bathroom fifteen years ago when he first discovered the joys of masturbation. She fiddled with the dials until she found a testosterone-fueled song she liked.

"What is this noise? Turn it off."

"Grunge, buttercup. Welcome to the Nineties, the Eighties are dead already," she said.

A minute of the Nirvana song was all he could stand, and he shouted over the hiss of water, "If all you want is a cigarette, Al, take one and get out."

"Really, you shouldn't smoke. It's so bad for you," she said. For a passing moment he thought perhaps she had left him in peace, but even in silence and separated by a curtain, he felt her daunting presence.

"Grow up. It's time to end this whole lost little boy act," Alexa snapped. She threw the cigarette into the toilet and began scrubbing her hands. She silently fumed, preparing for a grand exit. "Don't you ever think of anyone but yourself? Mom's worried to death her oldest child will end up a deranged mailman shacked up with a skank, living in a trailer park."

The water ceased pulsing, and he reached out from behind the curtain for a towel, which she picked up off the floor and handed to him. Stepping out from the tub while dripping wet, he wrapped the damp towel around him as he shook water all over her.

"You can't even dry off right. You're too skinny."

He squeezed her clammy flawless cheeks together and planted a kiss on her forehead. Alexa kicked him gently in the shin and brushed the water droplets from her flannel shirt. She ran her fingers through her longish tangled hair. Because they were adopted, he liked to imagine that his sperm source was a puny, effeminate librarian while hers was a hairy, burly lumberjack.

"You're impossible!"

"Am not. I'm most agreeable," he said, walking away. "You're the one who's difficult, always pointing out our flaws, rattling off your pertinacious observations. And you have the nerve to demand we work for your approval. Nope, there's nothing unconditional about you."

Alexa followed him up the stairs and attempted to enter his bedroom, but he blocked her at the door. She rolled her eyes and said, "Hurry, we're already late, you're so busy yacking –

"Hardly."

"I'll pull the car around. It'll save time."

She had never bothered to get a driver's license, but he knew it was no use protesting. "Try and not kill yourself."

"Like you care," she snorted and pinched his left nipple. Alexa enjoyed annoying him that way especially in public. He retaliated by smacking her, but she was too quick.

Dropping the towel from around his waist, he thought about Evangelica. She had seemed so distant, and yet they had been as close as any two people hoped to be. It was doubtful she would attend Easter dinner at his grandmother's. Like her mother, Vange tended to avoid all dealings with any extended family. It was as if she buried any notions of ever becoming a member of a family with her dad. Her uterus, despite its occupied state, must have felt as empty as the hole in the portion of her father's head that ended up splattered across the living room ceiling.

Faint car honks sounded in his ears, and he remembered how Vange had screamed at him, "I don't care if you're crying, get out of my truck!" He shivered. A sixth sense told him to expect the worst as far as Evangelica was concerned. The distant honks grew more urgent, and he barely thought about Vange again until he was awoken by Ben's early morning phone call from the hospital six months later.

chapter three

Nick emerged from the bathroom naked from the waist up, and he rummaged the cluttered room for a clean shirt. His painstakingly arduous search was justified considering the mess. Seated, Ben bounced gently on the bed and reminisced fondly, "Hey, Nick, remember your graduation party – how I had sex with your sister? That was way wild. You always said she was hot for me, but I never believed you until you dared me to find out."

"And then you fucked her, right here in my bed," Nick said, with a hint of disgust.

"You know, I think she got off on the fact that all your relatives were partying upstairs," Ben said. "I couldn't believe how insatiable she was."

Nick grabbed clean socks and said, "Isn't insatiable just a euphemism for in-orgasmic?" He had assembled an outfit of tattered chinos, a V-neck maroon sweater and navy T-shirt. For some reason, his clothes always seemed slightly too small, as if he were perpetually on the verge of outgrowing them. He would always be the epitome of an All-American boy scout. As he left the bedroom, he climbed the stairs and discarded the socks before stumbling into his penny loafers.

"Hey, man, what're you waiting for?" Ben asked of Thad's backside. "Let's get a move on, Nick's ready. Besides, Chelsea is probably having a conniption fit it's taken this long."

Thad tossed the yearbook he'd been gazing at aside. "Did you know she's pregnant?"

Ben's face flushed with remorse. Unable to believe the words he just heard, he turned away and inhaled solemnly. "Thad, Nick's waiting. Kate is tripping out."

"Is she still pregnant, even now?" Thad asked. He failed to move from the window, where he had lost himself in the yearbook.

"Just drop it."

"No, tell me."

"Later, man – I'll fill you in later, but not now," Ben said. He looked helplessly at his open palms, and then his hands disappeared up into the sleeves of his leather jacket. Thad relented, and they silently declared an uneasy truce. Ben put an arm around Thad's shoulder and gave him a reassuring, yet firm squeeze. Together, they made their way up the stairs and walked to Thad's rusted out Datsun where Nick patiently awaited delivery to his damsel in distress.

Having resumed his cool, unaffected demeanor, Ben grinned broadly as he settled into the backseat. "I hope your sister comes home soon, Nick, a reunion might be nice."

Ignoring Ben, Nick murmured to no one, "Poor Kate. She planned the wedding for Labor Day weekend, so her family would be happy, or at least busy, not sad and depressed."

"It really doesn't seem like a whole year since Aunt Kaye died," Thad observed. "This is the worst."

"No, this car is the worst. Is that pavement I see under my feet?" Ben asked lightly. "Man, why don't you break down and spring for a new set of wheels?"

"I can't. I have too many student loans, and I'm barely making six dollars an hour," Thad whined.

"That's sad," Nick said.

"Besides, I'm saving up for a mountain bike since everything in this town is within walking distance," Thad said. It took a few tries to start the ailing vehicle. While backing out of the driveway, the car stalled and rolled onto the road.

Thinking aloud, Nick said, "This is insane what Vange has done."

"Well, she has manic-depression," Ben offered.

Nick corrected, "Bipolar Disorder."

"Which could explain the element of insanity," Thad said. A large Suburban whizzed around them at full speed. The rear end of the immobilized automobile sat idled in the street.

"What're the chances of coming out of a coma?" Ben asked.

Sounding rather textbook, Nick said, "Whatever they are, they diminish as the duration of the comatose state lengthens."

"If she doesn't wake up, who decides to pull the plug?" Ben asked grimly.

"The next of kin would decide if and when to cease pursuing artificial life sustaining measures."

"In that case, I wouldn't be surprised if her mother is pulling the plug as we speak," Thad said.

They grew more anxious as the ignition refused to turnover, and Ben said grimly, "Maybe there'll be a wedding and a funeral all in the same weekend."

"That'd certainly kill two birds with one stone," Thad said sarcastically, and he reached out to give Ben's long hair a forceful yank. "Insensitive clod."

The engine roared to life and drowned out Ben's cry, "Ouch."

They drove in silence as if one word, ouch, summed up everything.

As soon as the Datsun pulled up to the main entrance of the hospital, Nick shot from the clunker like a rat jumping ship. Thad parked the car next to Ben's motorcycle, and they reluctantly made their way to the small medical facility, which was sprawling by Portnorth's quaint standards. Ben led the way, but he was less than eager to enter the building, and with each step he grew increasingly fidgety.

The early morning air was brisk with an early autumn coolness. Thad flicked his cigarette into a shrub and wished he had remembered his wool blazer. Ben had phoned him a couple hours ago to tell him he had found Vange unconscious in bed. Thad in turn called Chelsea, who roused Kate. Thad had stopped off at work on his way to the hospital, and he left the newspaper building in such a rush he forgot the navy J.Crew blazer he wore all year round. It was not until Kate became an emotional minefield at the hospital that Chelsea ordered Ben and Thad to leave the waiting room in order to retrieve the missing bridegroom.

The metal door handle was cold to the touch, and Ben held the door open for Thad. They entered the circular core lobby, which was painted aquamarine accented with mauve. It looked like an organ from a medical textbook, and hallways led to a labyrinth of appendage-like wings.

Ben half-hoped to discover his boss, Ginny Norris, there waiting for them. He longed for her soothing presence. No one calmed his nerves like Ginny, especially when he took into account their afternoon sessions of slow languid lovemaking. Instead of Ginny, he found her polar opposite, which took the form of her hostile, agitated daughter.

Chelsea Norris sat bored, flipping through a magazine for hungry horny housewives. When she saw Thad and Ben, she jumped to her feet and told them everything they already knew.

"The priest left, and the police officer wants you to stop by the station, Benjamin, since you're the one who found her," Chelsea began. She tucked her straight, cropped-off blond hair behind her ears. Short bangs framed sharp Nordic features, which were more sun-kissed than usual. Her deep blue eyes looked sleepy. "Nicholas is with Katherine."

"How's Vange?"

"She's been stabilized, but there's no telling if or when she'll regain consciousness."

"So, there's no change except Nick is here," Ben said, opting not to acknowledge Nick's presence had a calming effect on the previously chaotic atmosphere.

"Oh, Benjamin, my mom wants you to call her as soon as possible," Chelsea said, eyeing him suspiciously.

Thad nodded in the direction of a former classmate, who by chance happened to be standing across the lobby. He waved his upraised bandaged hand at them, and Thad remarked, "Suddenly, it feels like a class reunion."

"Someone bring me a barf bag," Chelsea said. It was her favorite saying for as long as Thad remembered. With the regularity of which she said it, one would think she was sickened by the world and her stomach was permanently roiling.

Smiling proudly, the Italian Stallion pointed his bloody wound at them. Everyone in the town called him Rocky, after Rocky Balboa, ever since anyone could remember. The pot-bellied brush cutter once belonged to a small but suspiciously sociopathic contingency that whittled their days away in the high school shop room.

"Tree fell on me— or my hand anyway," Rocky yelled, deaf from the incessant buzzing of chainsaws.

"Redneck," Chelsea said under her breath, smiling through her teeth.

"He's such a Dago," Ben said.

"Really? We're still using derogatory racist terms to describe ethnic origins?" Chelsea asked, cringing at the epitaph.

A ginger-headed toddler wrapped its dirty little arm around Rocky's leg and stared blankly at them. The drooling dullard's mother was a former Miss Portnorth beauty pageant winner, and she sat nearby glued to a sexual maintenance discussion unfolding on Phil Donahue. She yawned and swatted the kid away from the gawking crowd.

Thad elbowed Chelsea and whispered, "Rocky has a nasty habit of knocking up girls from the same family. Her sister is pregnant with his kid."

"Make me barf, that's so wrong."

"It's like a Jerry Springer episode," Thad said, and he added, "Vange lost her virginity to him."

"Ok, that's more than I needed to know," Ben said, and he walked away.

Chelsea imagined it was Evangelica seated on the couch, hanging onto the grubby child rather than the washed up queen, and she shuddered with disgust. Fixated moronically on the elevated bandaged hand, the trio stiffly braved their way to Vange's room.

"Whenever I see people we graduated with, I always feel like the same dweeb I was back in high school," Thad said. "It's as if the last five years of my life become a nonexistent wasteland."

"What're you talking about?" Ben asked.

"The past five years of my life have been a nonexistent wasteland," Chelsea insisted, and she wrapped her arms around her compact frame. "I knew college wasn't going to be all I'd hoped when my roommate turned out to be a six foot model. Then at my first Womyns Space meeting, I discovered I'd lost my virginity during a date rape. It was all downhill from there."

"Like they say – the higher the pedestal, the further the fall," Thad said.

Ben nudged Thad and rolled his eyes. Thad was glad his own wasted high school career culminated in his having been voted Most Likely to be Forgotten. Unlike Chelsea, he longed to obliterate any memories of being a teenager, and he only had profuse gratitude that the whole horrible ordeal was behind him. He was still waiting for glory days to pass him by as if they had not already skipped over him.

Lagging behind, Thad watched Chelsea interrogate Ben.

"Did she leave a note?"

"Nope," Ben lied. He felt for the scrap of paper nestled in the watch pocket of his faded black jeans.

"Listen, I find it rather unbelievable that, in her last hours, Evangelica was speechless," Chelsea said doubtfully. "What did she overdose on?"

"Sleeping pills," Ben said as they neared Vange's room.

"Prescription or over the counter?"

"Does it really matter? Ordinary ones, I think."

"You know, it takes fifty Seconal to kill yourself," Thad said. They stopped outside the closed hospital door, and he continued animatedly, "If I were going to off myself, I'd buy a whole bunch of heroin and check into a dingy hotel and just lay around in my underwear, all sweaty and gross, bleeding from my pin cushion arms. I'd keep injecting the heroin until I finally choked on my own vomit."

Sickened, Chelsea sucked in the sterile ethanol hospital stench and flashed him a look of pure disgust as if she were about to wretch. "Gross, make me barf."

"Given it much thought, have you?" Ben asked, equally revolted. "That's so sick, man."

"Ha, psych," Thad said, but he was the only one laughing.

The door to Evangelica's room swung open, and to their surprise they waded into a river of muffled giggles. The nervous laughter ceased when the culprits of joy realized Ben, Chelsea, and Thad's presence. Acting as if they had been caught executing a mischievous prank, Kate's father and Vange's mother let go of one another's hand. Ed and Shayla looked as if they had only recently crawled out of bed after a late night binge at the local tavern. Ed possessed a hollow confidence punctuated by an ill-fitting cowboy hat, and Shayla's bloodshot eyes reflected world-weariness as hardened as her Aqua Net encrusted hairdo.

The three visitors were speechless as they struggled to find an appropriate response to minimize the momentary awkwardness. Shayla focused on the ceiling and Ed Hesse stepped forward. He shook their hands and thanked them for coming as if they had boarded his freighter for a cruise around the Great Lakes. His sailing career had peaked on his having become chief engineer on a Great Lakes freighter; he was accustomed to wresting control of stormy situations at sea.

"Hello, there," Chief Hesse bellowed.

"Hello, Chief," Ben said.

"Has there been any change?" Chelsea asked.

Shayla shook her head and leaned heavily against her sturdy husband. She lovingly placed a hand on his big belly.

"Nick's here now," Ed announced, "he'll see to it our girls are well taken care of."

"From what I've seen already, he's a real miracle worker," Thad said.

Shayla nodded and pressed her face into Ed's thick tattooed bicep. Ed ignored his nephew, and he informed the trio they were hosting an afternoon barbeque at their cottage. Ben, Chelsea and Thad were more than welcome to join in the festivities, which were being hosted for the sake of the various out-of-town guests – mainly a mess of cousins and the wedding attendants, which were mostly made up of Nick's fraternity brothers and Kate's ragtag gaggle of gal pals.

Ed promised, "A fun time will be had by all."

"We'll see," Ben said.

"Forgive us if we're no-shows," Thad said. "You know how it is when tragedy rears its ugly head."

Chelsea hit him in the arm and extended her sympathies to Shayla. Despite the fact she never prayed, Chelsea informed them Evangelica would be in their prayers. Then the oddly contented couple walked away and waited until safely turning the corner to resume holding hands. It was as if they were Kenny Rogers and Dottie West cast as Romeo and Juliet, wallowing in a star-crossed love affair.

Ben, Chelsea and Thad cautiously ventured inside Vange's hospital room where they found Nick standing guard next to Kate. She sat slumped in a chair alongside a dangerously archaic looking mechanical bed, and it became obvious a nurse must have convinced her to swallow a sedative. Dazed and confused, it appeared she was going to slip into a coma next to Vange.

They silently gathered around. An IV stuck into Vange's forearm, along with various other tubes poking and prodding her. Her usual undaunted disposition lay buried behind her closed eyes. Evangelica looked listless and peaceful as if she were swaddled in a casket, rather than hospital bedding. Her wavy, auburn hair spilled over her pale cheeks onto an unnaturally starched pillow.

Ben brushed her hair away from her luminescent face, and he placed the back of his hand on her forehead as if checking whether or not she had a fever. He was the only one who had the courage to touch her. Her ordinarily painted, pouty mouth was clamped shut. How strange, to be in the same room with Vange and not be subjugated by a barrage of witty anecdotal stories. Her lips were absent of their usual matte red lipstick. The curtain had momentarily fallen on her dramatic antics.

The overwhelming silence so unnerved them the mere act of the sun disappearing behind the clouds was jarring. They held their breaths while the crisp white room was transformed into a pale shade of gray. The beeping monitor was the only sound penetrating the gloomy quiet.

Kate involuntarily drooped forward. Her head rolled to one side and rested against Nick. Fighting the sedative, she groggily attempted to sit up straight, and Nick wrapped a protective arm around her. As Nick observed each of them, his steady gaze contained a knowing integrity. His plethora of life experience allowed him to look most people in the eye with unflinching empathy and occasional sadness. Indeed, it was the rare occasion he ever came across as insincere or duplicitous.

When the sun reappeared, Chelsea broke the spell of taciturn stillness. "So, you found her in bed, Benjamin – without a note or anything?"

"Yes, she was just laying there like she was asleep," Ben said. He clasped her limp hand with his tan fingers. "There were pills bottles next to her. I just put two and two together."

"Well, lucky for us, you can add," Chelsea said and flashed a wry smile.

"Still, couldn't it have been an accident?" Nick asked. Simultaneously, the three of them flashed him a look of doubtful finality, which forced him to abandon that tired theory.

Before the room once again lapsed into death-laden silence, Chelsea asked, "Whatever compelled you to pay her a visit at six in the morning, Benjamin?"

"It was a wake up call, that's all," Ben explained, and he set her hand down. "We do it all the time – when one of us has to wake up early, we drag the other out of bed to make breakfast."

"So it's safe to say you went hungry this morning," Chelsea said.

"I—I don't understand why," Kate interjected, with her glassy eyes nearly shut. "I just don't understand, why she'd do such a thing, especially now."

"Maybe we'll never know," Nick said. His bland diplomacy did not allow him to be in the presence of any type of turmoil, and his most convenient method of alleviating tension was to charm the source into captivated submission.

"Maybe the answer is right before our eyes," Thad said. He removed himself from the bedside vigil and made it a point to move out of reach of the benign spell Nick's presence cast over the room.

Hovering protectively near Kate, Nick was so engulfed in his own obligatory vigil he barely noticed Vange sprawled before them ineffably vulnerable and comatose. Nick flashed Thad a questioning glance and asked, "What's that supposed to mean? You know something we don't?"

Thad shook his head. "Maybe the explanation is more obvious than we think."

"Like she was depressed?" Kate asked.

"Yeah, something like that."

Ben stepped away from Vange's bedside, and he pointed out, "Vange wouldn't ever kill herself if she was depressed. She spent most of her life depressed. If anything, she would do it when stoked and manic."

"Really?" Chelsea asked doubtfully.

"She always said when she went, she wanted to go happy."

"Like I said, maybe we'll never know," Nick repeated uneasily.

"It's a little too soon to stop asking questions," Chelsea said. She walked over to Kate and placed a protective hand on her shoulder. "Nick, you should put Katherine to bed."

"I'm fine," Kate insisted sleepily. She was so subdued that even the slightest breeze might topple her from the chair.

"Take her back to my mother's house. It's absolutely empty, and you're more than welcome to rest in the guest bedroom," Chelsea said. "Most of Kate's stuff is there anyway."

Kate had spent last night at Ginny Norris's house. In an effort to avoid her father and stepmother, she traveled elusively between Chelsea's mom's and Nick's parents' houses. Nick agreed it seemed like the most logical option, and he helped a wearily drugged Kate onto her feet. She rested her head against his shoulder, closed her heavy brown eyes and proceeded as if sleepwalking through a bad dream. Nick guided them from the room, but not before Ben leaned over and gave Evangelica's oblivious hand a gentle goodbye squeeze.

With the greatest of care, Nick helped ease Kate into the passenger seat of his Jeep Wrangler. Before driving away, he waved gravely at Ben and Chelsea. Lagging behind and smoking as usual, Thad suggested the three of them grab breakfast. They were not quite ready to abandon the fragile network of support that had sprung up between them. He offered to drive Chelsea, and Ben rode his motorcycle.

Once settled in the putrid car, Chelsea shook her head and was dismayed to discover there was only an AM/FM radio. It was set to Silver 96.7, and she joked it was the age of the average listener. Harry Connick, Jr. crooned while Thad struggled to start the car. Plucking a few gum wrappers off her seat, Chelsea asked, "What do you think he is hiding?"

"It's not like Nick to keep secrets."

"I mean Benjamin."

"What could he possibly be keeping from us?"

"I have no idea, Thaddeus, but I don't trust him. Not at all."

"Is it because he's in love with her?"

Shocked and dismayed, Chelsea asked, "Is he really? Still, after all these years?"

"I think so."

"But she's getting married tomorrow!"

"No, not Kate. I think he's in love with Vange," Thad said. "But I'm not sure he even realizes it."

The rusted out, brown Datsun chugged to life, and it roared so loudly conversation was pointless. The car hacked and sputtered its way from the hospital to the diner across town.

chapter four

"Didn't her father kill himself?" Chelsea asked.

"Sure did," Thad answered, "maybe it's a family curse, or something."

"Did she ever talk about him?" Chelsea asked.

Ben said vaguely, "He was half Indian and played the bongos."

"A Native-American Ricky Ricardo?" Thad wondered.

"Not. Vange always told everyone her drunken mother drove him over the edge," Ben said, tossing his leather coat aside.

"Didn't you wear that in high school?" Chelsea asked.

"Yeah, so." Ben changed the subject back to Vange, "Her mom once had this boyfriend who shot up the Thanksgiving turkey – blew the bird right off the table."

"He flipped the bird," Thad said.

"When he yelled and beat the shit out of Shayla, Vange hid under her bed and jammed her bedroom door shut with butter knives."

In a small town such as Portnorth, diverse social classes are able to sit comfortably and intermingle freely without pretense. For those with a clue, social climbing was considered a pointless pastime above the Forty-fifth Parallel.

The Derry Kafe was owned and operated by the extended Derry clan, and even after sixty years of business it was doubtful whether they had an inkling of the misspelling. The brains behind the operation belonged to white-haired Uncle Carey, who was commonly referred to as "Scary Derry" or "Derry Queen" by local teenagers. He lived in a big country farmhouse filled with a group of young strays and borderline delinquents. He provided 'the boys' with safe harbor under his protective wing, and in return they tended his strawberry fields and cruised town shirtless all summer. Meanwhile, back at the diner Uncle Carey employed an endless succession of Derry girls, who ritually multiplied before completing the eleventh grade. The whole operation was a family affair.

A fourth generation Derry breezed up to the table. Her swollen belly, fried ginger hair and bowed legs gave her lineage away. Dutifully, she asked, "More coffee?" The trio nodded in unison, and she asked, "You folks from around here?"

"Yup, graduates of PHS, Class of 1986," Ben exclaimed with mock pride.

"Whew, yous guys are older than you look." She treated them like curious oddities, for they did not exactly resemble ordinary clientele. Portnorth natives who failed to become long lost expatriates generally entered their Twenties, married or not, with children and outdated, unflattering hair styles.

"Hey, I seen you before," the girl said. "You're the track star, Kelsey Morris."

"Chelsea Norris," she corrected as the teenage waitress dragged her pigeon feet away.

"Whoa, your star is dimming," Ben said.

"Oh, please."

Thad guessed the server was a member of the Skoal Squaws, who were a group of renegade, tobacco chewing female vandals who continually threatened to beat up his sister, Alexa. She warned him to listen for their Skoal Squaw squawk, which was their special, members-only trademark greeting. Thad thought it strange the waitress should suffer no social repercussions for being a pregnant teen. If Alexa or Vange, for that matter, ever attempted to traipse pregnant through the streets, they would be shunned, called names and spat on. It had always been like that – one set of low expectations for one group, and another rigid set of rules for those higher on the social order. Thad pointed to the scrawny waitress, whose sister they had bumped into earlier at the hospital, "She's the one pregnant with her sister's boyfriend's baby."

"Grotesque. I don't even want to know," Chelsea said feeling queasy. "Incestuous trailer park love triangles make me want to barf."

"Inbreeding – a true test of family values," Thad laughed.

"Their family tree is a wreath," Ben added.

Repulsed, Chelsea squirmed in the aquamarine booth. The dead pheasants mounted on the wall above her head made her nervous. "Remind me why we come here?"

Ben pointed to the entrance, and Thad and Chelsea turned and faced the bobcat lurching above the entranceway, ready to pounce on the next unsuspecting patron. Inevitably, their eyes trailed to a mounted shellacked Pike suspended above the ice cream stand. Near the cash register waddled a goose standing guard. From all angles, from one stuffed carcass to another, sets of glassy eyes patrolled their every move.

"I simply love the fact I'm dining with every road-kill slaughtered within the city limits for the past half-century," said Chelsea. The staunch vegetarian had not eaten meat since the dawn of her high school career.

She grimaced as Thad wiped an index finger down the wall. "Five decades of grease, gossip and cigarette smoke."

"Honestly, Thaddeus, you need to quit and add years to your life."

"Quit grease, gossip or smoking?" he asked dryly as he lit a Merit Ultra Light. "What a life it is."

Ben laughed, "Smoking can't nearly be as sexy as you make it look."

"This place makes me sick."

"Oh, c'mon Chels, it's called local color. Just bask in it," Thad said.

"It's barbaric," Chelsea said as she toyed with the undercooked hash browns.

"What's wrong, not fried in a hundred-percent olive oil?" Ben asked, shoving an entire strip of bacon into his mouth for emphasis. He jabbed a fork full of the greasy potatoes and stuffed them into his wide-open mouth. "What're your plans now that summer is over, Chels?"

"I thought I'd sit around here and become an even bigger loser, maybe plot an escape from law school."

"Coast along on your past laurels?" Thad asked.

Chelsea laughed, bemused. "Benjamin, don't you need help painting houses since your crew is headed back to school?"

"Juvenile delinquents make up my crew – Thad's sister, Alexa, and Kate's brother, Jack—

"Who really is a little convict," Thad piped in.

"Anyway, they're more than I can handle, and your surly attitude won't be good for business."

"Oh," she said.

"But if you know of anyone who needs a paint job, I'd appreciate your putting in a good word," Ben said, shoveling more potatoes off her plate.

Ben failed to register her mild disappointment. Thankfully, the only time she was ever inflicted with his presence was when she ran with the high school cross-country team he helped coach. She asked about the upcoming season, which was already underway. Ben was optimistic it would be a good year, if the older runners could be inspired to remain committed rather than succumb to senior year partying.

She pushed her plate toward him and instructed, "Go ahead, and eat the rest of this garbage."

"I'm not worthy," he said, and she rolled her eyes. He doused the cold hash browns with mustard and salt and ate as if he had not finished his own breakfast five minutes before.

Ben could not believe he and Nick ever knocked on Chelsea's front door in the middle of the night to confess they were both madly in love with her. Predictably, Chelsea chose to date Nick. Lucky him, thought Ben, and he tossed up the passing adolescent attraction to temporary insanity. He was grateful now they never actually hooked up. How appropriate, he decided, all his thoughts of her had culminated in being wadded up in a Kleenex and flushed down the toilet.

As if recovering from a momentary bout of narcolepsy, Thad became alert. He said hesitantly, "I don't know if this is the time to bring it up."

"Then it's probably not," Ben said. Tucking his long black hair behind his double-pierced ears, he searched the Coca-Cola clock for an excuse to dine and dash.

Outside the diner, a forest green Ford Taurus still littered with Bush/Quayle bumper stickers pulled up to the curb, and five clones emerged. The bridegrooms boisterously entered the front door and loudly announced their presence, "Sig-Eps are here!" The place became alive with their frenetic energy. All except one of them sported the same floppy, pretty-boy haircut and a single stud earring. The leader of the pack styled his hair in a ponytail, and he wore Birkenstock sandals instead of penny loafers. He was nicknamed Kerouac by his admiring flock.

Although obviously hung-over, they appeared rowdy and ready for a hair of the dog breakfast. Despite his sister's advice, Nick joined the fraternity during a weak moment.

"Talk about an identity crisis; there's the tree-hugger in Polo," Chelsea said, referring to Kerouac.

"Just admit it, you're totally hot for him," Ben said.

"She wouldn't fuck him – even with your dick," Thad said bluntly.

Ben laughed and self-consciously stabbed his fork into the little red horse sewn on his black Polo shirt. It was one he had borrowed from Kate's brother Jack.

While discussing their previous wild night of cow tipping, the Frat pack removed their jackets and rearranged tables to accommodate their party of six. One of the more courageous Derry girls bravely took charge. "Really, yous guys should have made reservations for such a big bunch," she said, flashing them a flirtatious bucktooth grin. She informed their set up would make it awkward for her to do her job. Their only option besides leaving was to retire to the back formal dining room, which was a gloomy hole-in-the-wall drenched in an orange glow.

The Patagonia fleece-clad leader apologized suavely while the Derry clan returned the place to its previous incarnation. Then they all retreated to the backroom, where they had the option to dine next to more exotic road-kill and wildlife oil paintings hung on an old saw blade canvas.

"Circle Jerk!" they yelled in unison as they entered the backroom.

The shortest of the Frat pack noticed Chelsea and waved. Less than cheerfully, she returned the gesture. Through her teeth, she said, "There's T-bone. Last night, at the bar he offered to show me how he got his nickname."

T-bone's stocky build and goatee made him look like a scruffy, pint-sized chimpanzee, and Thad observed, "I guess every Frat needs a mascot to stand around marking people's hands while pumping the keg."

Chelsea snickered, "Nice goatee."

"Prison pussy," Ben corrected.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, "You're so gross."

The Frat brothers emitted a long simultaneous groan of discontent when they discovered they were in a dry joint, and chocolate malts were the most potent drink on the menu.

"This northern wilderness must bring out their inner beast," Thad said, stooped over.

"What were you saying earlier, Thaddeus, before the cow-tippers interrupted?" Chelsea asked. "It could shed light on this whole mess, and I think I know what it might be—

"No, you don't. Trust me," Ben interrupted. "Drop it, Thad."

"Excuse me, Benny, but maybe I do," Chelsea said annoyed. "I think something might have happened between Evangelica and Nicholas last night."

Thad sat upright and asked, "What gives you that idea?"

"For one thing, the atmosphere in the bar suggested total debauchery. All Nick's friends were hitting on hick chicks with big hair and tight jeans. And, Benjamin, don't even try to deny taking home Kate's matron of honor. I saw you leave together."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Ben asked. Feigning disinterest, he pulled a long strand of hair from his head and began flossing his teeth.

"Nick and Vange were hanging all over each other." Chelsea digressed, "Vange left the gathering at my house pretty early. I don't think she got along well with Kate's college friends."

"Why's that?"

Chelsea nervously toyed with the beads on her necklace, and she said, "It was as if we were back in high school, except nothing out of line was said."

"And no one beat her up," Thad added.

"Kate's friends are mostly education majors. I guess Vange didn't appreciate their quasi-virginal snobbishness."

"I bet you got along with them just fine," interjected Ben, and he found himself in a cloud of cigarette smoke. Thad kicked him under the table and encouraged Chelsea to continue.

"After Kate finally turned in, I escorted the bridesmaids to the bar, where Nick was parading Evangelica around on his arm. It was obvious something was up."

"I can't believe you," Ben said, louder than intended. "You're too much. It is not like Vangie is some clingy ditz, and Nick Paull is the most honorable guy I know –

"A jock with a conscience," Thad interrupted, and Chelsea shook her head sadly as if she had firsthand evidence to the contrary.

"Well, it's fair to say something happened between them," Chelsea insisted.

"Objection, isn't that speculation?" Ben asked of the future lawyer. "This is total bullshit."

Ben rose to his feet in a huff and fumbled for his wallet. He threw a wad of bills down on the table, along with coins and a folded piece of stationery. Chewing on a fingernail, Chelsea eyed the crumpled paper suspiciously, but Ben snatched the note away before she grabbed it.

Thad grabbed hold of Ben's sleeve and tugged him back into the booth. Seated, Ben flung free from Thad's loose grip, but he made no effort to leave. "It's too weird. Even if something did happen, it's their business," Ben said. "Let it go."

"No one is saying anything happened for sure," Chelsea countered. "This is not from a place of judgment."

"I'll say it happened for sure."

"Like how sure," Ben demanded, again rising to his feet.

"Like I saw it for sure—outside the bar, near the bushes," Thad confessed.

"How primal," Chelsea said, relieved her suspicions were confirmed. "Like I've always said, never trust a man with two first names."

Oblivious to the wafting steam and pungent odor, Ben failed to respond when the waitress asked if his coffee needed a warm-up.

"Hey, guy, wake up," said the pregnant teenager. Ben looked away, adamantly disinterested, and she flashed him a toothy grin, sucked in her belly, and poured him a refill anyway. "You going to eat that, or just play?" Ben lifted his plate toward her, and she asked, "Yous guys need anything else, or you all set?"

"Just the check," Thad said. The server slapped the check down on the table before Chelsea could ask for separate checks, and she turned and teetered away.

"Yous," Chelsea repeated. "I don't know why the proverbial white trash S needs to be added to the end of every other word around here."

Ben watched the waitress sashay across the room as seductively as her bowed legs and pigeon feet allowed. "Too skinny," he mumbled. He felt sorry for the fetus inside her. It's sure to be born with a greasy spoon its mouth, its only future entailed working in this dump, or out in the strawberry fields with the boys.

Ben pushed his coffee cup out of the way and said adamantly, "I don't even drink this shit."

"Really? I drink mass quantities," Chelsea said. "Java keeps me alive. I wish there was a way to have it filtered directly into my veins."

Mockingly, Ben said, "I bet that means you're rilly-rilly busy without enough hours in the day to contact everyone in your Rolodex."

"Enough already, Benjamin," Chelsea spat, smacking her palm onto the tabletop. "I don't know why you have to be such an antagonistic prick all the time."

Thad shot him a look, and for the sake of maintaining peace, Ben sat back down and agreed, "Okay, nuf's nuf."

Sensing another argument percolating, Thad asked casually, "Ben, is Vange still pregnant?"

Chelsea's jaw dropped as she exhaled incredulously. "How do you know that?"

"She told me Easter weekend."

Ben shook his head slowly. With his middle finger, he mindlessly twirled a spoon around and around on the table's sticky, sea-foam surface.

"Ben—

"What?"

"Is she still pregnant?"

"No."

"And how would you know?" Chelsea asked.

"Because I'm the one who took her to get the abortion. They sent her away because she was too far along," he said reluctantly. "She had a miscarriage. I was the one who took her to the hospital and stayed with her."

"Who's the father?"

"I dunno," he mumbled.

"Did you even bother to ask?" she inquired.

Ben continued twirling the spoon and watched it as if hypnotized. He refused to look up. "I guess I was afraid the father was me, not that it's any of your business."

"Well, it's comforting to know you were there for her in her time of need," Chelsea said condescendingly. She sat back, folded her arms, and glared accusingly at him. She could not stop shaking her head or shake the awed expression from her face.

Loud laughter erupted from the back dining room, and it echoed in the silence that had descended on them. It sounded as if the Frat pack were tearing the place down from the inside out. Their distant charged energy only served to feed the animosity bouncing between Ben and Chelsea.

"What else aren't you telling us?" she asked.

"What the hell are you getting at?"

Chelsea was quiet for a few lingering moments, and then she said tersely, "Whatever would a girl do without such a terrific friend as you?"

"Screw you, I don't have to sit here and listen to this bullshit. What a hypocritical bitch," Ben said, and he yet again jumped to his feet. Guiltily, he burrowed his hand in the recesses of his pocket and fiddled with the scrap of stationery he plucked from Vange's hand earlier that morning.

"You know what's total bullshit, Benny?" she asked angrily. She bounded out of the booth and pointed at him. She twisted her index finger into his chest as if her serrated fingernail was a bayonet.

"What's total bullshit, Benny, is you've done whatever Nick's ever told you, probably since you've been eleven years old, and you've hung onto his every word as if it's gospel." Having gathered the needed ammunition from her arsenal of cutting observations, she repeatedly charged at him with her stockpile until he withered defeated. "You've been his stupid little sidekick for so long you've begun to act exactly like him."

"Yeah, right."

"You're so spineless, don't even try to kid yourself into thinking you're Vange's friend."

Ben smirked bewildered. "And you are? When did you start giving a rat's ass?"

"I don't care, not one iota, and I never have – but you, you did! So, why didn't she make any effort to call you, her wonderful, caring friend before she swallowed a fistful of pills?"

"You're insane," Ben said casually, and he turned away and scuffled toward the bobcat-topped exit.

"That's right, call me crazy and leave, but why the hell didn't she call you when she was trying to kill herself, you outright unmitigated asshole?" she yelled after him.

Trembling violently, she wished the taxidermied feline would spring to life, leap from its eternal perch and dig a hole through his chest cavity. No doubt, the feline would discover a black hole where his soul should be. Watching him amble across the lawn to his motorcycle, she felt Thad's arm wrap around her shoulder. Ben straddled and started the bike. He did not bother to look back, which only upset her further. With Ben no longer in her crosshairs, she collapsed against Thad as if having completed a marathon. Drained of energy, she shook uncontrollably as he continued to support her lightweight frame. He was unable to guess what she kept stashed away, stewing inside her for so long it erupted with such volcanic fury.

"He's such a smarmy cretin bastard," she said out of breath. She held onto Thad while avoiding the glassy dead eyes of a mounted sturgeon hanging on the wall. "He makes Nick look like a saint."

Nick leaned forward with hands clasped on a chair alongside the bed where Kate slumbered contentedly. Her black hair fell away from her flawless olive skin. Drug-induced sleep whisked her so far away from worry she looked more beautifully unaffected than ever. Nick found the faint snoring noises she made when especially exhausted endearing because it undermined her taken-for-granted perfection. She was not the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on, but she possessed a presence that demanded attention.

They had spent the past couple hours in Ginny Norris's guest bedroom, surrounded by Laura Ashley floral patterns tangling their way across the walls and drapes. The whole house was decorated in such an overly done boudoir fashion it almost made him blush with embarrassment.

The Norris' had divorced so amicably Ginny retained the house and restaurant. She had encouraged her husband to build The Lounge on a lark, but folks speculated it was part of her strategically planned scheme to ditch him. Nick was doubtful the flighty, carefree and sexy middle-aged woman could have possibly been so deliberate and calculating – that was more her daughter's style. Chelsea was indeed her mother's Doppelganger.

Ben once confessed to Nick that Ms. Norris employed his services to satisfy her most intimate needs. The only time Nick was ever jealous of his oldest friend had been during Ben's detailed descriptions of his endless sexual encounters with his employer. They joked Chelsea would cardiac arrest if she ever learned a quarter of her mother's frisky exploits with the lounge bar tender. Nick wondered how such a fun-loving, healthy woman could have given birth to a daughter so frigid and uncompromising. Lying in the guest-bedroom, Nick imagined what it would be like to have a simultaneous encounter with both mother and daughter. Sexual fantasies stimulated his interest only for so long, before he became frustrated by even their remotest possibility and the challenge to consummate his desires grew too overpowering.

As he stroked Kate's luxurious hair, he noticed a trickling pool of drool winding its way over the florid pillow. He spent the entire morning by her side, and he mulled over the innards of their seemingly perfect relationship. He and Kate had experienced so many soap opera twists and turns on the way to the altar, it was almost unbelievable they were to be married tomorrow.

After dating on and off throughout high school, they broke up their senior year when she became wise to his philandering ways. Four years of constant make-ups just to break-up, compounded by her fiercely guarded virginity, was more than his teenaged patience could withstand. Nick subsequently dated her best friend Chelsea for a while, and he hoped Kate would hate him with such passion she would never again entertain the notion of being his girlfriend. To his dismay, coupling with Chelsea only succeeded in making her more competitive and even more determined to win him back; it was not until Evangelica seduced him at a senior year Christmas party that he successfully broke Kate's heart. Curiously, it was not until Nick simultaneously "cheated" on Kate while dating her best friend that she took ultimate offense.

By graduation, their circle of friends had become too incestuously peculiar, and Nick hoped never to see the any of them ever again. But of course fate would have it otherwise. He and Kate happened to bump into one another around a bonfire during the annual Portnorth Limestone Festival during their junior year in college. He walked her home, and they sat in the Little League Baseball dugouts until dawn talking. Once again, they found themselves together and were an item ever since. Initially it was strange because during their prolonged separation, they both matured into adults, and he had never known her to be so adventurous and forthcoming.

Although Kate never really severed ties with Chelsea, her rift with Evangelica only grew deeper over the years, as their lives traversed dissimilar paths, even after they became stepsisters. Nick suspected the real reason Kate begrudged Vange was because she had openly slept with him, whereas Chelsea never staked that claim out loud. He could not understand this feminine over-sensitivity. It made no sense to hold a grudge over anything as mysterious and natural as intercourse. Petty jealousy was just one of the things he found unnecessarily attractive about the female species.

Poor Kate, Nick thought, she had been through too much in the past year. First, her mother died of an extended bout with cancer; moreover, she had failed to share the inevitability of her prognosis. Kaye Hesse's death messed over Kate's younger brother, Jack, so badly he spent the duration of her funeral in the hospital recovering from alcohol poisoning. When Kate's father subsequently remarried, he failed to share with his children the depth of his relationship with of all people, the town floozy Evangelica's mother.

Understandably, Kate had not taken the news of her father's union very well, and Jack once again freaked out. He hated Kate for being so far removed from their nightmare homestead. No matter how often Nick tried to get close to the misguided youth, Jack resisted. His resentment seethed below the surface of his intense animosity. Also, Jack's penchant for getting into trouble put an unwarranted strain on Nick and Kate's relationship.

More often than not, Jack found himself clashing with local authorities. Last autumn, he was suspected of having set a vacant building ablaze, and this spring his prom date's car collided with a deer. She died on a lonely country road, and he was pulled from school in order to spend time in a mental health clinic, where he perfected the intricate art of self-mutilation.

"He's a cutter?" Kate asked. "What does he cut?"

"Himself," Nick had to explain.

When life became as bad as it could get, Kate's grandfather keeled over dead on Easter Sunday. Sparing her from yet another bout of depressing sadness, he insisted she skip the funeral and vacation in Cancun, Mexico.

Kate's family was not the only ones who wallowed in stress-inducing antics. Nick's parents obtained a secret divorce, although they continued to live together, and his sister Nanette changed her name to Tristana after striking up a long distance love affair with the editor of the local newspaper, the Portnorth Porthole. His sister's sole purpose for setting foot in town was to humiliate her family.

Presently with Vange in a coma and Thad knowing about their tryst in the bushes, life had become rather complicated. Nick wished for expeditious removal from the present turmoil, and he hoped Kate's cousin had sense enough to keep his mouth shut. Certainly, Nick thought, Thad would never intentionally do anything to devastate Kate's fleeting moment of happiness.

He kissed her cheek, wiped the drool from her chin and whispered, "I love you so much."

Nick thought it a wise idea to check around town to make sure his groomsmen had not cut too wide a swath of destruction, and he gently abandoned Kate on the bed. While he was out and about he intended to drop in at the newspaper office to have a well-meaning chat with his future cousin-in-law, Thad Feldpausch.

He never especially understood Thad's alienating remoteness or pathological indifference. Nick always secretly suspected him of being gay, especially after the half-serious proposition he once tossed his way. "If a body is just a body, Nick, then why not have sex with every body?" The blunt remark threw doubt on Nick's past assertions Thad was merely harmless and an inexperienced novice.

Nick gave Kate a final kiss goodbye, and he could not help but smile when he noticed her thick ankles. It was one more of her little imperfections he found hopelessly endearing.

chapter five

After several futile attempts to start the rusted-out Datsun, Thad finally decided he might as well abandon the vehicle in the diner parking lot and walk the five blocks to work at the Portnorth Porthole newspaper. It was the last Friday of summer, and the town was relatively bustling, especially with minivans and SUVs piloted by mothers running last minute errands before sending their kids back into school.

Chelsea accompanied him, and the mid-morning, lukewarm air tugged gently at her short blond hair as she devoured the breezes that swept off Lake Huron. She clutched her sweater between her fingers, which were still shaking from her confrontation with Ben.

They crossed Main Street and meandered their way through the little town time forgot until Chelsea made an impulsive left and headed east to the beach. She would not endure moseying past all the empty downtown buildings. It was the quiet well-manicured neighborhoods that soothed her nerves. She considered Portnorth the most splendid spot on earth, in spite its warped affliction of habitually vomiting out its brightest and best while suffering a case of constipation when it came to its less-than-desirables. However, its easy simplicity and slow pace never failed to resuscitate her frazzled nerves. The fresh air of Portnorth was her drug of choice.

As they walked toward the marina, Thad pointed to the cloudy pink horizon and said, "Red sky at night, sailor's delight; red sky in the morning, sailor's warning."

"What?"

"It's just what my granddad used to say," said Thad. "It'll storm later."

"I hope not. For Kate's sake, " she said. They climbed onto the rocky limestone breakwater, which sheltered the marina from an ever-encroaching Lake Huron. The air felt still and heavy. "Remember when we used to play 'The Day After' in the woods at lunch recess?"

"Yes, we'd pretend we were sickly sole survivors of a nuclear war."

"Don't you think this morning has the same apocalyptic feel?" Chelsea asked.

"It might be we're still drunk from last night," Thad rationalized, straddling two limestone boulders. He looked tired and hung over. Chelsea squat next to him, and they watched the blue-green waves beat tirelessly against the rocks.

"It's the lull of the waves. Once they lure you in, there's no escape," she said cheerily.

Thad thought it sounded morbid, and asked, "Did you mean what you said earlier, about dropping out of law school?"

"Of course," she said. "I can do the work easily enough, even though Torts were a torturous bore, but it doesn't interest me. Truthfully, there are enough lawyers in the world. The thought of jumping on some Yuppie bandwagon makes me sick."

"What'll you do? You're so smart, it's a shame to let all your brain power go to waste."

"Now you sound like my mother. She acts as if I'm a genius," she said uneasily.

"Well, what do you really want to do with your life?"

"I don't know, settle down on the outskirts of town with a farm boy."

"Gimme a break," Thad scoffed. "For as long as I've known you, you've always wanted to be a full-blown native of this godforsaken no man's land. Trust me, being white trash isn't such a romantic notion."

"Well, it's not as if my family came over on the Mayflower," Chelsea said. "Who'd want to be a descendant of those persecuting Puritans anyhow?"

"Kate," Thad answered. "Her mother always aspired to be an upper-crust, pillar of the community. We were always the poor relatives."

"Hardly," Chelsea protested.

She continued squatting on the rocks and silently wondered what was up with Ben. No one else thought it strange Ben found Vange at six in the morning. There were a lot of unanswered questions floating through her mind, and they required her sole attention. Why didn't Vange call anyone? Who was the father of her miscarried baby? What was she thinking in those final moments? And, most importantly, what would Kate do when she found out about Vange's final fling with Nick?

Thad mistakenly assumed Chelsea's eyes were transfixed on the cigar-shaped, rickety sailing vessel tossed on the rocky shore. "It's an old fishing tug."

"What?"

"The boat is a fishing tug," Thad said. "My grandfather used to sail on it, before working on a freighter."

Chelsea said dully, "Oh, I never knew."

"My grandma used to smoke some of the fish he caught, and my mom and aunt would peddle it from door to door."

Together, they made their way along the lakeshore. As they walked over the wet sand, gentle waves soaked through their shoes and seagulls squawked and screeched overhead. They observed a woman interacting with her child. It was the same snot-nosed kid they'd seen earlier in the morning at the hospital. Thad moved closer to the sleepy looking toddler.

"Another casualty of PHS's Sex Ed program," Chelsea said under her breath.

"I don't remember any Sex Ed classes."

"Exactly."

Yet another Derry Queen who had once been crowned Miss Portnorth. There was a seemingly endless supply. She would have been a member of their graduating class if she had not dropped out of school and gave birth before her tiara had a chance to tarnish.

"Brittany Morgan, get your ass away from that dead fish," the queen mother yelled, and swept up the soggy-diapered child into her sunburnt arms.

"Hey," Thad called, and she waved at him.

Derry Cow, as she was now called, wore faded pink sweat pants and a tomato colored T-shirt that stated Spoiled Rotten. Her matted strawberry blond hair hung past her shoulders, but it was ingeniously shorn above her ears in an extreme mullet.

"Hey, long time no see," she said, despite their having encountered one another at the hospital that morning.

"It's kind of early to be combing the beach," Thad said.

"Brittany drags me here at all hours. Thinks she'll see daddy's boat. It don't matter he's home sitting his big fat ass in front of the TV sucking down beer and bitching about his sore hand."

"Don't you have an older kid, too?"

"Yeah, little Rocky heads back to Kindergarten next week, still in school only half a day." She waved a fly away from Brittany's tangled hair. "Wouldn't happen to have a light, would'juh?"

"Sure," Thad said, and he lit her smashed menthol cigarette. Chelsea stepped away and wrote leisurely with driftwood in the sand. Thad nodded at the toddler and lied, "She's cute."

"She's got my hair, but she got Rocky's temper," Derry Cow said, and she sucked deeply on the cigarette. Her left eye was lightly bruised. "I wish that bastard was back on the boats, instead of dodging trees in the damn woods."

"He's laid off?"

"Yup, times are tough. At least when he's sailing the pay check is bigger, and I don't have to see him for months. That's always a perk."

Thad nodded, and he wondered if the old cliche was true that all sailors were drunks. He blurted impulsively, "I heard he knocked up your sister."

"That nasty snatch," said the washed up queen. She swatted the kid when it kicked and screamed to be let down.

Thad wrapped the child's filthy foot in his hand and shook it. Between her simpering whimpers, saliva landed on his wrist.

"Sorry 'bout that, it's like she's retarded or something. Hey, you hear about Vangie Whiley? Isn't it sad? I hope she pulls through, even if she is a nut job," Derry Cow said as she shifted the kid on her hip. Thad wiped his saliva-coated hand on his thigh. "I was going to ask her to sing at my wedding if that dumb Dago ever asked me to tie the knot."

"Hell, maybe she could sing at your sister's wedding, too," Thad added.

"Your friend is leaving," said the former queen, pointing to Chelsea. "I never did like her. Thinks her shit don't stink, don't she?"

Thad shrugged, said good-bye and ran to catch up. By the time he joined her, Chelsea had reached an empty path beyond the baseball field concession stand. As they made their way toward the newspaper building, Chelsea commented on how friendly he had been to the former Derry queen.

"I heard her boyfriend's knocked up at least one other girl besides her sister," Thad said winded. "Her life is messed up enough without my being a jerk to her."

Still holding the driftwood, Chelsea pointed it at him and said, "I hope you weren't too patronizing."

"What do you mean?"

"You're as fake as Kate or Nick."

"How so?"

"You're a total snob, Thaddeus," she said, a matter of fact. "And the worst kind of snob."

"I'm not a snob."

"Oh, please," she said, laughing. "You act so friendly and interested, when in reality you couldn't care less how the former queen of Porknorth wastes away her life. It's so phony."

"I am not a snob," he repeated.

"Admit it. It's not as if I'm not one, but I'm honest about it." Chelsea walked faster, and Thad let her take the lead. "You were only nice to her to find out what her plans are now that her boyfriend knocked up her sister."

"Not true."

"Don't deny it. The only difference between us is I don't care."

"Oh, and I do?"

She smiled to herself, amused by his failing to catch the irony of his statement. "Not in the least. It's simply another salacious tidbit to distract you from your own pitiful existence."

"Oh my God, you're such a bitch."

"Takes one to know one, and I take that as a compliment coming from you."

"What did you write in the sand?"

"Keep your laws off my vagina."

With the breeze from the lake pushing against their backsides, they walked past the old museum. Thad, Ben, and occasionally Chelsea, used to hang out there regularly throughout grade school. They all suffered intense prepubescent crushes on the cute girl who worked there. She encouraged them to explore freely, and they took full advantage of her hospitality. When they weren't listening to ancient records on the Victrola or poring over archaic photographs, they were playing in the simulated general store. On rainy days, the young curator brought her guitar to work and sang to them in the turn-of-the-century parlor. They fought more than once over whom she liked best. That was before junior high, when Thad became a recluse and Ben became friends with Nick, and Chelsea stopped climbing trees.

As they approached the Portnorth Porthole newspaper building, Thad guessed correctly Chelsea was not ready to go home. "Come upstairs for a while," he invited. "I'm working on a Back to School insert of all things. We can day-drink."

"Sounds fantastic. I'll need to sneak in a stiff one to face Nick and Kate," Chelsea said. She followed him past the main desk, where their class salutatorian worked as a receptionist. Chelsea had been valedictorian. She breathed a sigh of relief as they slunk unnoticed through the empty ground floor and ascended the backstairs. Although it ended five years ago, it felt like high school would haunt her forever.

She propped herself up on Thad's messy desk and sat crossed-legged. Awaiting a drink, Chelsea appeared to be an excited eight-year-old anticipating getting her ears pierced for the first time or something equally risque. Thad poured two shots of vodka, and she said, "It's daylight still, but considering the circumstances hitting the bottle seems justified, don't you think?"

"Hell, it's noon somewhere."

"I think it's supposed to be, it's five o'clock somewhere," she corrected. "What the hell, this wedding is a fiasco." She raised her glass to her lips.

Thad toasted, "To coma victims everywhere."

Chelsea choked, and it took her a few seconds to recover. She said severely, "I know you probably don't care, but I personally think you have an obligation to tell Kate about Nick's fling with Vange."

Thad raised his hands in protest. "You can't be serious. What good could come out of it?"

She firmly set her drink down on the cluttered desk. "Don't even think about withholding this information from Kate, not for one minute. Nick might be the reason why Vange is in the hospital, and if that's the case, then I don't see any alternative – you have to tell Kate."

"It's none of my business."

"You can't honestly believe that."

He turned away from her and shuffled over paper clippings strewn across the floor. He called over his shoulder, "It seems you really have it in for Nick."

"Don't start acting all fraternal toward Nick. It's not as if you've ever had any loyalty to your fellow man," Chelsea said.

"And you do? It seems like you really have it in for him."

"For your information, I don't hold anything against Nick. And even if I did harbor an old vendetta, I'd be more than justified," she said.

With his back to her, he eagerly went back to work cutting apart articles and piecing them back together in columns. Dropping the subject, Chelsea settled in on the top of his desk. Surveying the cluttered sprawling room, she sat fiddling with radio knobs. A commentator's foreboding voice speculated whether or not the upcoming nationwide recession was the result of Fed chairman Alan Greenspan not lowering interest rates enough, or an oblivious President George H.W. Bush's apparent disinterest in domestic policy.

"Your job seems tedious. Do you plan to work here forever?" she asked. "What kind of cash do you make?"

"Don't laugh, a little more than six bucks an hour."

"How do you live? You shouldn't have quit college," she marveled.

"Oh, my God, I didn't drop out, I finished."

"You don't even have a date for the wedding, do you?"

"No. Do you?"

"Who would come all the way up here for a hillbilly wedding? Did you ask that girl you were so wrapped up with last year?"

"No. Because it's this year, and she's wrapped up with someone else."

"If you loved her, you wouldn't let anything stop you." She took a sip of her vodka and flipped through the overflowing Rolodex. "Cowardice isn't sexy, Thaddeus."

"Who says I'm still carrying a torch?" Thad said defensively. "It was probably first-lust syndrome."

"You could've at least asked her. Just look at you, you're a Petrarchan mess," Chelsea said, and he rolled his eyes.

"Stop pestering me," Thad pleaded as he glanced at his watch.

"You have to tell Kate. She has a right to know, that's all there is to it," she paused and added, "This whole melodramatic scenario bores me."

"Why?"

"Because their story doesn't speak to me. Does that make any sense?"

Thad mumbled from behind his cigarette, "It sounds vaguely pretentious. Who does speak to you?"

Chelsea thought for a minute and said, "Vange."

"Vadge? I knew it."

"Make me barf. Gross. Evangelica speaks to me, that's who."

Thad ashed on the floor and said, "Well, let's hope it's not from the grave."

chapter six

Inside the split-level home in the cul-de-sac on the outskirts of town, time had come to a standstill during the mid-1970s. Portnorth's one lame attempt at a suburb amounted to a dead end street near the small airport two miles from downtown.

A picture of Gerald Ford hung on the paneled living room wall alongside a family portrait, in which the Dooley's wore embroidered bell-bottoms and matching jackets. Texan tuxedos, as Evangelica referred to their denim outfits. The house was decorated with every macramé, ceramic, and latch-hook creation born to a less than civilized world. Owls, mushrooms and frogs were the general motif. These had been Mrs. Dooley's hobbies before hitting the road with her painted Mrs. Butterworth bottles and intricate stained glass designs. After becoming a widow, she traded in her all-American housewifery crafting pastimes for a booth in the nomadic flea market circuit.

It was forever dusk in the depressing colonial home. The wall-to-wall carpeting was an ankle-deep, burnt umber shag to match the fake brick walls. The avocado curtained windows barely let in any light, and every room felt ominously unwelcoming. But Benjamin had lived in this house for most his life, and he thought nothing of the dark, cavernous atmosphere.

He returned home early that the afternoon expecting to waste a few peaceful hours in solitude before the wedding rehearsal and dinner. Blaring music assaulted his eardrums as he parked his motorcycle on the cracked driveway leading to the dungeon. Squirrel carcasses littered the front yard.

He found Jack Hesse relaxing on the living room floor. The television was tuned to VH1 while the stereo blared loudly. Ben snapped on several lamps and stepped over a rather large box containing palms. Jack fanned some palms in one hand while cradling a sawed off pellet gun in the other. The plastic handle was wrapped in duct-tape, and Ben correctly assumed it was the weapon responsible for the lethal slaughter of squirrels, or tree rats as Jack called them.

Jack, with his mopey good looks, sported his blond locks in tangles, and it appeared he had stolen his outfit from Ben's closet. Wearing boots, ratty jeans, a tattered thermal shirt, and a faded flannel tied around his waist, he was Grunge personified.

Since Ben's older brother went off to university to become an engineer and his younger sister joined the Peace Corps, the home was his alone – except for the two stray juvenile delinquents who wandered in and out. Jack had a key, and Alexa knew how to break in. The Dooley siblings were lucky if they came together on Christmas to unwrap their mother's flea market treasures. Last year, Jack even had a couple trinkets under the tree.

Ben's younger sister's face was less a war zone of Asian and Irish features, and his brother was taller and more muscular. Not only was Ben the least successful and least attractive of his siblings, but he also most resembled his mother who was whisked to Portnorth to start a new life from war-torn Hanoi.

Ben's father became a rabid anti-Catholic when the local church refused to consecrate his marriage to a Buddhist. On his deathbed, Mr. Dooley requested the presence of a priest, and he spat on him before pleading for the Last Rights. Ben thought it odd his father should become a Lutheran because they were merely Catholics without nuns or saints, Protestants with a catholic chip on their shoulder. Ben surmised his father's motives lay in the latent loathing the two sects felt for one another in the largely Polish and German community.

The elder Dooley worked every menial job the town had to offer until he landed the position of head janitor at the local hospital. He sat around delegating work until his lungs and liver surrendered their functions due to years of excessive maltreatment from booze and tobacco. Ben's parents lived a fairly contented life together, and his attentive mother treated her savior well. Although inflicted with perpetual unemployment and raving DTs, the Vietnam Veteran worshipped his wife. In return, she allowed him to parade her around town like a living doll. After her husband's death, Mrs. Dooley made extensive travel plans to escape the condescending small town that treated her with standoffish reservation. She observed of the townsfolk, "Forget fitting in, you can't even come to a rolling stop without a comment."

Benjamin overcompensated for his obvious physical difference by acting more like a full-fledged redneck than the natives. In his work boots and Carhartt jacket, he was a walking parody of those who called him a Gook, Chink or Jap. Back in high school, however, he refused to pander to the locals' ignorance. Back then he only wore Polo and other designer brands such as Tommy Hilfiger, and he was categorized as an uppity preppy. In the past, Ben had preferred to think his innate superiority transcended the narrow rigidity of Portnorth, but in the ensuing years since returning to town with his associates degree he resigned himself to an if-you-can't-beat-'em-then-join-'em mentality.

Picking up one of the strange looking fronds littering the floor, Ben pretended it was a light saber. He was so obsessed with the Star Wars Trilogy his action figures were displayed strategically around the living room. "What is this music, Gangsta Rap?"

Jack picked up a palm and drummed it to the hip-hop beats, "Sorry, Boba Fett, it's not the New Wave crap you listen to – it's NWA, you dig?"

Ben turned off VH1's Pop Up Videos, and tossed his leather coat to the side, and Jack suddenly leapt to his feet and charged at him. "Hey, that's Alexa's shirt!"

"Oh, I thought it was yours."

Jack yanked at the tiny disembodied Polo horse, and he barked, "It was a Christmas gift from my sister, and I gave it to Alexa. You cut up her shirt, jerk."

"Sorry, guess I wasn't paying attention."

Jack resumed his cross-legged position on the floor. Eating from a can of ravioli, he said with his mouth full, "You're such a fart knocker."

"Chill, man, it's only a shirt."

"Dude, she'll kill you."

"If it'll make you happy, I'll buy her a new one, a Ralph-freaking-Lauren Polo," Ben said. "I've been called an asshole once today. I don't need to hear it again from some derelict kid."

Ben made a fist and gave his occasional houseguest a quick punch. Jack's fat upper lip disappeared, and his eyes became two slits forewarning Ben to dart out of the way. Instead, he unwisely gave Jack another affectionate whack.

Jack swiftly knocked the back of his hand against Ben's testicles. Doubled over, Ben found himself in a headlock. Struggling to free himself, Ben realized there was no escape while Jack deliberately and teasingly released the tension of his grip. At that moment, Alexa appeared at the sliding glass doors and let herself in per usual. She towered above them on roller blades.

"Slack-jawed faggots," she yelled, wheeling wildly around the room.

Jack wrapped one arm around Ben's stomach, and he lifted him up off the floor, so his butt neared Alexa's chin. Straining to keep his stronghold around his victim, Jack encouraged, "Hurry up and give him a wedgy."

With her hand down his pants, Alexa announced, "Oh nasty, free baller is not wearing any underwear."

Ben farted loudly, and he was instantly dropped on his head. Alexa hurled a fist full of palms at him and cracked open the window from where Jack shot squirrels. Calling Ben various obscenities, she flopped down on an overstuffed chair and removed her helmet.

"Hey, why aren't you in school?" Ben asked. "Just because Jack-off is a dropout doesn't mean you can cut school."

"I don't recall your giving birth to me," she said, shaking her dark hair loose from the helmet. "Go mother someone else."

"Don't have a cow, dude, school doesn't even start until after Labor Day," Jack reminded, and he passed a palm to Alexa.

"What the hell are these things?" Ben asked, picking up a handful of the leaves.

"Isn't it obvious?"

Ben's face flushed with anger. "You mean, you're the ones who stole the Palm Sunday palms from the church? You're both going straight to hell. Do you hear? Don't pass go, and don't collect two hundred dollars."

Alexa crammed stale Cheez-Its into her mouth. "But I thought you were an atheist."

"One year without 'em ain't going to hurt," Jack said.

"Their absence just reinforces their importance," Alexa said as if she had thought long and hard about it. She ignited one of the palms with a Zippo lighter.

"What were you thinking?" Ben asked. "Who all knows about this?"

"Vange knows," Jack said, and he quickly corrected himself, "or rather, she did know the day we ganked them."

Unnerved by the past tense reference to Evangelica, Ben asked, "How'd you pull it off?"

"Al went to confession," Jack explained, "and I snuck in the back of the church and kifed the whole box."

"All two-thousand palms," Alexa bragged.

"Vange knows about this? I can't believe it, we're all going burn in hell," Ben marveled. Paranoid, he yanked the curtains closed. "My God, they're laying right here out in the open for the entire world to see."

"Oh, lighten up," Alexa said. "It's no worse than your weed laying all over the house."

Ignoring her, Ben began collecting the scattered palms. He asked, "Jack, you hear anything new about Vange, from your dad or Shayla?"

"They're at the bar," Jack said. "I ain't heard anything from anybody." He looked tough and unconcerned, too precocious for his own good.

"Think she'll die?"

Shuffling palms into a pile with his feet, Ben said, "We'll have to wait and see."

"At least the wedding tape is already made," Alexa said. Usually she accompanied Vange on piano for various wedding gigs.

"Who'll wear her bridesmaid's dress?" Jack asked.

Alexa snorted with disgust. "Not me, I'd rather hammer my head into a nail."

Ben searched a crate full of cassettes until he found the wedding tape, which he slipped into his coat pocket. Evangelica and Alexa often collaborated for weddings as a way to make extra money, and they had spent weeks perfecting the soundtrack to Kate's wedding. Kate let them pick out the music, a responsibility they did not take lightly. However while they practiced, Vange pretended she was Tina Turner and Alexa was Ike, and she'd goad Alexa into roughing her up for kicks.

Checking the sunburst clock, Ben informed the thieves he was confiscating the entire stash of palms to dispose of them properly. He considered it foolish to leave contraband strewn about the house because it might be stumbled on by any number of Samaritan neighbors who kept a steady flow of casseroles flowing past his grateful palate.

"Only if you give us some pot," Alexa said, hoping to reach a compromise. "Fair is fair."

Ben retreated to his bedroom and emerged with a plastic baggy that he threw at Jack, who demanded, "More!"

"You'll have to wait until tonight."

"This is a gyp," Jack protested.

"He's good for it," Alexa said with resignation. "His girlfriend has a hook up."

"Who is she this week?" Jack asked. "Chelsea Norris? She's the hottest girl in this town."

"More like her mother," Alexa corrected, and she swiped the marijuana from his trembling hand. "Quit sniffing it as if you're going to inhale it, you high-on loser who can't even complete the twelfth grade."

With the box of stolen palms strapped to his bike, Ben drove mindlessly around 'the loop,' from one end of Main Street to the next connected by the highway. He traveled this route often, especially when he felt restless or was in a bad mood. When it was too hot to sleep, Evangelica accompanied him in the middle of the night. Together they would coast down the highway stretching out alongside Lake Huron.

Evangelica and Ben usually endured this circle of monotony until becoming slaphappy with boredom. Once feeling certifiable, they returned to his place to listen to the old Johnny Cash records his mother left behind when she ran off to join the flea market circuit. Although Mrs. Dooley still only spoke broken English, she loved Johnny Cash. In her mind, Cash was America itself.

Ben and Evangelica sometimes had sex listening to those old records, but it was not mandatory. He wished she were on the back of his bike now, clutching onto him whispering weird obscenities about the people they left in their dust. She claimed to have an orgasm this way, talking dirty while his crotch rocket rattled and pulsated between her legs.

When Ben felt he could not endure cruising Main any longer, he drove to the newspaper building and parked the bike. There was no one at the front desk, and so he ventured to the back room where monstrous piles of barbaric printing equipment loomed as far as the eye could see. He had never been inside the Porthole building before and had no idea where to find Thad.

"Looking for someone, Benny?" a female voice asked.

Startled, he turned around to find Nick's beautiful sister, Nanette Paull. She was dressed in an all-black, body clinging dress. She ran her fingers through her flowing, henna dyed hair, and she feigned wanton surprise by placing a hand over her augmented breasts. Her dagger-like fingernails were painted the same blood red as her full, pouting lips.

Ben flashed a look of confusion. He did not recall her having a silver nose ring, and her chest seemed larger. Nanette lived life in designer limbo, scrambling after whatever upscale thrift store items crossed her path.

"Is Nick here?"

She shook her head and flashed him one of her perfectly deviant smiles that made him forget his own name. "No, but if you happen to run into him, tell him his big sister is in town for the nuptial festivities." She leaned back against the counter and inspected her long nails as if waiting for someone in particular. "Thad's upstairs. He's a little drunk."

Benjamin nodded and backed away.

"The stairs are to the left," she called after him.

Ben found Thad poring over clippings laid out onto an illuminated glass newspaper page. With a cigarette dangling from his lips, he cut and pasted the newspaper columns while muttering to himself. When he became aware of Ben's presence, Thad motioned him to sit down and pour himself a drink.

"Vodka, man, isn't that a job hazard?" Ben asked. "What's up with Nanette's funeral garb?"

"It's a new Goth look to match her trendy new name."

"Morticia?"

"Tristana," Thad corrected, lighting a cigarette. Ben's arrival was as good of an excuse as any to take a break from working.

"What's she doing here?"

"She's waiting for the illustrious editor and chief – Seth Poole – while he explains to the wife and kiddies why he has to work late again. You know newspapers, it is one late-night deadline after another," Thad ranted.

"No way."

"Way. Eventually, they'll end up back here snorting white powdery stuff and engaging in sordid sex acts until dawn."

Ben laughed, "What a twisted imagination you have."

"Who said anything about make believe?" Thad asked, and he took a sip from his vodka pint. "Don't look so shocked."

Thad knew the intimate details of everyone's life, and Ben hoped Thad was oblivious to his own secrets. "You know too much."

"Yeah, well, maybe that's what happens when you don't have a life."

"Portnorth's very own Kitty Kelly," Ben said, referring to slash and burn celebrity biographer. "Plan on writing a small town tell-all anytime soon?"

"Nope, but I can probably tell you a thing or two about yourself."

"Real comforting. What's up with the lunchtime cocktail?"

"I dragged Chelsea up here and poured a drink down her throat, to calm her down after she exploded all over breakfast. Actually, you just missed her," Thad said, and Ben sighed with relief. Thad continued working on the newspaper layout as he nodded facetiously to the beat of some pre-Mellencamp, John Cougar song.

"What's her deal? I couldn't believe how bad she lost it," Ben said as he fished a foreign object from a shot glass.

"I guess the tighter you're wound, the more likely you are to go berserk."

"Yikes, don't go postal on us," boomed a loud voice. "Coastal postal, get it?"

A man who could only be described as an oaf clomped down the steps as he descended from the third floor attic. He wore a short-sleeved pink dress shirt with gray slacks, and a cheap tie was flung over his hulking shoulder. Everything he said was a proclamation. Typically, he flaunted his less than in-depth knowledge of every conceivable topic.

Running his fingers over his graying blond beard, Seth Poole cleared his throat and instructed, "Go ahead and grab lunch, Thad."

Ben picked up a pair of scissors and twirled them around his index finger. He put the shears to his shirt and snipped away at the remaining Polo horse he had begun mutilating at breakfast.

Poole grunted at Ben and said, "Easy there, tiger, we don't want anyone committing Harry Carry around here." He lumbered away hiking up his pants and called over his shoulder, "Lock up shop when you go to lunch."

Near speechless, Ben managed, "Gross, Nick's sister is sleeping with him?"

"And you heard it here first," Thad said. He pasted a newspaper column in place and puffed away on a cigarette. "You know, Chelsea didn't mean the things she said earlier. Don't be so hard on her right now."

"I'm sorry, but she's a mega bitch."

"She can't understand why Vange did what she did."

Flushed with animosity, Ben asked, "What makes her so special? We're all having a hard time dealing with this."

"She's struggling with personal problems."

Ben snorted as if he did not believe perfect Chelsea could allow herself such a human pastime as personal problems. "More like inner demons."

"I think she wants to quit law school and run away."

"Oh, how practical," Ben said sarcastically. "Who does she think she is, Thelma or Louise?"

"It's a phase I guess." Thad threw up his hands as if to say he was ready for lunch. "She's suffering from a prolonged adolescence."

"Whoa, I wish I had the luxury of dropping out of law school."

"You dropped out of a community college or wasn't that luxurious enough?"

"Don't even start. What will she do now?" Ben asked.

"She'll probably turn on, tune in, and drop out and become obnoxiously hip."

"It's totally whacked, we're all quitters."

"Speak for yourself."

"All of us except for Nick and Kate, of course, and just look at them – getting hitched and settling down. He'll become a doctor, and she'll teach elementary school," Ben pondered aloud. "Sound like the all-American dream."

"Sounds like a nightmare, if you ask me." Thad poured himself another shot and toasted, "To the newlyweds."

"Yeah, right."

Thad could not help but think about Chelsea, and how she had sat on his desk earlier and spouted her case why he should tell Kate about Nick's fling with Vange. Because he was unsure what to do, he decided to approach the subject with Ben for his input. "You know, Chelsea thinks I should say something to Kate."

"About?"

"Um, Nick and Vange."

"Seriously? You're not thinking about it, are you?"

"Considering Kate is my cousin," Thad reminded him needlessly, "don't you think I owe her at least that much?"

"What good could come of it? It's none of Chelsea's business. Just because her life is miserable, she wants to ruin everyone else's," Ben said, not entirely convinced of his own logic. "She's always hated Nick."

"So it seems, but it still doesn't excuse me from telling Kate. She has a right to know, I saw Nick with Vange."

"So what, they were making out."

"It was way more than making out."

"Trust me, Kate doesn't want to know."

Thad stubbed out his cigarette and shrugged, "If I do tell her, it has to be before the wedding or not at all."

"Not ever." Ben checked his watch and commented Thad had less than twenty-four hours to make up his mind. He lifted his feet up off the desk and drew his knees to his chest. Spinning around on the swiveling chair, Ben asked, "Want to get high?"

"Here?"

"Good a place as any."

"Sure, but let's go upstairs," Thad whispered.

"You mean, the love nest?" Ben asked, and he puckered his lips and made a long smooching noise. When they paused on the stairs, he pinched Thad's butt.

"Try and control yourself," Thad said dryly, and he lifted the door leading to the third floor attic, the site of the Portnorth Porthole editor's lust-fueled affairs.

Ben settled in on a rickety old office chair and started rolling a joint. Near the huge dirty window overlooking downtown, Thad gazed silently out at Portnorth's only traffic light. The most congested time for traffic was weekdays at three o'clock when the local schools set free their captives, or when the churches released their Jesus devotees on Sunday mornings. There was no actual rush hour because the town's only industry, the quarry, worked its employees in shifts around the clock.

At the gas station across the street, Ginny Norris sat in her white Mustang convertible. Her wispy short blond hair blew in the wind, and she looked carefree as ever. Her sparkling blue eyes fixated in the direction of Ben's motorcycle and a dreamy expression befell her face. Even from the distance of three stories, she radiated a delightful vitality that was pleasantly intoxicating.

"Thad, man, if you're going to stick around this fall, you should join the bowling league," Ben suggested.

"I don't think so."

"It doesn't matter if you bowl like a girl, everyone's usually too drunk to notice," Ben said, running his finger along the edge of the paper to secure the joint.

A loud voice startled them from behind. "Hey! What're you cats doing up here?"

Both Ben and Thad bolted upright, but they laughed with relief when they noticed it was merely Nick. Satisfied he had sufficiently startled them, Nick jokingly taunted, "Ah-ha, caught in the act. Wouldn't this make a nice headline?"

"I can think of a few more scandalous ones," Thad said under his breath.

As Nick pulled up a chair, his easy-going nature remained unaffected; he ignored Thad's remark and its obvious implications. In spite of everything that had transpired since morning, Nick was in too good of a mood. It was as if he believed hard enough, then his wedding would unfold as perfectly as Kate imagined.

Nick asked jovially, "Enjoying the view of the sprawling metropolis?"

"Sure thing, man," Ben said. He attempted to secure the joint Nick had all but wrecked by scaring the hell out of them.

Thad withdrew from their casual banter, and he returned his attention to the scene unfolding across the street. He managed to catch a glimpse of Chelsea in the middle of her daily run. Smiling proudly, Ginny Norris offered her daughter a friendly wave, but Chelsea failed to notice. Thad wondered if she was thinking about Evangelica too.

With a little wink, Ginny paid the gas station attendant and drove off as if without a care in the world because for the most part, it was generally the case.

The languid air was gentle and warm against Chelsea's skin as her feet pounded their way into its caresses. Most of her chin-length blond hair was pulled away from her distinctly angular face. Her thick bobbed hair was her crowning glory, and she proudly advertised it had only ever been home permed once in her lifetime, back when she was a misguided eighth grader who sported an unfortunate butch mullet. Her face was a series of angles. Everything about her suggested a square, from her cheekbones to her disposition.

Back in high school, she had been a record setting distance runner, the volleyball captain and all-around overachiever. Her accomplishments had made her cover girl of the local newspaper. For more than four years, barely an issue of the Portnorth Porthole did not contain her name somewhere multiple times. Her mother kept a scrapbook documenting her accomplishments. But overnight, college had transformed her into a mere nobody among a swarm of materialistic snobs raised on the New Yorker, L.A. Times or Chicago Tribune. The shock proved too jolting, and she felt washed up at twenty-three; she never anticipated she would rack up her greatest achievements before the age of eighteen.

Although Chelsea spent her college years less than half an hour away from the largest metropolitan city in the Midwest, she squirreled her time away holed up in a studio apartment maintaining a 3.9 GPA, too afraid to step outside. What a waste, she thought now. But she never felt wasted when in her adopted hometown. Like Nick, Chelsea readily enjoyed being a big fish in a small pond, someone else's pond she easily conquered and made her own.

Her parents originally hailed from Southwestern Michigan, which was overpopulated and dominated by Dutch Reformed locals and wealthy upper crust conservatives, the same type of people she grew to despise at the University. Her father returned there after divorcing her mother. In Portnorth, on the sunrise side of Michigan, she felt like a lucky alien transplanted to the ideal place to carve out her own unique niche.

Chelsea let her feet carry her along the highway parallel to the shoreline leading away from Portnorth. Today she felt like an extra strenuous workout, in order to prepare her for the crowd of people she would face later at the church rehearsal. She was beginning to find the whole wedding tiresome. Any joy accompanying the festivities would be forced now that a bridesmaid lay in a coma.

No matter what mental games Chelsea played to distract herself, Evangelica's face materialized like an imperishable hologram. Even while running, Chelsea could not help but wonder what it must have felt like to consume all those pills, one after another, knowing all the while each swallow was a little taste of death.

When her legs hit the sand, they were not prepared for the shock, but she trudged onward barely breaking her stride. She ran along the blue water stretching outward as far as she could see. The water was like an infinite blanket beckoning her to submerge herself in its cooling depths.

It was a perfect, day, not too hot or too humid. Billowy cumulus clouds lingered overhead creating brief reprieves from the shining sun. What no one else appreciated about the little town of Portnorth was its simplicity. Purely unadulterated and uncomplicated simplicity seemed such a cutting edge notion to her; she loved her adopted hometown as much as Evangelica despised it. With September being the kindest month, it was especially perverse that Vange should linger comatose, unaware in a black hole of timelessness.

Chelsea was doubtful Evangelica would try to kill herself without calling anyone for help. Had she incoherently dialed the numbers too wrecked and weary to save herself? She wished more than anything Vange had called her during such her time of perilous vulnerability. It took no stretch of imagination for Chelsea to conceive how thoroughly desperate and alone Evangelica must have felt.

In all probability, Chelsea was certain she was the last person Vange would ever think to call. Chelsea always eschewed Kate's flamboyant grade school best friend. It was for Kate's benefit that Chelsea had ever talked to Vange at all, but eventually Kate also ceased speaking to Vange after she seduced Nick at the senior year Christmas party, never mind Chelsea had been dating him at the time. So twisted and tangled, she thought. It was the sum of their shared history, a web ensnared with virtual strangers.

She regarded Nick and Kate as positively mundane due to their premature descent into domestic oblivion. The mere thought of becoming Nick's wife turned her stomach. No one ever made Chelsea feel quite so worthless as Nick. Before he dumped her for a few meaningless trysts with Vange, Nick had told Chelsea he 'respected her too much' and that she was 'too good for him.' Remembering those words only made her feel desecrated yet again.

Chelsea became sickened whenever she looked across the room and saw Nick standing there. In her mind, his entering the medical profession was a mistake because his true calling was politics. Her reasoning being he was devoid of humanity, and that is what allowed him to be everyone's best friend, whether it was a hick, slut, nerd, jock, or an uptight bitch he found respectable.

Presently, Chelsea wished she had cultivated a better relationship with Evangelica. The coma victim seemed infinitely more interesting than the abysmal bores who littered her own socioeconomic stratosphere; especially Kate, who would remain forever blinded by the trappings of denial, unless she was provided the truth and an opportunity to free herself.

It was immaterial to Chelsea that Vange never left Portnorth. Rather than opt for a promise of financial success, she had become a jaded, manic-depressive small town waitress. Evangelica at least had personality, but it was more than that, she was a personality – to the point of becoming a rural, folk-legend of sorts.

Alive, Vange was held in contempt for her complete lack of humility, and her total disregard for excuses. Shamelessly flaunting her individual beauty and talent failed to win the hearts of friends and minds of neighbors, who always valued sameness over uniqueness. However, in death the town would undoubtedly mourn Vange as the tragic girl whose father killed himself and whose mother was anything except maternal, and despite those setbacks she had been equipped with a voice which could have made her a star under more nurturing circumstances. Chelsea thought it unjust and cruel if Vange should survive and remain the slut who could sing. Maybe the world was destined to only love Vange from afar.

Chelsea's body ached dully, but she pushed herself past the threshold of her endurance. She ran hard and fast until her legs and chest screamed in pain. As she came to a halt and doubled over with her hands resting on her knees, she vomited up the injustice and hypocrisy festering within for too long. Bent over near the water she felt empty and free. The cleansing aroma of pine trees saturated her lungs with astringent sap, and the waters of mighty Lake Huron beckoned her to explore its murky comforts.

Falling into the cold water, she submerged herself in blueness. Seagulls fought nearby, and she splashed to rid herself of their screeching disturbance. She wanted to be alone. Gasping the fishy air lingering over the lake, her exhilarated mind implored of Evangelica, "Come back and swim against the current. Don't opt for the safety of death, and a false promise of reverence!"

Floating on her back, Chelsea thought, screw everyone who had ever called Vange white trash or found herself to respectable to screw. Suddenly emancipated, Chelsea found herself rolling in the sea amidst a fit of laughing fits. She struggled to tread water as the alluring liquid pulled her deep within its grip.

When her arms and legs regained their underwater dance, she called out sadly to no one, Come back, Evangelica, come back. I need you to be my friend.

By the time Chelsea entered her mother's obsessively immaculate home, she had nearly dried off from her spontaneous swim. She trailed beach sand from her ankles through the doll-like house teaming with fresh cut flowers and delicate trinkets. It appeared a modern day Southern Belle might reside there. Even the antique furniture looked fragile and easily destructible, but Ginny Norris never entertained more than a few carefully select guests at a time.

Chelsea enjoyed eating ice cream and reading fashion magazines or practicing various yoga positions in the middle of the airy living room on the hardwood floor. Yet surrounded by the over abundance of bric-a-brac breakables inevitably put her on the edge. Like a bull in a china shop, she felt so trapped it was as if her flesh tingled electrically, and it was all she could do not to flail about until everything lay shattered at her feet. Initially, it was in this living room while anticipating leaving for university the combination of Ben and Jerry's Cherry Garcia and trendy magazines sent her scurrying to the bathroom to induce vomiting.

Most of the time, Chelsea found herself cornered between envious and embarrassed, and ultimately resentful of Ginny's indolently flirty disposition. The senior Ms. Norris was so carefree her daughter could not help but grow increasingly neurotic whenever she spent any time in her mother's presence. Chelsea often wondered if anything actually mattered to Ginny, because nothing whatsoever seemed to affect her languorously calm demeanor, but perhaps her unhurried savoring of time passing was the secret source of her sex appeal. Chelsea had always expressively forbidden what few dates she ever had to enter the house without her for fear they would fall under her mother's spell and never leave.

Standing before the open refrigerator, Chelsea gulped bottled water and lingered in the comforting chill that washed over her hot tight muscles. Hurried footsteps approached from behind, and they did not resemble Ginny's easy graceful stride.

Chelsea jumped with fright.

"Sorry for scaring you." Kate yawned and rubbed her deep-set eyes, which were surrounded by purplish rings. "It feels as if I've been asleep for weeks. I should be checking last minute details, but I don't feel like doing anything except hitting the sack."

Chelsea giggled uneasily and cherished the thought of spending the rest of the weekend in bed.

"I just had the weirdest dream," Kate began. Her ordinarily cautious and calculated veneer was clouded by fuzzy sleepiness. Chelsea often thought Kate's automatic niceness made her seem untrustworthy or mechanical, but the sedative had a positive effect, and she appeared more authentically real.

"Is an interpretation in order? My post-feminist, revisionist grasp of Freud is a little shaky," Chelsea said.

Not yet wide-awake, the Valium was still working on her defenses. "All of us were in it – you, me, Nick, Thad, Ben, and Vange. We were all competing in a contest. Remember the director of the Miss Portnorth Pageants?"

"Of course, who could forget Nyda Czerwinski, the Home Economics teacher from hell?"

"Well, in the dream she spoke to us over a giant movie screen. We were eliminated from a contest one by one, and dropped into a dungeon under a stage," Kate explained. "It came down between Vange and I, and she won."

"That's it?"

"No, then it turned out Vange was really Nyda, like in the Wizard of Oz, except she sentenced us to death rather than granting our wishes."

"What were the wishes?"

"You wanted to go home, Thad wanted courage, Nick a heart, and Ben a brain. And my wish was to be just like Evangelica. Isn't it odd?"

"Sounds like Vange's revenge." Chelsea nursed the bottled water and asked, "Have you decided what to do about being short a bridesmaid?"

"I'm sure my cousin, Alexa, will stand in if Vange is unable, I mean if she doesn't recover by tomorrow."

"Kate—

The bleary-eyed bride-to-be plopped herself dejectedly down on a barstool. "Oh, who am I kidding? Thad said Alexa would do it, but it doesn't feel right, you know?"

"Of course it doesn't, how could it?"

"Oops, one bridesmaid's in a coma, let's just fix up the dress and stick someone else in it." Kate's sunken eyes were swollen with sleep, and it looked as if she wanted to either bawl or scream. "Can things get any worse?"

Chelsea countered, "Trust me, things can always get worse."

"This morning at the hospital, the first thing I thought was why now? Why not after the wedding? That must sound incredibly cold, but it really was my first thought. Then when I saw her laid out like a corpse, I didn't know whether to hug her or slap her."

Chelsea sighed and mustered the energy to whisper, "You're right, it does sound incredibly cold."

Lost for words, Kate shook her head and looked away from Chelsea's judgmental gaze. "I always imagined my wedding day being so wonderfully perfect, like a fairy tale."

"Everyone does. No one anticipates anything like this."

"I wonder, what Emily Post suggests doing about a comatose bridesmaid, who just happens to be my stepsister?"

"Isn't she supposed to sing at the ceremony?"

"We're using prerecorded vocals, so she could be in the bridal party," Kate said sniffling.

Chelsea contemplated out loud, "What'll they do when they hear her voice?"

"Maybe we should light a candle for her. After all, we're lighting one for my mom. While we're at it why not light one for my granddad, and Vange's dead father, Shayla's first husband?"

"It could be the first wedding crashed by dead people," Chelsea said, injecting humor into the dire scenario.

Kate rose to her feet and paced the length of the kitchen. "I need another Valium."

"Or Prozac. Pour us a drink while I brush my teeth, and I'll drive you home," Chelsea called from the bathroom.

"I can't go there – take me to Nick's. I don't have the energy to deal with my dad or Shayla."

Chelsea returned to the kitchen with a toothbrush in hand. While brushing her teeth, she stood near the telephone and checked the antiquated answering machine for messages.

"Good morning, Katie, it's me – Nick. Give me a call when you're able —beep—Hey, Gin, this is the love of your life. I'll be in the embalming room all day, so see yah tonight —beep— Hey, (hiccup) it's Shayla Hesse. Ed and me we're heading out to the cottage for a Labor Day weekend BBQ. Just wanted to remind you, we'll be water skiing and what not. Come out for a wiener roast if you get the chance – beep."

With toothpaste dripping from her chin, Chelsea scampered from the kitchen. Kate poured two tall drinks, and from the bathroom Chelsea hollered, "What about your brother, how's he handling all this?"

Kate sipped the vodka and cranberry juice, unsure if anyone had told Jack about Evangelica's condition. Unsure where or how to locate him, she stared out the kitchen window across the gravel parking lot at the lounge. Everyone would meet there later, and she suddenly thought it was a mistake to have the church rehearsal before the dinner. Her father and stepmother would arrive and make drunken fools of themselves in front of Nick's relatives.

The water running in the bathroom reminded Kate of rain showers, and she prayed the weather remained cooperative at least. Perhaps even that was too much to hope for. Her big day was predestined to be an abysmal disaster, or so it seemed.

chapter seven

As the ecru colored Chevy Malibu pulled onto the highway, Kate tapped her foot to the beat of the music. Driving, Chelsea was buzzing slightly from the drink Kate had made too strong. The car was half-packed as she was supposed to be heading to the U of M Law School on Monday. She was enjoying coasting down the tree-lined highway, but she imagined their destination was anyplace other than the Paull's beachfront estate. Chelsea could brainstorm a hundred better ways to spend Labor Day weekend.

Her favorite long distance drive was always the road trip home from Chicago at Christmas time. Blaring classic rock music, she sped past the snow covered evergreens and hilly fields and whizzed through small towns comforted by the knowledge she was headed home to Portnorth.

Kate gnawed on her index finger knuckle to keep from chewing off her manicured nails. She sat mutely alongside Chelsea whom she suspected was drunk. For whatever reason, Chelsea chose to take the long way. Kate crouched down in her seat as they rode onto Main Street, which ran the full length of the town, approximately three and a quarter miles. Teenagers cruised this stretch all weekend long. The car wash and church parking lot were turnaround hotspots. It was a monotonous unending ritual culminating in either finding a buyer to purchase alcohol or directions to a kegger, which was usually held in some deep-wood, off-limits hunting camp.

Back in high school, one of the few deterrents of Kate's popularity was her aversion to alcohol. In order to get decent grades, she studied voraciously in all subjects except math. Like her deceased mother, Kate tended to butcher the English language, but with due diligence she managed to obtain all A's. Like a majority of her classmates, she was the first one in her family to attend college.

Kate thought it was humiliating to have such backward hillbilly blood coursing through her veins. In order to avoid being reminded of their tacky roots, her mother's brothers had moved away and dispersed throughout the state. However, it never occurred to her mom or aunt to join the exodus from Portnorth. Her father's family, the infamous Hesses, were true shit kickers who monopolized a small farming community a few miles from the city. They were a hard drinking crop of Krauts with attitude to spare.

Kate could not imagine herself living in Portnorth, a member of the softball or bowling leagues, or even one of the civic-minded volunteer societies. She had always dreamed of marrying into a family that could trace its roots for more than three generations, and so she considered herself extremely lucky to have found Nick. He had his faults, but mostly he was a godsend.

While attending a remote little university in the Upper Peninsula she had dated a series of duds, but one stuck out in her mind – the geek to whom she lost her virginity. He was the only other man besides Nick she had known intimately, and he had been as gentle as he was patient. His family was well established and cultured in ways her clan could not imagine. Together, they had planned to become engineers and settle down in the woodsy outskirts of a distant metro Detroit suburb, but then Nick came back into her life and put an end to such notions.

Becoming a doctor's wife and a teacher was the perfect escape from her blue collar past, which clung to her like the dirty coveralls her father wore. Chief Engineer Ed Hesse was in charge of the monstrous after-end of a freighter, and he made a boatload of money, but he was still salt of the earth.

As they drove past the town graveyard, Chelsea pointed to a decorated tombstone and said, "How morbid, who has a party in the cemetery?" Streamers and balloons blew in the wind with obligatory festivity. Stuck near the headstone was a sign, resembling a can of chewing tobacco.

"So strange," Kate said, not paying any attention. Instead, she was thinking about how her mother always kept more money stashed in the cookie jar than the bank. Unable to balance a checkbook, Kaye Hesse had lived from paycheck to paycheck. It was not an uncommon way of life among boat wives. Perhaps it was the root of her stinginess, but Kate was unable to imagine a fate worse than being impoverished.

Kate only agreed to marry Nick when her Uncle requested she start paying rent. What was the point of paying money to live at her uncle's house, when she could get married? Nick was generous nearly to a fault, and once married he would remedy the fact she was such a miser. She could not help being a penny pincher because she had an ingrained terror of being poor.

One unfortunate year Thad's family received food stamps, and that ended the extended family trips to the grocery store, along with most all other familial functions. Kate could not fathom such a humiliation as not being able to afford food; the Feldpausch's only consolation that lonely year was every other family whose sole breadwinner worked at the local quarry also ate compliments the U.S. Government. She vowed back then never to subjugate her fate to the fickle whims of supply and demand.

Kate was such a frugal tightwad she opted to wear her Matron of Honor's wedding dress rather than buy one of her own. So what it was being recycled. It was not as if she intended to wear it again, and who in Portnorth would know? She liked to think of herself as being thrifty. Kate's only concern was the dress was jinxed because its previous owner, her first college roommate, had become a bored suburban housewife who regularly cheated on her dullard accountant husband.

As Chelsea drove past the house where Kate grew up, she said, "Maybe I should remind my brother what time the church rehearsal starts."

Chelsea nodded to the beat and cranked up her favorite John Gorka song while Kate silently noted her childhood home was comfortably understated and nurturing. Nestled in a hamlet at the bottom of a hill, the home symbolized the sheltered existence her mother had protectively carved out for them. It was a glaring contrast to the kitsch ponderosa where her father now lived with his new wife and Jack. The residence was set a couple feet from the road, and it was exposed on all sides – like a tacky reminder of the scandal her father created upon making Shayla Whiley the next Mrs. Ed G. Hesse. Their marriage caused such a furor Kate took to secretly staying at Chelsea's mother's house or with Nick's parents on those rare occasions she came back to town.

As Chelsea pulled in the driveway, Kate promised to only take a minute. She scrawled a note to her brother in the kitchen among piles of pizza boxes, beer cans and overflowing ashtrays. Unlike the pleasant smells of her youth, a mixture of stray animals and home cooking, the new house reeked like a tavern.

The doorbell rang, and Kate called out, "Come on in."

Nyda Czerwinski, the haggard home economics teacher and mother of Jack's dead prom date, approached carrying a large package. Honeycomb frown lines bookended her downturned mouth, and her hollow eyes remained unfocused. The woman's hair was a mess of frizz, the result of years of abuse suffered by over-the-counter dyes and perms.

"I'm so glad I caught someone home, finally," she began. "I'm Mrs. Czerwinski, Jule's mother – well, I was her mother, you know, before the accident."

"Yes," Kate said, confused.

Nyda-the-Living-Dead, as she was still called by her Home Economic pupils, was also an aerobics instructor, Tupperware saleswoman, and Mary Kay Representative, and director of the annual Portnorth Queens Pageant. At various times in her life, Kate had been Nyda's student, make-up model and a pageant participant, but Nyda seemingly had no recollection.

"This parcel arrived by freight shortly after we bought your parent's house over on Superior Street. I've called repeatedly, but no one takes any interest. It's addressed to Mrs. Ed G. Hesse."

"How thoughtful of you to bring it by, Mrs. Czerwinski," Kate said taking the box. "I'll see to it Shayla gets it."

"No, Katie, I think it's meant for your mom. She was such a wonderful woman," Nyda said, unmoving. She had not moved since entering the house. Her arms hung lifelessly at her side, and her skeletal head was glued unnaturally forward. The veins at her temples threatened to burst, and her thoughts were permanently fixated elsewhere. Nyda gave Kate the creeps.

For lack of anything else to say, Kate asked, "How are the twins?" Kate used to baby-sit Jules and her demonic twin brothers. The Czerwinski twins were just as fond of drowning cats off the boat harbor pier as they were of playing doctor with various household utensils. They were holy terrors, but Jules had always been and now would always be an angel.

"Oh, they're around – back from the Persian Gulf, I think," Nyda said blankly. She chewed a strand of frizzy hair between her ghostly blue lips, and she suddenly grabbed hold of Kate's shoulders. "I heard about Evangelica. First, your mom, then your grandpa, and now your stepsister – it is such a shame. Be strong and keep faith in our Lord."

Kate nervously backed away, and Nyda grasped hold of her wrists. "Let us pray," Nyda said, caressing Kate's hands in her own bird-like talons. Nyda fell to her knees before Kate and babbled prayerfully until Kate became visibly unnerved. She waited patiently until the pear shaped woman stood upright before thanking her; for what, Kate was unsure, but she had no idea what else to say.

Stiffly, Nyda left the house as if rigor mortis had set in long ago, and Kate struggled to open the box. Discovering what was inside, she quickly realized the only place her mother would have worn such a formal dress was to a wedding – Kate's wedding? It was ivory colored and tastefully simple. Had her mom ordered the dress thinking she would live to see her daughter married? Kaye had been an older, heavier version of her daughter; Kate inherited her mother's olive complexion, dark eyes, and raven colored hair.

Stifling a tear, Kate quickly left the house with the box tucked under her arm. As soon as she entered the vehicle, Chelsea pointed at the person wandering down the center of the road as if a lost in a fugue state.

"What did Nyda-the-Living-Dead want?" Chelsea asked

"To deliver this," Kate said, holding the package.

"I heard Nyda and Hop-along Czerwinski are swingers," Chelsea said casually.

Years ago, Kate's Aunt Jane told Thad of a society gathering hosted by Ginny Norris's mortician boyfriend. Party games consisted of the men throwing their keys in a pile for women to pick blindly whom they would spend the night with. Kaye Hesse walked home alone, and afterwards she strictly forbid Kate to ever baby-sit for the Czerwinskis ever again.

"Nyda really does look dead," Kate said.

"Was Jack home?"

"No, but let's check and see if my dad's truck is parked outside the bar."

"Which one, there's a bar on every corner?" Chelsea asked, and she drove to the nearest tavern. Ed's truck was parked in back where the regulars half-wittedly attempted to conceal themselves.

"It makes me sick," Kate said. In the unlikely event her father or stepmother saw her, Kate slunk down in the seat and hoped they were too drunk to notice. She surmised, "They've probably been here since leaving the hospital."

"I thought they went to the cottage."

"So did I. Apparently, they were side-tracked."

"Isn't there anything else to do in this town?"

"Drive to Nick's parent's," Kate said. "If that's their only hobby, it's no wonder Jack dropped out of school."

"Jack's a high school drop out?" Chelsea exclaimed, and added sheepishly, "I shouldn't sound so condemning; after all, I'm leaving law school."

"You're joking."

"Nope."

"But why –

"I can't stand it anymore," Chelsea said. "Can you really picture me in a courtroom?"

"If you can imagine it, it will be."

"What? Barf me out. Tell me, you don't believe that Oprah nonsense."

"You'll just drop out, and then what?" Kate asked. Chelsea was always so driven and motivated. Kate spent her entire high school career studying like crazy, never quite measuring up to the academic mentor she found in Chelsea. "What'll you do?"

"I'll grow my hair out and drive out west." Chelsea smirked at Kate's bewildered expression. "So, Jack's a dropout too?"

"He spent some time in a psych ward after the accident, the one that killed Nyda's daughter on prom night."

"It must've been horrible. Was he driving?"

"No, she was, or at least that's what Alexa told the police. Jack fled the scene with a concussion," Kate said. She shook her head as if life itself were incomprehensible. "When released from the hospital, he refused to go back to school. Nick tried to convince him to get a GED, but he won't listen to reason."

"Maybe you should have a talk with him."

"Me? What could I possibly say that would make any difference?" Kate asked. "We don't have one thing in common."

"Well, you have the same parents," Chelsea said incredulously.

"He has more in common with his stepfamily. They're all hopeless. He'll end up a bar fly. He's cruising for a bruising, on a fast track to nowhere."

"Kate, oh my God, he's your brother! You're a teacher, is that how you write off your students?"

"Let's drop it," Kate said. The car pulled up in front of the Paulls' lakefront home, and Kate extended an overly polite invitation to Chelsea.

"Oh, all right, but only if they have wine or booze. I need to unwind from all this stress," Chelsea said. "My run didn't quite cut it."

As they made their way up the flower-lined driveway, Reggae music sounded louder, and they exchanged perplexed looks of bewilderment.

"This sucks, someone's having a party and we weren't invited," Chelsea said. They followed the beat of the music and the lull of the waves to the other side of the house, where four Rastafarian wannabes danced wildly in the sand around a bonfire.

Kate let out a smattering of nervous laughter as she approached her future husband. Without warning, the world had gone mad. She felt herself shrinking and wanted to crawl back into bed in order to sleep away several eons like Rip Van Winkle. Her only hope for escape was to pass out in a Valium induced stupor.

Ben called out for her to join the celebration. He danced with Nick's tall skinny sister, who appeared out of place on the beach in her all-black ensemble, nose ring, and permanent look of aloofness. Chelsea recognized the type, and she instantly withdrew. At least there had not been anyone so pretentious at law school.

"What's going on?" Kate demanded. "What are all these palms doing here?"

"You'll never guess," Thad said.

"Try me."

"Our little siblings stole them from the Catholic Church," Thad said. "We're burning the evidence."

Kate asked dumbfounded, "Who stole these palms?"

"Alexa and Jack," Ben answered. "All two-thousand of them."

"What's that juvenile delinquent thinking?" Kate asked no one in particular. Growing irritated, she pointed out, "This is clearly in violation of his probation."

"Probation," Chelsea repeated, "for what?"

"Setting fire to an abandoned building on Main Street," Thad answered.

They could not understand Kate's bristling disapproval. She was acting positively middle-aged.

Ben assured, "It's just a prank, Kate, nobody knows except for us."

The long, cool woman in black said, "I want to meet this kid, Jack."

Nick stepped forward, "Kate, you remember my sister, Nanette."

"It's Tristana now," Nanette corrected. She spent her formative years locked away in an expensive disreputable boarding school, which was renowned for accepting mildly disturbed girls from Nouveau Riche families. Once freed from boarding school, she enrolled in a university and made it a point never to come back to Portnorth, except when her presence was required to celebrate the milestones in her baby brother's life. She took Kate's outstretched hand and announced she currently stayed in Royal Oak, Michigan.

Unimpressed, Kate turned to Nick and said, "I can't believe this. You're stoned, aren't you?"

Despite Nick's protestations to the contrary, Kate whirled around and marched to the house. She climbed the patio steps two at a time and disappeared through the second story sliding-glass doors. Nick offered his guests an apologetic shrug and sheepishly followed his fuming wife-to-be.

"And everyone thinks I'm uptight," Chelsea said loudly. Nick called out he would bring more beer if anyone wanted any, and they all wanted more. Chelsea muttered, "Such an accommodating asshole." She decided she could retrieve the beer faster, and she jogged to the house after taking drink orders.

By then the Bob Marley CD was over, and the mood dampened as the three remaining dancers burned palm leaves one at a time. Thad stood in his bare feet and stoked the fire. Then he rolled his jeans past his scrawny ankles, and frothy waves lingered around his feet.

A haze was rolling in off the lake, and it momentarily obstructed the blazing sun. Ben inched closer to Tristana, and his mind raced with the possibility of rekindling the romp they shared at Nick's graduation party. They eagerly anticipated Chelsea's return. She emerged carrying a paper sack and handed everyone a Molson Ice. From the cupboard, she had stolen marshmallows, a jar of peanut butter, chocolate bars, and a box of graham crackers.

Ben laughed, "Sweet, let's have a sacred palm burning feast."

With her mouth full, Chelsea lamented gleefully, "We need music, to make it even more sacrilegious."

Wistfully looking toward the lake, Tristana/Nanette smoothed her hands over her black mock turtleneck dress and lit a clove cigarette. Unlike Nick, his sister had never received the memo that her only duty was to be satisfied. In order to go along to get along in Portnorth, she was to project an image of healthy small town happiness. Naturally, she perfected a disposition of disenfranchised detachment. Consistently sullen and indifferent, she made it a point never to take notice of the world around her.

Typically nervous and hyper, Ben fidgeted from side to side and tossed around his long black hair. As Tristana moved nearer to him, Ben recalled the kinky details of their naked twister match in Nick's bedroom. When Tristana was still Nanette, she had taught him every pleasurable trick in her book of love torture. Ben studied her bored eyes for any hint of an invitation to a repeat performance, maybe even on Nick's old bed where their original encounter took place.

Tristana turned her full attention to Ben and ran her fingers enticingly across his thigh. "Tell me more about my future brother in-law, the arsonist. Is Jack a genuine hick?" she asked sincerely. "I want to spend time with real, Grade-A hicks. You people are future suburbanites." Tristana took Ben's hand into her own. "What about Jack? Tell me, is he the real deal?"

"Jack's my sweet inspiration," Chelsea cried out. She took a swig of beer and steadied herself as she threw another marshmallow at Ben. It soared over his head and rolled past the bonfire into the endless lake. The waves lapped it out to sea. "I will quit law school and set fire to all the vacant buildings in Portnorth in the name of rural development, if only Jack will run away with me."

"Not if I get to him first," Tristana said competitively.

"I guess it's good to want things," Thad said as if their burgeoning aspirations to become female pedophiles were not at all unusual. Thad toyed with the fire until the music resumed, and then he grabbed another beer and attempted to open it, but it was not a twist-off.

"That's my microbrew," Tristana said, taking the bottle from him. "Does anyone have an opener?"

They looked questioningly at Chelsea, who seemed like the only one anal retentive enough to carry around an opener. She admitted, "Well, I do have a Swiss Army knife in my car."

Tristana suggested, "Why don't you be a doll, and run along and fetch it?"

"I would, but it's just I've never used it before," Chelsea said, torn as to whether or not she wanted to break out the can opener for its maiden voyage. "It's a gift from my aunt, she bought it in Europe."

"How about you and I, together, let's devirginize that tool," Tristana said, but Chelsea failed to move on cue.

Ben reached over, grabbed the bottle and opened it with Thad's lighter.

"Yikes."

Chelsea hollered drunkenly, "Hey, throw me another brew-ski".

"Aim for her head," Tristana offered as she kissed Ben's sore thumb.

After twisting off the cap, Thad handed her a beer and Chelsea took a long swig before joining the others. Laughingly, they waved their palms and swayed to the beat of the music, "The Salvation Army Band played, and the children drank lemonade, and the morning lasted all day –

"Hey, I remember this song," Chelsea said, and all at once she burst, "Life in a Northern Town!" She hummed, listening for any lyrics she could recall, "In the winter of 1963, it felt like the world was free –

They continued dancing and swaying to the pop song from their youth; all the while Chelsea brooded solemnly until the song was over. Then she said morosely, "It wasn't until I got old I realized how depressing that song is."

"You're hardly old," Thad protested, "that'd make all of us old."

"Hell, it'd make me a freaking geriatric," Tristana said, who was all of twenty-eight.

"I propose another topic to ponder," Chelsea began, "I wonder what Portnorth was like back in 1963."

"Is it even there yet?" Tristana asked doubtfully.

"Everything must've seemed innocent and untouched back then," Chelsea said. "Just imagine it."

"Thanks, but I'd rather not," Tristana said, shuddering at the thought.

"Then came the dirty hippies."

"Oh, but they were innocent and untouched, in their own naive way," Chelsea said, staring dreamily into the fire.

"Peace, love, and granola – it all makes me sick," Tristana snapped, and Chelsea looked crushed.

"Were there any hippies in Portnorth?" Ben asked, moving the conversation along.

"Doubt it," Tristana said, and she added as if it was at all relevant, "I used to make Nicky play Charlie Manson and the Creepy Crawlers with me. We'd lay my Barbie Dolls around the pool outside the dream house, and then we'd attack them with his GI Joe and Skipper, who doubled as Squeaky Fromme."

"Hey, I used to imagine my GI Joes were shell-shocked Vietnam Vets," Ben said. He felt a renewed sense of kinship with Tristana, who had forgotten him for the mere thought of Jack. "They always died in fiery stake outs."

"Thank God for Desert Storm," Thad said drolly, and he confessed, "I used to be afraid of long-haired freaks. My uncle and his friends would hang around the courthouse lawn playing Frisbee, smoking pot and drinking PBR. They all sported handlebar mustaches, but that was back during the bicentennial."

"The Spirit of Seventy-Sex," Tristana interjected.

"So, I guess they weren't really hippies."

"Just gross cling-ons to a bygone era," Tristana said. "All overly hairy men scare the shit out of me."

"Listen, I wish it were 1963 right now," Chelsea said, sadly nostalgic for a time she had never known. "I wish some worthwhile cultural icons shaped my formative years."

Chelsea purged them of their mutually embarrassing Eighties history, which climaxed in a benignly depressing present – no fun 1991. Belonging to the first generation expected to achieve less than its parents, they insisted on living a sort of prolonged adolescence in order to stave off their inevitable inheritance, which amounted to a stagnant economy and a calcified conservatism that smacked of an isolationism still formulated by the Greatest Generation, who still had one racist foot in the Cold War and the other in the grave; their overly entitled Baby-Boomer children gladly evaded any responsibility of leadership to pursue mindless mass consumerism.

Ben assembled a sticky S'more, and he interjected an "Amen, sister" into her tirade against Reagan, Bush, Oliver North, Dan Quayle, Trickle Down Voodoo Economics, Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson.

Tristana lit a cigarette, and she said sarcastically, "But what about all the high fashion, like stirrup pants, parachute pants, neon tiered skirts, and banana clips?"

Thad imagined them in support groups, trying to Twelve Step from their shameful pasts all the horrible trends that invariably became outdated faster than their parents' overdrawn credit cards had a chance to cool.

"Speaking of outdated fashions," Tristana said, eyeballing Ben's leather coat.

"If the world doesn't become a better place, I'll just hide away in Portnorth forever," Chelsea vowed.

"I could never put my trust in this small town," Tristana said. She lit another clove cigarette and asked, "This place is literally a pit, what do they do with all the rock they dig up from that hole in the ground anyway."

"That despoiling crater is our pride and joy – our forefathers' livelihood," Chelsea said, and she held up four fingers. "Well, not my forefathers, mind you, but maybe Evangelica's four fathers. Ha! Get it?"

"I hate puns."

"Too funny," Ben said, and he turned to Tristana. "I think the limestone is used to make steel, which is no longer made in Pittsburgh, for all the cars no longer made in Detroit."

"So, this town is like at the bottom of the industrial food chain, and Detroit is at the top," Tristana said, and she ashed her cigarette upwind of Chelsea.

"What a horrible thought." Chelsea grimaced as she swiped the ashes from her face and fleece. Then she paused for a few minutes and said, "I've got to get the hell out of the Midwest."

Hand in hand, Nick and Kate emerged from the sprawling house and they looked very much like picture perfect newlyweds. The warm breeze tousled her long dark hair and tugged at the tails of her chambray shirt. She resembled a young housewife dressed for a trip to the market while Nick could pass for a medical resident. They were a sight to behold, and they inspired envy or revulsion depending on whatever the company they kept. As they approached the bonfire, it became obvious Kate had been crying, and Nick unquestionably reassured her with his comforting words and gentle touch. Their song was playing on the radio, More Than Words.

They were visibly consumed with one another to the point of infectiously brimming over. Radiating mutual adoration, Nick grabbed a couple marshmallows and proceeded to roast them while Kate prepared graham crackers and broke apart chocolate bars for the S'mores. She admired his steady command of any group he encountered, and his ability to remain humble only compounded her respect for him. Kate could feel Tristana's brooding disapproval, but her glowing disposition remained unaffected. Tomorrow promised to make her the happiest woman above the 45th Parallel.

Since Kate emerged from the house, Ben put a respectable distance between himself and Nick's sister. Jokingly, he attempted to knock Nick's roasting stick into the fire, and he informed, "We were just discussing the relationship between Portnorth and Detroit."

"Symbiosis," said Nick. "You know, the quarry is only one of three manmade structures you can see from outer space."

Tristana said, "No one wants to hear it."

Nick gave Ben a friendly shove and taunted him with a flaming torch of marshmallow, but Ben dodged away. "Hey, man, watch the hair. You always threw the best parties."

"Remember that one time when we all went skinny dipping?" Thad asked. "Nick kept spitting out Bacardi 151 and setting it on fire all over the lake."

"Oh God, then I puked my Bacardi all over the lake," Chelsea added.

"And remember the homecoming bash?" Ben asked.

"Who could forget when Vange kicked off her shoes when she did the can-can. One of them landed right in the punch bowl," Kate said, handing Nick a S'more.

"I always called her WVAN-TV, because she always acts as if a camera is recording her every move," Ben said, "as if she were on MTV's Real World."

"So, why isn't she here to liven things up?"

In response to Tristana's questioning gaze, Thad said flatly, "Coma."

Heavy silence befell the bonfire, and everyone remained quiet until Thad said, "Catch her in syndication because she won't be doing any live performances for a while."

"Ha!" Chelsea guffawed, covering her mouth as beer spewed out. She wiped the liquid from her chin and continued chortling until everyone joined in except for Kate.

"Girlfriend in a coma?" Tristana asked.

"I know, it's serious," Ben added.

"I really hope she pulls through," Thad concluded, and the three of them could not help but erupt in a fit of hysterics.

"You guys are cruel," Kate said, suppressing her own mounting laughter. Her seriousness only made everyone laugh harder. Ben threw a marshmallow at her and jokingly called her a hypocrite. Eventually, Kate could not contain her own giggles, and she pelted the crowd with fluffy ammunition.

"Start burning these palms. I don't want anyone to see the evidence all over the beach," Nick said. He grabbed a handful and threw them into the fire. "Thankfully, I don't have any criminal siblings, just Nanette here –

"Tristana," she corrected.

"Whatever," Nick said. "Hey, Kate, does your family know what time the rehearsal is?"

"I left Jack a note," Kate replied as she warded off Ben's onslaught of palms. "Should I call the bar and remind my dad, or just hope he forgets?"

Nick failed to suppress his disapproval, and Ben sang out obnoxiously, "Kate Hesse's brother is a punk and her daddy's a drunk."

Chelsea doubled over, and once again foam shot out of her straight little nose. "To my best friends in the whole world," she cried out, toasting them. She then took another pull from the beer. "I love you guys."

Tristana lit yet another clove cigarette and said, "I swear I'll leave if you haul out the yearbooks and start reminiscing."

Chelsea slurred, "Don't be tho thynical, right Thad?"

"She's drunk," Thad said. He poked at her with a stick, and they all watched Chelsea topple over in a fit of giggles. After she crawled to her feet, she staggered behind overgrown yew bushes to throw up.

As they yelled words of encouragement if not exactly support, Kate said softly, "She still does this every time."

Nick observed, "She has a better disposition when drunk."

"Yeah, I can actually stand her," Ben added.

"For instant personality, just add alcohol," Thad said.

"You'd know firsthand," Tristana said

"Maybe she's an alcoholic," Kate said worriedly.

"She doesn't have any tolerance, that's all," Nick corrected.

Looking a little green, Chelsea returned from the bushes and asked for anything to drink besides beer. Thad fetched a cold Faygo Red Pop from the walkout basement and returned out of breath. Chelsea drank it slowly and leaned against him for support. She smelled faintly of beer, sweat, and Lake Huron. He thought the not-altogether unpleasant aroma should be bottled and sold as her signature scent – Chelsea's Morning Dew.

"Would you like another S'more?" Kate asked her future husband.

"No thanks," he replied, chomping on a handful of chocolate. Unconcerned he asked, "Do you have any idea where our wedding attendants are?"

"At the cottage. We're supposed to stop out there," Kate said, disinterested in the idea.

"Maybe I should check to make sure they're still safe and relatively sober," Nick said annoyed as he gathered up the last of the palms.

"Wait, I want one, please," Chelsea grabbed a palm from his hand, and she watched him pass one to each one of his guests as a keepsake to commemorate the occasion. "What a great guy – always thinking of everyone, never leaving anyone out."

"I've never left you out, have I, Chels?"

"Certainly not," Chelsea said. She flashed him a forced knowing smile, but Nick chose to ignore her.

"Hey, give me two," Ben demanded. "Vange will want a stolen palm when she's out of the hospital."

Nick looked doubtful, but he passed Ben two anyway. To celebrate the once in a lifetime palm-burning bash, Nick pulled out a bundle of firecrackers from his pocket, and he requested everyone take a step backward. Instead, they all inched closer.

Nick cleared his throat and announced, "Now for the grand finale."

"In honor of what?" Tristana asked.

"Vange," Ben suggested.

"Something more universal," Chelsea said, feeling left out.

Nick tossed the last of the fronds into the flames, and he ceremoniously held out the firecrackers for Ben to light. Kate winced, backed away and plugged her ears.

"How about in honor of a generation so pathetic, it's doomed to be less successful than any of its predecessors," Thad said, and Tristana nodded in agreement.

"Real cheery," Ben said as he slugged Thad's arm.

"Rephrase it," Chelsea insisted. She thought for a moment, and Ben waited to ignite the illegal explosives. "Let's see, how about in honor of an irreverent and incongruous age."

Grinning, Nick added, "Or as Thad says, the pathetic generation."

Ben lit a long wick, and Nick tossed the firecrackers near the bonfire. They backed up in unison and awaited the festive bangs. Deafening silence erupted in the wake of the explosions. When the air cleared of gunpowder, smoke, and noise, Kate suggested, "Hey, how about a trip to the hospital to check on Vange while Nick goes to the cottage?"

"That doesn't really sound like fun," Tristana said.

"I'm supposed to take Alexa to the tailor to get the dress altered," Thad remembered, checking his watch.

Chelsea offered, "I can take you since your car is dead in the Derry Kafe's parking lot."

"Don't look my way, I don't even know her," Tristana said.

"Okay, I'm getting the picture," Kate said disappointed, and finally she turned to Ben.

"I've got to meet Nyda Czerwinski, to estimate the cost of painting her house," Ben said. "Maybe next time."

"They're painting the house?" Kate asked. She wondered what other ways the new owners were transforming her childhood home.

"Yup, holy roller red with bible belt blue trim," Ben joked. He smiled awkwardly and offered her a sympathetic hug.

"Considering the accident and all, maybe it's a good idea if Jack doesn't help you with that job. It might make Nyda uncomfortable," Kate suggested.

"What accident?" Tristana asked annoyed. Small town life seemed to her to be a series of inside jokes and highly unclassified information. Glaring at Kate and Nick, she wrapped her arm around Ben. "No one tells me anything around here."

No one was about to start as they all ignored her while she lit one more clove cigarette. Kate finished gathering up the empty beer bottles and snack stuff, and she walked alone to the house without looking back. She did not need their company; she merely thought it would be nice to take a group trek to visit Vange. Kate was not sure why she felt compelled to visit her stepsister's bedside, especially since they were no longer close and had nothing in common. She said she did not want to think of Evangelica as being alone, or maybe it was a way to fill the nagging void within her.

chapter eight

"If Evangelica hadn't really wanted to die, don't you think she would have called Ben, or you, even me, if she had to?" Chelsea asked. "Wouldn't she have tried to get a hold of at least one of us?"

"I don't know." Thad was not so in tune with the suicidal mind he could answer such a hypothetical question.

He tapped his foot, not to the beat of the music but rather with impatience. Chelsea drove her ecru 1972 Malibu with typical grandmotherly caution. She did not have it in her to be a female Evil Kenievil, plus it was a gift from her father and those were few and far between.

Chelsea chose this slightly buzzed moment to get up close and personal; she focused her rapt attention on him by kept her eyes off the road for what seemed like a dangerous length of time. "What're you thinking? Are you really happy?"

Slightly taken aback as to the point of her inquiry, he placed his hand instinctively on the dash. Although she was motoring along at a relatively slow speed, she had not bothered to look at the road for several blocks.

"Really, being the local newspaper man? You've always hated this town –

"No, not the town itself, just everybody in it," Thad interrupted jokingly as he pointed in order to save the life of a random pedestrian.

Chelsea swerved nonchalantly and asked, "So, what are you still doing here, living with your parents, lingering like bad morning breath?"

"I don't know."

"What do you know? Anything – anything at all?" she asked exasperated. "There are two types of people, Thaddeus. People who value things and people who value doing things."

"I guess you mistook me for a person of action."

"So, you're satisfied being a fledgling nobody?"

"It's a good time to be back, Chels, that's all," he said defensively. "With Alexa starting her senior year next week, and Vange being in a coma and all."

"Make me barf. Let's take off for San Francisco tomorrow. It'll be an adventure," she said.

"Would I have to be Thelma, or could I be Louise?"

She stopped the car in front of the boutique and waved at Alexa, who stood forlorn in the front window. She disregarded his reference to the suicidal feminists and said, "I have an Aunt who lives on the East Bay. She could harbor us like fugitives."

"I'll think about it," Thad said, with little intention of doing any such thing.

"Hey, did you ever call the girl you're so in love with?"

Thad sighed as he opened the car door.

"That's what I figured," she said gloating. "Do you still love her? Don't you have any dreams?"

"I did," he said and quickly exited the car. "Die young and leave a beautiful corpse, but it looks as if Vange might beat me to it."

Still barefoot and carrying his shoes, he was thankful to be alive and outside the vehicle. He pulled open the paint-chipped boutique door. Chelsea called after him in small worried voice, and he turned to face her.

"I'll see you later, at the church, okay?" she said pointlessly.

As she slowly drove away, Thad wondered why she was acting so strange. He hoped she too was not also considering killing herself. A series of copycat suicides from the same bridal party would merit national media coverage. Thad imagined the matron of honor, who spent last night with Ben, would be the next to off herself in the tragic chain of events. He would win a Pulitzer Prize for capturing the entire macabre weekend on film. He imagined caskets lining the Catholic school gymnasium, like in the 1950s when the Carl D. Bradley freighter sank, drowning a quarter of the townsmen with it.

The lights beamed brightly inside the cozy, rosy smelling boutique, and they warmed him like a toaster oven set on low. Against the sapphire blue sky, Alexa Feldpausch squinted and shifted uncomfortably on a little red stool. Although her tangled hair hung past her shoulders, she looked especially lean and unfeminine in the gaudy bridesmaid gown. She looked like a skater punk dressed in drag about to burst into tears.

"I'm a pink cow," she protested. Under her breath, she cursed the person responsible for her predicament.

The round little Polish seamstress' fingers fumbled with the excess material around Alexa's hipless midsection. Although her mouth clamped onto several pins, the woman managed groans of sympathy as she inspected the tall girl's less than perfect body. The tight, strapless bodice gave way to a full skirt, which would have accentuated Evangelica's hourglass figure, but it simply hung limply on Alexa and rendered her shoulders more broad than usual.

"This isn't going to work," Alexa said. "It was a bad idea for me to stand in for Vange. Jesus Christ, she's got the body of Marilyn Monroe, and I'm built like –

"A quarterback? Watch your mouth."

"Oh, eat shit and die, Thaddeus," Alexa mumbled, and the round grandmother lost a few pins. Alexa jumped off the stool and gazed out at the desolate street. "This sucks! Tell Kate to find someone else to stand up in her stupid wedding."

"You don't look half bad," he lied. "Honest."

"I look like total shit. What's this hot neon pink color called, anyway – Cap'n Crunch Berry? Didn't Kate get the memo, neon is so out."

"It's fuchsia, dear," Mrs. Rotundowski said gently, and she placed a comforting hand on Alexa's shoulder. "It's quite a popular color these days. Trust me, we'll make it work. After a few nips here and tucks there and there, this dress will feel custom made. You don't have a thing to worry about."

"Except I look like a big ugly float," Alexa said with resignation. With the help of Rotundowski, she sadly resumed her elevated roost on the stool. "Doesn't Kate realize big tacky weddings are so five years ago? Christ, this is the Nineties, Dynasty went off the air ages ago."

"It's only for one day," Thad said, trying to sound sympathetic because she really did look awful. "What about shoes? Have you tried on Vange's heels?"

Alexa smoothed the dress flat against her and looked down at her own exposed bare feet, which looked all of their size nine. The hem ended at the middle of her calves. The three of them shuddered at the thought of her feet stuffed into high heels. She exhaled deeply, which caused her curly bangs to bounce off her jutting cheekbones. It looked as if she were about to burst into tears.

"How can we hide them?" Alexa asked while wiggling her toes.

"With the length of this dress and your height, I think you could get away with wearing tennis shoes," said Mrs. Rotundowski. "No one will see your shoes with this full skirt."

"But it's so short."

"Tea length for the junior bridesmaid," Thad said.

"I'm going to let out the bottom, and we'll make it a smidgen too long."

Thad thought his sister looked a mess at best. He only hoped no one else noticed, but at that moment Jack sped by on his BMX bike.

"Look, it's your boyfriend," Thad said, pointing out the window.

"He's our cousin, idiot," she corrected.

Seconds later, Jack made a U-turn in the middle of Main Street and passed by again. This time he pointed a lollipop at her and laughed hysterically. Prepared, she forcefully flipped him off. The hollow insult only served as an invitation for him to stop and further humiliate her.

After parking his bike, he barged into the boutique with the lollipop dangling from his mouth. He exclaimed, "Dude, I can't believe you're actually going through with it!" He ignored the accusatory look Mrs. Rotundowski cast his way. By now he had grown accustomed to the accusatory stares judging him to be a killer prom date.

"You look god-awful nasty."

"You don't look so hot yourself," she snarled. "Just shut up, Jerkoff, and be on your merry masturbatory way."

"Where you headed, Jack," Thad asked.

"Work," the teenager answered, and he stuck his soggy sucker stick into a potted plant. In his t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, he looked tougher than necessary.

"The high school dropout washes dishes for a living," Alexa said as she tugged on her dress. "Not so tight, I don't want to look like some butt ugly airhead asshole."

"Missy, you've got the mouth of a sailor," Mrs. Rotundowski said aghast.

"My name's not Missy, and if it were I'd be the next one to kill myself," Alexa said, pulling on the dress. "Then there'd be one more bridesmaid in a coma."

"Don't mind Al, she's been in a bad mood ever since puberty pushed her over the edge," Thad explained. "Remember, pretty is as pretty does." Then he asked Jack, "Are you going to the church rehearsal? There's dinner at the lounge afterward."

"Just straight to the lounge. I got to work," Jack said. He drifted nervously away because he was in no mood for yet another interrogation by one more well meaning adult who did not know anything about him or his life.

"But your sister is getting married."

"My sister's in a coma," Jack said. Seeing a monster truck speed past, he stopped dead in his tracks and his face flushed in terror. He ran his hand through his chin-length blond hair and said shakily, "Holy shit."

"We'll have none of that talk in here, mister," said Rotundowski, who still eyed him with contempt.

"What's wrong?"

"It's nothing," Jack whispered, obviously scared to death. Once out the door, he checked to see if the coast was clear. Only then did he mount his bike while tossing his bangs from his comically cherubic face, and he sped off as quickly as he had appeared.

"What was that all about?"

"The Czerwinski Twins are in town on leave from the Army," Alexa shrugged. "Jack thinks they want to kick his ass, because of the accident."

The seamstress stood back and inspected her work. "It's a real tragedy about the Czerwinski girl. It's also so sad about Vangie Whiley. Such beautiful girls."

"Yes," Thad agreed.

"Vangie and her mamma used to live next to me in the trailer park. I'd watch her playing outside and, I'll tell you what, I don't care who she was from home – even if her daddy did kill himself and her mamma's a floozy – she was going places one day. There was just no stopping her," Rotundowski said remembering fondly.

Nodding in the direction of the far wall, she said, "There's a picture of her modeling a dress from way back when she sang in the Miss Portnorth pageant."

Alexa stared admiringly at the large portrait and the sophisticated black formal gown, which made Evangelica look like a movie star. Her sleek auburn hair framed her face, and her wide heart shaped mouth was painted matte red. Voluptuous and beautiful, her eyes glimmered knowingly, like two uncut diamonds. That look in her eye was probably what garnished her the talent award and cost her the crown.

Until earlier that spring, Alexa had never really spent much time with Evangelica. It was not until Vange volunteered to help her prepare for the prom that Alexa actually took the time to get to know her. Alexa was clueless regarding formal wear, makeup, and manners. The only reason Alexa agreed to attend the prom at all was because Jack begged her to double date with him and Jules Czerwinski. Jules was a popular cheerleader and a secret Skoal Squaw member, which was a sort of teen girl Mafia. They were the classic coupling of the virgin and the rebel – Jules being the rebel and Jack the virgin, despite all appearances to the contrary. They were an odd couple, and their pairing for the prom had a similar effect as the Michael Jackson and Madonna match-up for the Oscars, a freak show on parade.

A few weeks prior to the prom, Vange took Alexa downstate to find the perfect dress, accessories and cosmetics. Evangelica assured Alexa that the spaced-out electric blue number was the dramatic statement she was looking for. Vange also curled Alexa's dark hair into a flip and gave her cat eyes. Alexa was ordinarily repulsed by such feminine preoccupations, but Evangelica had made them fun; moreover, she made Alexa so obnoxiously beautiful she could not help but get swept up in the moment. Vange even gave her strategic tips about what food not to order, how to walk, when to go to the powder room, and what dopey one-liners to listen for, in case her jock date intended to get fresh with her.

Vange advised, "If he tries to score and won't take no for an answer, just knee him in the balls or give him a hand job. Take your pick."

Evangelica's excited enthusiasm was the inspiration Alexa needed to enjoy the ridiculously inane rite of passage, prom. Vange snapped a zillion pictures all over town of Jack, Jules, Alexa, and Jocko posing dramatically and foolish. Her infectious laughter encouraged the foursome into making fools of themselves and mug for the camera.

Alexa had wanted her mentor to join them and record their swanky out-of-town dinner, but Jack vetoed the idea because he was trying to impress Jules, who had secured her mother's new Mary Kay pink Cadillac for the evening. The ordinarily gorgeous golden girl, Jules Czerwinski, looked beautiful in her prissy pink ensemble, but Alexa was able to parade around proud as a peacock because Vange successfully transformed the ordinarily outdoorsy frump into a stunning, otherworldly goddess.

The dinner digressed in a fit of guffaws as Alexa and Jack tried to outdo one another's obnoxious behavior. They managed to be inconspicuous enough to entertain without drawing undue attention. Alexa seized every opportunity to utilize the tips Evangelica had taught her. On the way to and from the restaurant, they listened to the unique compilation tape Vange had made for them full of drippy romantic standards. All the while, Alexa's date filled her with tremulous excitement by merely touching her gloved hand.

Inside the gaudily decorated school gymnasium, Alexa made fun of the hicks who wore high-top sneakers with their tuxedo tails and sparkly cummerbunds. She also laughed at the girls, in their pseudo-Victorian gowns sporting ratted up bangs that cascaded into hairspray-shellacked fuck-handles. Alexa only danced to fast songs once her date insisted on mauling her to the beat of every sickening Top-Forty love ballad.

"Missing Link" as she later dubbed him, proved to be more of a Neanderthal than she originally feared, and he ended up storming away with one of the Skoal Squaws. When he asked Alexa, "So, are you gonna blow me tonight, or will I have to pull out my Willie, and use it Kennedy-style on you?" she introduced his face to her fist and raised her knee to his balls just like Vange taught her.

Mortified, Jack ushered Jules and his featherweight champion cousin out the door as the King and Queen were announced, and they left Jocko doubled over with a cold compress between his thighs. The reigning 'gruesome twosome' had been dating since the dawn of junior high, and they were tentatively planning a summer wedding after graduation. They were on the fast track to domestic obscurity.

After prom, they skipped the All-Night-Bowl-A-Thon-and-On and planned to watch horror flicks at Ben's house until dawn. Ben promised to let them smoke a little pot, and Vange offered to cook a mammoth breakfast. But the Promsters never made it back to the Dooley house.

On a lonesome country road, a deer collided with the now permanently parked pink Cadillac. There, the vehicle sat drenched in blood, where Jules died, the emergency responders came, and Jack ran insanely into the woods shedding his bloody tuxedo. Alexa and Jules were rushed to the hospital in ambulances, and a manhunt was issued for Jack. He was found naked wandering along a dirt road early the next morning. He was taken into custody the county jailhouse before being carted off to the nut-hut for a spin in the bin. For Alexa, the hospital was more horrifying than the accident. Her enraged mother stormed tipsily into the emergency room while her father was unsuccessful in subduing her hurling accusations. Jane Feldpausch claimed every horrible thing was Ed Hesse's fault for marrying the town tramp Shayla Whiley.

After having slugged down a fifth of scotch, Jack's dad was beyond inebriated. He blathered endlessly about the dangers of drinking and driving. But they had been sober as they had not drunk a drop of alcohol. Shayla hurled insults back at Alexa's mother and encouraged the police to throw that crazy Feldpausch bitch's ass in the slammer.

Thad bounced hopelessly between the parents and Jack, who was being given a hard time by the police. The injuries Jules sustained made it impossible for her to be behind the wheel, and the police were reluctant to let Jack off the hook. It was not until his statement received corroboration from the backseat witness that they dropped their investigation, and it was determined he was not responsible for the unfortunate demise of his prom date.

Jules' parents sat crumpled in a sobbing pile off to the side. Nyda-the-Living-Dead prayed while her husband railed against the injustice of it all. Earlier in their backyard, Jack whispered to Alexa that the Czerwinskis were swingers, and now she wondered if it were true. Under the florescent lights on a hospital gurney, Alexa spent an eternity in a trance, watching the events of the evening unfold as if she were a camcorder obtaining footage for a tragically bizarre reality TV show.

When Evangelica arrived with Ben, her steady gaze of sympathetic reassurance was all Alexa needed to emerge from her state of shock. When a half-naked Jack was put into a straightjacket and taken away for further treatment, Alexa buried herself in Vange's soft awaiting breasts and bawled like a baby.

"It should've been you!" Nyda screamed. Mascara ran between the cracks of her hallow, tear stained cheeks, making her look like Alice Cooper. "You're the one who should be sprawled out in a morgue!"

Feeling as if someone had kicked her in the gut, Alexa nearly fell over. Evangelica gathered her close, buried her face in her chest and led her down the hallway as Nyda screamed after them, "It's you, you're the one who should be dead, you whore of Babylon!"

"It's me," Evangelica whispered in Alexa's ear as she guided her toward the exit. "Don't pay any attention to her, it's me she's talking about. I'm the one who should be dead. It's me."

Vange took Alexa home, tucked her into bed and wept alongside her. Vange was still there the next afternoon when Alexa awoke screaming in terror. She often had periodic nightmares of headlights reflecting off glassy deer eyes, followed by its mangy carcass sprawled across the red splattered car hood. Alexa was haunted by the image of Jack running wildly into the woods while ridding himself of the blood-drenched tuxedo. Her horrific dreams always ended with garish headlights fixed on Jules, with her pretty pink gown bathed in heaving crimson. They had sat with her trying not to touch her caved in chest or bashed in, bloodied forehead.

Even now, Alexa awoke to the sounds of gurgling gasps as Jule's lungs filled with blood. But the morning after the accident, it was Vange who held onto her tightly and soothed the pain of the memories of the night before. It sounded corny, but the night of the accident, Alexa fell asleep thinking Evangelica was an angel sent from heaven.

Mrs. Rotundowski's distant voice sounded in Alexa's ears. "Honey, you got to turn and face the window, please."

Alexa sniffled and obeyed without protest.

"It's a shame about Jack's mamma. I knew Kaye Hesse real well, and you couldn't find a finer lady. She was a saint, pure and simple." The small round woman jabbered on. "I even bought a few of her crystal bowls and a pair of shoes at a garage sale once. I says to Shayla, These shoes here look brand new. And she goes, who knows, all this junk belonged to Kaye." She shook her head. "Can you even imagine such a thing, selling your new husband's dead wife's personal things in a garage sale, for pennies no less? Whenever I wear them shoes, or use the bowl, I think of Kaye and what a wonderful lady she was. A real good woman."

"She's our aunt," Alexa said softly.

"I know, hun," Mrs. Rotundowski said. She pierced the dress with one last pin and smacked Alexa on the behind. "That'll do yah. I'll finish this up and drop it by your mom's house later tonight."

"Thank you, so much," Thad said as Alexa jumped from the stool and retreated into the dressing room. Thad called out, "We can get ice cream on the way home, Al, if you want."

Her voice dripped with sarcasm, "My reward for being a good little girl?"

"Well, if you insist, we can pretend you're still little and a girl, but after seeing you in that dress we both know otherwise," Thad said. He picked up the formal gown, which she hurled out onto the floor.

Freed from the tacky taffeta confines, she emerged from behind the curtain wearing denim cutoffs and a sleeveless flannel shirt. She bounded toward her brother and planted a kiss on his cheek before twisting his right nipple extra hard for insinuating she was anything less than the epitome of petite feminine grace.

She beamed. "You're too kind, big brother."

"And you're a cow even now," he said, and he poked her hip-less middle while rubbing his sore chest. Alexa made a fist and threatened to knock his lights out as she aimed it at his jaw. Rather than knocking his block off, she mussed up his hair.

"So butch."

"Shut up, queer-bait," she snarled.

They walked toward the beach and avoided the barren main street, which was as neglected and coarse as any other forgotten Northern Michigan mining town. Unlike Alexa, Thad hated drawing attention to himself, and he considered cruising Main making a virtual spectacle. Once their mother caught Alexa walking along the main drag with a Mountain Dew bottle in hand, and Jane Feldpausch yanked her into the family station wagon by the hair.

As they approached the cemetery, Thad's attention drifted from Alexa's ceaseless blathering about the wedding and her upcoming senior year to the decorated tombstone before them. Blue streamers and black balloons fluttered in the wind with morbid festivity.

Alexa inspected the focus of his attention and muttered, "How grotesque."

"What's the deal?"

"The Skoal Squaws probably threw one last memorial shindig for Jules, since she was supposed to graduate this past June," Alexa explained. "Those were her class colors."

"Nice, black and blue, like a battered wife," Thad said sarcastically. "Isn't it nice they remembered their friend?"

"Oh, spare me. It's crazy," Alexa shouted. She thought the decorated tombstone was as inane as the yellow ribbons tied around the trees lining Main Street to honor the town's Gulf War soldiers. "I'm not going to any Labor Day cookouts. It'll probably be a bunch of idiots standing around a keg crying over Jules as they get sloshed."

"Kind of harsh, don't you think?"

"Hell no, after my senior year, I never want to see any of these stupid assholes ever again," Alexa said bitterly. "Imagine this, once we were on a band trip to Canada, and the hicks freaked out and shouted out the windows because we were in a foreign country!"

"No way."

"Waay. If that wasn't bad enough, the winners of last year's Halloween costume contest were dressed up as Ku Klux Klansmen," she added. "But they were the Czerwinski boys, and so they got away with it."

"Well, in 9 months you'll graduate and will be gone for good."

"Not if I don't pass home economics," Alexa snapped. "Oh my God, I swear Nyda-the-Living-Dead is out to get me."

"She's not."

"She is! That compulsive filmstrip showing bitch, she said to us, I'll bet none of you girls is even a virgin."

"She didn't."

"She did! I was so pissed. I stood up and yelled – We're no longer virgins thanks to your date-raping, Neo-Nazi twins." Alexa spat for emphasis. "I got four freaking days detention for defaming our Gulf War Veterans."

In the sterile hospital room, Kate sat watching the elevated television set. Across her lap lay the package Nyda delivered earlier in the afternoon. Kate thought it strange she walked in to find Nyda's husband, Deputy Czerwinski, hovering over Vange's bedside. "See the light?" he asked blankly. It was only later she realized it was not a rhetorical question. "Don't you see?" he asked before leaving. "Don't you see it, it's like she's wearing a halo?"

Kate nodded uncomfortably and smiled, but she did not see any light, or halo for that matter. Before leaving her alone with Vange, Deputy Czerwinski said, "She's one of a thousand points of light," and he mumbled his goodbyes. Kate assured him she would watch for the light as he exited, and then she looked over at Vange, half expecting to find her glowing. But she lay as still and seemingly lifeless as she had since earlier in the day.

On the television set, Rhett and Scarlett were squabbling, and Kate could not help but smile. Her introduction to _Gone with the Wind_ had been from Evangelica back in junior high school. At Vange's insistence, Kate invited her to a sleepover so they could watch the movie in its uninterrupted entirety. Unintentionally, Kate fell asleep halfway through the film and awoke to the sound of Evangelica's sobs.

Kate believed Vange was a modern day Scarlett O'Hara fighting to recapture her misplaced birthright. Her meager Portnorth existence was a cruel accident, and she was meant to discover her fortune elsewhere. Even her name, Evangelica, sounded vaguely Southern and sophisticated and aristocratic. Kate always thought if anyone would come out on top, it would be Vange.

It bothered Kate that they had not been especially close in recent years. But it also amazed her their friendship endured as long as it had, culminating in senior year of high school when their competition for Nick obtained cutthroat seriousness as if he embodied the Holy Grail itself. She never found it within herself to forgive Vange for nonchalantly seducing Nick at a senior year Christmas party. Even though Nick was dating Chelsea at the time, Kate understood his motives. He wanted to be the bad guy and take the rap for their relationship not working out. Such a sacrificial move only served to make him more appealing in her eyes, and Vange's shameless transgression ultimately drove a deeper wedge between them.

The hustle and bustle of the hospital refrained from seeping into Evangelica's quiet, secluded room, and it was barren except for Kate's gift of a tiny African violet plant. She positioned it where she thought Evangelica would find it while waking. Kate doubted her father or stepmother had bothered to visit Vange all afternoon.

No matter how many hours she invested, Kate could not figure out her "step monster." Shayla was so overly friendly to Kate it seemed as if she was trying to make up for her failings with her own daughter. Maybe Shayla felt so dwarfed by the memory of Kate's dead mother she overcompensated in order to measure up to Kate's expectations of what a mother should be. Kate was too tired to sort it all out. Her father and stepmother aside, all she wanted was her wedding to take place without a hitch, but the biggest hitch lay alongside her hanging onto life by a thread.

"Hey," Kate whispered to Evangelica, "your favorite movie is on. I've been watching it, and this time I haven't fallen asleep once." She sighed and set the package down next to the hospital bed. Kate cautiously touched her comatose stepsister's arm. She had no idea whether or not Vange could hear her, but a few things needed to be said.

"I—I'm sorry," Kate began. "I'm sorry for not being a better friend to you."

Last night, Vange acted especially hostile toward her, and it was obvious to anyone paying attention. "You're not exactly subtle when you decide to give someone the cold shoulder." Kate stood beside the bed, and struggled to find the right words, but she soon discovered it was easier to talk to Evangelica as she lay comatose than it had been when she walked around healthy.

"I—I used to think you were jealous of me because I had a real family, and now that you're part of my family, I bet it doesn't seem so real anymore, does it? At least not up close." Kate paused, and she looked over to the little plant she purchased from the hospital gift store. She wondered if all the plants inevitably ended up back in the store, resold once their semi-conscious keepers departed. She couldn't bring herself to say the word dead as it would be like issuing it an invitation. Kate wished she had bought a huge floral bouquet from the flower shop like the ones Nick sent her, and she wondered when was the last time anyone bought Vange flowers.

Remembering how they used to turn green with envy because Chelsea always got whatever she wanted since her parents were divorced. Kate shook her head, looked away, and said, "There was never any reason to be jealous, Vangie."

The thought of watching any more of the movie alone distressed her and she blurted with overwhelming emotion, "I was never strong like you, and I was never smart like Chelsea." They were her two best friends all through grade school and high school, and she always felt as if she could not measure up. She always overcompensated in different ways. To Chelsea, who had every material thing in the world, she always placed special emphasis on the fact she had Nick, and to Vange, who had nothing really, Kate used to stress all the material things she possessed that Vange did not.

"It always comes down to things, doesn't it? Once I marry Nick, I'll never want for anything, but that's about all it amounts to, material objects. Stuff and more stuff," Kate said. She smiled down at Vange and wiped away her tears. "I never really liked you, and you always knew it. You were just someone to make me feel better about myself when I came home from Chelsea's house."

Kate laughed to herself, satisfied at last that she finally admitted it out loud. "And you always saw through me, but you never held it against me." It was too bad Vange was not awake, thought Kate, because she always counted on her for real honest feelings. Vange's brand of honesty and integrity made Kate uneasy; it still did.

What would Vange say to her if she could sit up at this moment? No doubt it would be, Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.

The movie droned on in the background, and Kate reached for the package she set aside earlier. She once again unwrapped the tasteful off-white dress her mother had intended to wear to her wedding. When had she ordered this dress? It must have been before she got sick and went to the hospital for the last time. It would have been a little over a year ago. She must have known somewhere within herself she would never wear it, this dress Kate held in front of her. Staring into the mirror, the color warmed Kate's olive complexion and darkened her nearly black hair. Kate felt transformed into a younger version of her mother, and it was not an altogether uncomfortable feeling.

At that moment, the hospital door swung open and Nick's father, Dr. Paull briskly entered. He looked tired, but he registered pleasant surprise when he saw his future daughter in-law. He generously offered her a hug and asked if she was keeping dutiful watch over his star patient. Kate watched as the doctor administered her stepsister a brief but thorough checkup. Kate studied his facial expressions intently for an indication of how Vange might be fairing.

"How is she, Doc?" Kate finally asked.

"I'm hopeful," Dr. Paull said as he monitored her vital statistics.

"Could you be more specific? Please, for me?"

"I won't burden you with the technicalities involved or the likelihood of recovery," Dr. Paull said. "Kate, you just concentrate on becoming a member of my family, and leave the medical problems to me."

"But—

"No buts about it, you just keep Evangelica in your prayers, it's all you can do for her now," Dr. Paull said, and he wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulder.

"I—I don't understand why it had to happen this way," Kate said confused. She enjoyed his strong show of support, for it was not unfamiliar. Out of all Nick's relatives, she felt the most comfortable with his father.

"Life is a messy thing, Katie," Dr. Paull said softly. He placed both his hands on her shoulders and looked intently into her dark worried eyes. "Let me share a secret. You can't always count on getting an answer, and in the scheme of things they're next to meaningless."

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Faith is a wonderful thing, Kate. It's not necessarily important in what, or where, you entrust faith just so long as you have it, and you nurture it because sooner or later, there comes a time when you need it. And you will need it." He hugged her once again as she thanked him repeatedly. She was grateful for his wisdom and accepting nature.

"Thank you, so much for your words of wisdom."

With a lighthearted smile, the doctor asked, "Have I thanked you yet today, or told you how glad I am you're marrying my son?" The movie credits rolled as the glorious sweeping music played in the background, and he continued, "Nick has a splendid future ahead of him in medicine. He will be a fine doctor, and I'm confident he'll be served well with you by his side."

"Why's that, dad?" Kate asked. "Flatter me."

"Nick has a great heart, and he's generous to a fault, so he needs someone with your practical frugality and your wealth of reserve, to balance his frivolity."

"He can be overly-generous."

"A person like him, who can't set firm limits, can easily burn out in this profession. I've seen it time and time again," Dr. Paull said hastily. He guided Kate out of the hospital room and walked her down the long corridor.

He advised her to go home and get some rest because she would need a clear head and extra energy in order to partake in the evening's schedule of events. The church rehearsal and dinner were only a few hours away. Kate thanked him for his concern, and she left the hospital feeling worse than when she had arrived. Rather than experiencing anything resembling a cathartic calmness, she felt empty, exhausted and filled with inexplicable longing.

chapter nine

Radiating glowing satisfaction, Ginny Norris reclined while wrapped in the king-sized linen sheets she purchased specifically for their afternoon interludes. She cherished the anonymity of being smuggled on the back of Ben's motorcycle and whisked to his museum of a house. Ginny enjoyed conducting their romantic liaisons in a time warp, in his parent's old waterbed surrounded by palm tree wallpaper. The mid-1970s had been a swell time; moreover, she had not minded Jerry Ford, Disco, polyester blends (on other people), soulful singer songwriters, and the whole me-first attitude that replaced heady Sixties social consciousness.

Ginny's toes touched the hot lava lamp on the Formica nightstand, and her long fingers ran down Ben's taut, tan torso. His exotic hairless body aroused her to the core. She reveled in pulling back the fold of skin and revealing the head of his stiff prick, before popping the delicious tropical treat in her mouth. She regarded her boy-toy as a beautiful supernatural deity who quenched her desires like no other mortal man ever had. Although it sounded hyperbolic, she cherished the heavenly way he kissed her with such lust it sent her soaring to galaxies previously unexplored.

Inside this magical house time forgot, she let him probe and pleasure the very essence of her being. Generally, they seldom spoke until the gentle waves of their slow, relaxed lovemaking subsided. Afterwards, she watched CNN or the Discovery Channel while munching on the over-priced Milano cookies she kept stashed next to the bed; even though she owned a restaurant, Ben never saw her eat a proper meal apart from the cookies. Ginny was always pleasantly surprised whenever he asked how she felt about local or world events; no other man had ever given a damn what she thought.

This afternoon, her pleasure tender was brooding and uncommunicative. She surmised his uncustomary silence was the result of Evangelica's coma. Vange was Ginny's best waitress. She lent the lounge a certain cosmopolitan flare, and the special way she plopped down the patrons' plates as if doing them the greatest favor in the world always garnished her the most tips. It paid off for Vange to treat the clientele shoddily; however, Ginny was the owner, and so she lived vicariously through Vange for she could not afford to indulge in such high-risk behavior.

"Hey, honey-buns," Ginny said to his backside. "Why the silent treatment?"

Ben groaned affectedly, and she knew it was no use badgering him. She left the bed, fetched her purse and tossed him a sandwich baggie full of marijuana. Every once in a while she liked to reward him with a little token gesture of her affection. He never asked where she got the weed, nor did he question her refusal to smoke it. She had maintained a no smoking policy ever since he was in Kindergarten. He thanked her, but failed to move from a face down position on the bed.

Ginny lay down on top of him and covered them with the billowing linen sheet. As she molded her body against his, she pecked the back of his neck with maternal kisses and pressed her wetness against his buttocks. Peering over the side of the bed, she inspected what had so enraptured him.

"Expecting a call?" she asked.

He cleared his throat and shook his head as if the old rotary phone would never ring again.

"Don't worry. Things will work out fine, my beautiful buck," she said sadly as she ran her fingers down his flawless sinewy back. "Just give it time."

"Right," Ben said. He maneuvered his way out from under her and kissed her full on the mouth.

Laughingly, she said, "That's better, but I must shower. I've that damned rehearsal dinner to put on tonight, and I'm running late." Ginny disappeared into the bathroom but tantalizingly left the door ajar. Recalling her moans of pleasure made him smile. He had never excited a woman so much by doing so little work, and it made him appreciative of her languorous, undemanding disposition. He rolled over, stared guiltily at the answering machine, and cradled his stubble splattered chin in his fist. He pressed rewind and then play.

The recorded voice sent shivers up and down his spine. "Ben, Benny, Benvolio, I know you're there. Benjamin, sweetie, stop doing the nasty with that airhead matron of honor and pick up the phone. Please, Benji, I have to talk. I need help, I've done a terrible thing. Oh, Benny, what've I done?" Then a sigh, two beeps and a final click.

Sickened with remorse, Ben wondered when exactly Evangelica had made the call. Was it before or after she swallowed the pills? If only he interrupted his one-night stand to answer the phone, then Vange surely would not have landed in a coma.

He could not count the number of times he rushed to her in the middle of the night to find her huddled in a rocking heap on the floor weeping for no fathomable reason. Evangelica routinely crashed her trembling body against his, expecting him to pilot her from whatever internal storm wreaked havoc on her inner psyche as if he were a lifeline that could reel her back to satisfied complacency.

July, 1991

Rinsing glasses behind the bar, Ben watched Evangelica singing on the small platform in the middle of The Lounge. The old piano was only for effect since Alexa had recorded the accompanying music earlier on her keyboard. The lounge act was Ginny's scheme to draw customers away from the swanky newer restaurant down on the lakeshore. Vange agreed to entertain for a nominal fee, and she clearly enjoyed ditching waiting tables for an evening of adulation, even if all her fans were from her grandparent's generation. She belted out the songs as if her life depended on it, and her smooth pure voice seemed to fill every darkened nook and cranny of the dining room.

Vange occasionally tossed Ben a flirtatious grin while winking at the elderly crowd. In a vintage gown, she looked as if she had emerged from a wartime saloon. Evangelica played the role of 'good' girl gone 'broad' to the hilt. Her Dame act excited all the old men who usually only had eyes for Ginny, and it warmed the hearts of the ladies who recalled the thrill of their own joyous physical peak.

Approximately a decade older, the humorless waitresses sniggered and cursed at Vange under their breaths. The crew was a dismally unimaginative lot who spent their adolescent years idolizing Marcia Brady, but no amount of lip-gloss or hair teasing could disguise the fact that they were bitter Jans. They called Vange Madonna Wannabe as if that were the worst insult imaginable.

They were Three Musketeers and a Tab pop for lunch types who starved themselves to retain Charlie's Angels' figures. Malnourishment was probably responsible for their bitchy dispositions. Semi-retired from the local bar scene, they had ceased competing for wedding rings, and their lives were presently consumed with producing the most obnoxious kid. The poor little goats, as Evangelica referred to them, were saddled with such sexually ambiguous names as Taylor, Lauren, Mackenzie, Bailey, and Connor.

The She-Wolves, as Vange collectively referred to her fellow waitresses, hated her for her thinly veiled disdain of their chintzy J. C. Penny wardrobes and their Woman's World aspirations. Evangelica was voluptuous, haughty and arrogant. After work, she refused to accompany the flock of barracudas to local taverns, where she was renowned as Karaoke Queen. If Vange was not home bitten by a bout of depression, she invariably bumped into them with a microphone in hand. If they dared confront her abut her antisocial behavior, she rebuffed in her lone wolf fashion, "Sorry, I don't prowl in a pack."

Whenever Ginny left town, she requested Vange assume her role as hostess. Even though the job paid less, Vange seized the opportunity to piss off her comrades by becoming a militant dictator. Even so much as an eye roll could render the offender banishment to tables in Siberia near the kitchen. In Ginny's words, Evangelica defied legislation. She was a true original, in a genre all her own.

As her grand finale came to a rousing finale, and it was always the same – the Jazz standard "Lush Life" – she basked in the glorious adoration of her fans. Applause, curtsies, kisses and more applause until she felt satisfied.

Emanating unadulterated contentment, Vange left the stage to soak in the free booze awaiting her compliments the misty-eyed audience. For a short time, the patrons had been transported a half-century to the glory days of their youth, and as always, they were eternally grateful and expressed as much with gracious sweetness. Evangelica kissed the heads of a few bald men on her way to the bar, where Ben had a dirty gin martini already waiting. On nights like these, she came across as a dazzling free spirit, a whirling of dervish energy.

"That was grand," Ben said as he handed her the martini. Knowing all eyes lingered on her, Vange gulped down the contents in one swig and threw her head back with laughter.

"Ever think of taking your act on the road?" asked one of the caustic Jan Bradys.

Evangelica smiled broadly and asked through her teeth, "Ever consider getting a life worth living?" She turned away and downed the second drink Ben had lined up. "Remind me, Benji, why we stay in this godforsaken place, surrounded by all these poverty level Reaganites, who're still waiting for whatever it was that was supposed to trickle down?"

"Beats the hell out of me," Ben said. He went back to work and tried not to pay Vange too much attention. Ben did not aspire to alienate the girls or make his boss jealous, although he seriously doubted Ginny noticed or cared.

Hungry from a long day's worth of embalming, Ginny's beau sat in a corner booth hovering over a slab of prime rib. Confident and clad in well-fit clothes, he wore his weight like a successful heavyset man. Ben guessed the town's only mortician gave Ginny the weed she passed along to him in return for his afternoon pleasure sessions. Ben wondered if the mortician was really a local drug lord, or if it was another vicious rumor, like anything else anyone in Portnorth ever repeated half under their breath. For all Ben knew, Chelsea sent her the pot by USPS or carrier pigeon.

Before Ben had the chance to ask Vange if she felt like indulging in bong hits later after work, Dr. Paull sidled up next to her. Nick's father was ready to sail away to Key Largo in his white slacks and open Hawaiian shirt. After buying Vange a drink, he proceeded to critique her performance. For as long as she could withstand, she tolerated his fawning attention until it digressed into pawing and leering.

"That's all I need," she said to Ben, "is the father and son comparing notes. Hell, I'd rather do his frigid wife."

Ben laughed with evil on his mind, and he continued to mix drinks without much thought or effort for it had become second nature.

"Shouldn't we start working on the wedding tape soon?" she asked.

Ben nodded. "Alexa said this week for sure."

"If only we could skip what's sure to be the social event of the season," Vange said annoyed, at the thought of Kate and Nick's nuptials. "What're you, an usher or some damn thing?" Ben nodded. "You're his oldest best friend, and what does it get you, the opportunity to meet, greet, and seat." She took the straw from between her lips and tossed it aside. "Tell me, Benny, won't it break your heart to see the epitome of feminine perfection trying the knot?"

"What're you talking about?"

Evangelica shot him a hostile look. "Oh spare me, you've never stopped worshipping the ground Kate walks on."

"We're not in the eleventh grade anymore." He cracked open a beer and handed it to one of the anorexic waitresses' outstretched talon.

"All the more reason why it's so nauseating to watch you go blank and drool whenever she appears," Evangelica said. "You don't know her well enough to know she has faults. She wakes up with bad breath and shits, just like the rest of us, but who am I to shatter your illusions?"

"Yeah, right."

"I'll be in the kitchen, helping your other girlfriend. Ginny give you any Tea lately?" Vange asked. Tea was her Boho Beatnik euphemism for pot. "You owe me, Benji."

Growing weary of his silent nods, she left him alone behind to the bar to tend to the drunks, but she continued to dispense free entertainment until the place closed. As usual, she was buzzed by the end of the night and bummed a ride home on the back of his crotch-rocket. As soon as they entered her apartment, she put on a Miles Davis record and began brewing coffee.

"Stay, Benny. Let's get high awhile and listen to tunes while watching my Christmas lights." Which were still up in May.

She was wide-awake and could stay that way for marathon stretches. Every night she went out, danced on tables and left a party wherever her winding trail blazed. Typically, during these manic phases she ate nothing and walked everywhere singing show tunes accompanied by her Walkman CD player, and she compulsively read anything metaphysical she could get her hands on. It was not uncommon for her to wake Ben in the middle of the night with an obscure bit of Wiccan or New Age mysticism.

For a joke, she cajoled Alexa and Jack into letting her cruise main with them, and just to be idiotic she convinced them to make prank phone calls to different states, which they often recorded. In the middle of September, she swam in Lake Huron despite her professed fear of water. One February she single-handedly loaded her truck full of sand and dumped it on her living room floor. She jacked up the thermostat and threw a Spring Break beach bash lasting an entire weekend.

Then she inevitably crashed and did not leave her bedroom for two or so months. After failing to show up for work, Ben usually found her in bed surrounded by a sea of discarded junk food wrappers strewn about the floor. Evangelica curled up in the fetal position and glued herself to the TV with the volume off. With hard-core Punk Rock music blaring continuously, she watched the flickering images of old movies and insisted, "If only I could be this angry, Benny, then I'd be truly happy."

"Go get some chocolate covered wafers made by those elves, my beautiful Benvolio," she invariably begged. "Get me Cracklin' Oat Bran, too, and a pizza. And don't forget the grapefruit juice; I need juice to wash it all down with. And get some of Little Debbie's Swiss Rolls. Hurry, Benny, or I'll die, and Zingers, too. Don't forget those. And ice cream."

Generally, he ran all over town fetching the unhealthiest garbage imaginable for her to cram down her throat in an eating frenzy. Sometimes she puked it all up, but more often than not she passed out after gorging herself.

This depressed state progressed until she bloated up like a mini-Elizabeth Taylor during her less-than-svelte years. Not long afterward, Vange would drive deep into the countryside to an area of wetlands she affectionately named the Swamp of Sadness. Sitting catatonic like a zombie in her truck she would take stock of her life along with its accompanying disappointments. From the Swamp, she gathered the strength to reclaim inner serenity. She returned to her apartment and took her first bath in months, squeeze into a jogging suit and excessively worked out to VHS tapes. She only jogged at the crack of dawn in order to keep her excess poundage from the eyes of the small town that threatened to engulf her. Her diet consisted of smoothies and oatmeal and grapefruit, or other weird combos, and she fanatically stuck to this bizarre regimen until becoming a mere shadow of her former bloated self.

Then one day she would decide it was time to pack up and move, and Ben always had a hand in picking out whatever house she rented. After all, he was always the one who moved her. Once settled into her new place, she phoned Ginny and asked to be put back on the schedule. As if in a cyclical pursuit of eternal redemption, she diligently resumed attending church services and took up various volunteer opportunities until those unexpected pangs of mania once again disrupted the natural rhythms of her life.

Evangelica usually explained her absences away by saying she met a rich foreigner, and he flew her out of the country for a while. She varied the lie and told everyone her lover was from New York City or Hollywood. Occasionally, this actually did happen, and so she kept stashes of pictures for proof of her travels because The Lounge wenches never took her word at face value. If appropriate, she acquired a fake bake tan, and she always made sure to flaunt a cheap old thrift store antique such as her authentic Grecian urn. Although her coworkers never knew for sure, they oohed and ahhed politely to her face, afraid of whatever violence she was capable of spewing if they questioned her

After her lounge act, Evangelica and Ben lay across her brass bed, sipping lukewarm tea with honey while smoking a joint and listening to the old records that once belonged to her dead father. Compliments of her plant, Vange had an endless supply of weed, whereas Ben managed to get by on what Ginny periodically gifted him, and most of the time, he passed along the illegal stash to Vange.

Evangelica painted Ben's finger nails blue-black while singing along with Sarah Vaughn. Her bedroom walls were dripping with liquid Tide that gleamed menacingly under black lights. The Satanic hue freaked out Ben, who did not really enjoy spending time in the glowing morgue she periodically did not leave for months. Ben preferred to relax in her living room overgrown with every houseplant known to man, including her infamous Hemp plant named Marley. Dressed in their underwear, they made up fantastical Soap Opera epics among the venerable jungle with Star Wars action figures.

"Since you never asked, I spent Easter weekend with Thad," Evangelica said. She was still basking in the afterglow of her successful performance and his generous gift of multiple orgasms.

"I saw him downtown the other day. He was trying to get a job with the newspaper," Ben said as he blew on his fingernails. "I don't know about that guy."

"Why?"

"Nick thinks Thad might be a little gay," Ben said, and he tested to see if the nail polish was dry.

"Whatever, that's old news," Evangelica said. "Maybe he's a little bit bi-curious."

"I'm just saying, Nick swears Thad made a pass at him once when they were drunk."

"What's the big deal? I've made plenty of drunken passes at Nick. Don't you remember when all the boys wanted to be Nick, and all the girls wanted to swing from his dick?" Vange asked, feigning nostalgia. "Oh those were the days."

"But Thad's not a girl, so if he wanted to be Nick's bitch, that'd make him a little gay."

She handed him the nail polish and wiggled her toes. "Hey, maybe with those beer goggles on, Thad thought Nick was pretty handsome. Don't you think Nick's cute?"

"Not enough to turn me queer," Ben insisted as he began to paint her toenails.

"Well, FYI—he boinked me just fine."

"You slept with him?" Ben asked, trying not to sound overly interested.

"Are you shocked? He was depressed, and it was Easter, so it was the least I could do. It cheered him up. I took this necklace from him. It's a gift from his ex-girlfriend, it's the key to his sadness." Vange removed the silver blue rhinoceros necklace and handed it to Ben. "Take it."

"Um, no thanks.

"Thad wouldn't want Nick anyway. He's not exactly well-endowed."

"What about me?" Ben asked, taking the necklace.

"You have nothing to worry about, Long Dong," Evangelica lied. "It's the magic that counts, not the size of the wand."

Ben inspected her freshly coated toenails and put on the necklace. "A weird little Hippo, how does it look?"

"It's a rhino, and it's beautiful. Keep it, Long Dong," Vange said, and she laughed because she could not stop saying the word dong. "Some words are so strange. What are other weird words? Garrulous is one."

"Meal is pretty freaky, and supper."

"Yuck to all those dinner words."

"So, maybe we'll hang out with Thad now that he's back in town, even if he is a depressed flamer and shit," Ben said. "We should tempt him with a threesome to find out if he's really gay."

"Sure thing, queer bait," she teased. Abruptly, she suddenly bolted upright and smeared black polish across the hardwood floor. She faced him and said severely, "I need you to take me to get an abortion. I keep putting it off."

"Huh?"

"I don't think I can go alone."

"You're pregnant?"

"No, dork, I thought I'd get one for the hell of it while they're still legal," she said, and she smacked his bare back with her open palm.

Attempting to rub his stinging flesh, he asked, "Have you considered keeping it at all?"

She did a double take and burst with laughter. "Are you serious? Right, me and my bastard child Pearl would lead a fine life of persecution at the hands of our Puritanical neighbors."

"Pearl? That's kind of an ugly name."

She shook her head and rolled her eyes.

"Lots of women raise kids alone in this town, more so than not, I bet."

"A lot of women aren't me, and in case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly Murphy Brown. I can't afford the hassle— it's tacky when you're poor," she said.

"But—

"Listen, Benji-dawg, I'd make a horrible mommy dearest. Help me or not?"

Ben nodded as if the alternative never crossed his mind. "No doubt about it, whatever you chose is fine by me." Full of ambivalence, she flashed him a sardonic glance of appreciation and continued to sing along with the music.

Evangelica did not like owing people favors, and so on the day of the abortion she showed up on his doorstep with a huge black velvet portrait of fat Elvis along with an overnight bag. Elvis and the bag tipped off Ben the procedure might get psychologically complicated. The round trip to Saginaw took several hours. Once at the clinic, Vange discovered she was too far along to be eligible for an abortion. Then they sent her back to her regular physician, where she obtained blood tests and an ultra-sound, which ultimately worried Dr. Paull. Something was not right.

Ben accompanied Evangelica back to Saginaw, but this time to a hospital where she was told her fetus suffered from a rare chromosomal disorder. Chances were the baby would never grow to term, and if it did, it would not live more than a few hours.

"Your baby appears to be missing vital organs in order to sustain life outside the womb," the OB/GYN informed her.

"I want it out of me," Vange said blankly.

"That's not exactly an option," the doctor informed her. "You're too far along to have a legal abortion."

"So, if I'm hearing you correctly, I'm being forced to deliver a baby in order to watch it die?" Vange asked incredulously.

"The alternative is euthanasia," the specialist said. "Not an option."

"The alternative would be humane," Vange said horrified as it sunk in what she was being coerced to do. "It's bullshit."

"It's the law."

"Maybe I'll try horseback riding or arrange a flight down a set of stairs."

"Are you threatening to harm yourself in some fashion?" the doctor asked. "I can arrange for psychological counseling."

Vange spent the next several months in shock, waiting to deliver her deformed baby. She was not sure when the growing zygote inside of her went from fetus to baby, and she swore Ben to secrecy. He was to tell no one. She wore baggy clothes and pretended nothing was wrong, but her capacity for self-denial was only so strong. Eventually, she felt the fetus move as it grew within her. By the time she had grown used to the idea of being pregnant, she had grown attached. Vange became hopeful for a misdiagnosis, and when she felt the baby kick she began to think the doctors had made a mistake. Everything would be fine. How shocked and overjoyed everyone would be when she delivered a healthy baby girl, especially when no one even knew she was pregnant. She began to worry about not having a crib, car seat, or any baby things whatsoever. Secretly, she began to buy clothes and such baby accoutrements as bibs, bottles and blankets. She did not dare share the news or items with anyone.

Then late one evening, after a dinner shift at the lounge, she felt herself seized by an overpowering pain ripping at her insides. Ben rushed in the bathroom when he heard her blood curdling screams. He found her standing over the sink, gasping for breath as blood streamed down her leg.

It took nearly all day to convince her that a trip to the hospital was necessary to successfully eject the malformed fetus. But before relenting, Evangelica had decided she would stay at the Dooley household because she did not want to deliver her baby at the hospital only to be told it would not live. On Ben's waterbed, she rolled around emitting agonized screams until her voice gave out. When Ben became so frightened he began to hyperventilate, he dialed 911 and the EMTs insisted Vange accompany them to the hospital. The doctor reassured her she was experiencing premature childbirth or a miscarriage, and when the contractions started the ordeal would be no more painful than an intense period.

"But, it's not time," she insisted. "I'm only 6 months along."

"Evangelica, did you read the medical literature I gave you? This baby is not going to make it," Dr. Paull said point blankly.

Later in the day, Ben left the hospital and went to Evangelica's apartment, but he swore he could hear her shrill screams from across town. When she hollered at him over the phone that her possessed fetus was hell-bent on hauling its murderous mother to limbo, Ben sped back to the hospital room where she had regained a semblance of composure in front of the TV. But once she learned Pa Ingalls had inoperable cancer, she fell to pieces.

"He's like my father, my Pa," she said through tears.

"Michael Landon?" Ben asked. This was a new one. He'd never heard this before. "When did this happen, on a Highway to Heaven?"

"No, not that Michael Landon— Pa, who built the little house on the prairie next to the big woods during the long winter," she said, sniffling.

"Little Joe. They're all one and the same."

"Oh, shut up! You insensitive fucking prick! Shut up shut up shut up!" she screamed, rocking and tearing at the hair above her temples. "All I ever wanted was a dad to call me half-pint." She grabbed a handful of People Magazines and began wailing him. As he cowered from the blows, she tore up the hospital room. Once she was under control, Dr. Paull insinuated she was psychologically unhinged, and he threatened to put her in restraints if she did not behave in a sane fashion.

Ben wearily remained at her bedside and let her beat on him until he was unable to withstand it. Eventually, he disappeared to her apartment and waited for Dr. Paull to summon him back to the hospital. In the meantime, she reported to the police he was missing, and she stupidly suggested they check her address.

The police surrounded the building and forced him out of the building at gunpoint. Clad in only his underwear, Ben explained the situation to Deputy Czerwinski, who insisted he search the premises. Invariably, they confiscated her beloved marijuana plant Marley, and they wanted to arrest Evangelica for possession and filing a false report. When the deputy insisted he would have to drive her to the county jail so he could ask her a few questions, Vange yelled the slammer was no place to deliver a dead baby. She fled the bed but crawled underneath it. Deputy Czerwinski acquiesced and decided to issue a stern warning when she refused to rise from her position on the floor. With one arm clutching Ben's ankle and the other gripping the bed, she beat her head against the floor and insisted she deserved to die.

"Is this any way for a respectable normal person to act?" Czerwinski asked her.

"Who here is respectable or normal, buster?" she yelled.

"You— you're a child of God, someone's daughter, and this is no way to act," Czerwinski counseled, and seconds later he dodged the can of Vernors hurled at his head.

"My dad's dying of terminal fucking inoperable brain cancer, you dumb-fucks! I'm nobody's child," she screamed at his backside as he fled the hospital room.

After the police officer left, Evangelica wailed the birthing process would never end, and her Chucky-doll fetus was wreaking its final vengeance. From the floor, Ben scooped her up and threw her on the bed. He told her she was acting worse than a crazed, pre-Annie Sullivan Helen Keller. It was not until an hour later she finally collapsed from sheer exhaustion.

Just prior to sunup, Ben awoke half on a chair to the sound of groans coming from the bathroom. He found a sweaty defeated Vange rocking on the toilet. He held onto her, rubbed her head and took her weak punches while she sobbed softly. Vange was unable to speak except in hoarse croaks. Distraught, Ben called for a nurse and a doctor was summoned, and she finally delivered her stillborn baby.

The nurses swaddled the baby tightly, and she made Ben inspect it to ensure it was a whole baby, along with all of its life sustaining parts. Amazingly enough, the baby looked healthy. Due to the horrific medical images they had seared in their minds, they fully expected to encounter a sight of horrific proportions. Ben watched her as she gently rocked the baby and softly hummed a lullaby. Without warning, she switched gears and became the perfect embodiment of a new mother. She was determined to hold onto her baby for as long as it remained warm, which amounted to less than an hour. She rocked the baby until she was unable feel anything more than goodbye. Finally, she asked him politely to take her away.

"What do I do?"

"Can't you put her in a box, and bury her, like you did my cat?" Vange asked hoarsely. Looking as if she had just crawled through hell, she sat in the middle of the hospital bed in her nightgown, wringing wet and battered.

"This is totally insane," Ben muttered, awkwardly holding the baby. He remembered only too well the deceased pet kitten that had spurred a marathon bout of depression. The nurse took the baby away and came back later with a birth certificate. She would need to name the baby, but Vange refused.

"Don't you want your little girl to have a name?" the nurse asked concerned.

"She was never mine," Vange said morosely.

Reluctantly, Vange agreed to have Baby Girl Whiley cremated. She insisted he one day bury the fetus near the Swamp of Sadness, and Ben insisted she sleep. He needed to leave for the lounge to explain their absence from work and not arouse undue suspicion. Nobody knew where either one of them was, except for the hospital staff and the police. The doctor administered a sedative, and Ben began to think Vange had purposefully become pregnant with a malformed fetus to force him to prove his undying love for her once and for all.

Several weeks later, Ben asked Jack and Alexa to help him bury the tiny urn, and together they searched for her pet kitten's eternal resting spot, which was merely in a country ditch next to roadside patch of wetland. She once marked the grave with an intricate popsicle-stick monument.

In the ditch, Alexa spliced open the ground with a shovel and began digging furiously. Standing over a hole in the soggy earth, she said, "I don't know why you can't find a regular sane girlfriend."

"You're one to talk," Ben said, casting a knowing glance Jack's way.

"Vange is a lunatic, and the other one is old enough to be your mother."

Ben dropped the urn, and Alexa crossed herself and shoveled loose dirt over it.

"Is this your kid?" Jack asked.

"He's clueless," Alexa said when Ben shrugged. "We're doing all this work, and he don't even know if this kid's his!" She punctuated the observation by throwing down the shovel.

"It could've been Thad's baby for all I know." Ben retrieved the discarded shovel and stuck it in the ground between them.

"Oh my God."

"Yup, this could be your little niece you're burying," Ben said cruelly.

"You're such an asshole," Alexa said, knocking the shovel to the ground.

"Then don't be such a bitch."

"Hey, you guys, just cut it out," Jack piped in.

"Oh, shut up, Jerkoff," they responded in unison. Ben walked to the car, and Jack picked up the shovel.

Alexa called after him, "She'll be okay, right?"

"The doctor seems to think so."

"I mean, she'll be able to have more babies, won't she?"

"Why wouldn't she?" Ben asked. Alexa joined Ben as they awaited Jack to finish burying the shoebox. Together they returned to the Dooley household, and they entered through the back sliding glass door leading into the dust-covered dining room.

"Will you two ever get married?"

Ben shook his head, confused by her sudden interest. He went to the kitchen and poured a glass of grapefruit juice and grabbed a sleeve of crackers. Vange was refusing to eat anything but rice cakes and Saltines.

"You already act like an old married couple," Alexa said. She attempted to trip him as he made his way to the bedroom.

"Like hell we do," he said, sidestepping her reach.

"Do so. Isn't that juice for her?"

"So, what of it?" Ben asked. "Are you suggesting I'm whipped?"

"Pussy-whipped," Alexa taunted. She stuffed a handful of crackers in her mouth and blew the crumbs out at him.

"Oh, that's mighty attractive."

"You can't even defend yourself, you're so whipped."

"I plead the Fifth," Ben said, and he walked away. Entering the master bedroom, he found Evangelica curled up in a ball fast asleep. He set the juice down next to the lava lamp on the dresser, where Ginny stashed her post-sex loot of Milano cookies. Ben lay down next to Vange and she instinctively moved closer before shirking away from him.

Evangelica felt his fingers running through her thick auburn hair, and she waited forever before whispering, "Maybe it was a bad thing. Maybe I've messed up my Karma." He could not readily comprehend her obsession with all things metaphysical, and he offered her a drink.

"Pink grapefruit?"

"Is there any other kind?"

"Hey, Sport," she began, and then stopped.

"Yes, what is it, you know you can tell me anything."

"Would you like me better if I were more like Kate?"

Ben was quiet for a long time, and then he said, "That's the lamest thing you've ever said."

"That's what I thought," she said softly. She pulled the blanket up over her face and slunk further away.

"Hey."

Vange kicked him in the leg and yelled hoarsely, "You fucking asshole. Go be with that prick tease, if it's what you really want –

"Who said it's what I want?"

"Don't even kid yourself, she'd never give you the time of day," Evangelica choked. "You're delusional."

"Don't do this."

"You don't understand, Benny," she said hopelessly. "I'm not normal."

"I know, you're a freak."

"You don't know what it's like. To not belong anywhere."

"If you say so."

"Maybe what I need is a little house on the prairie this summer."

"Sure thing."

"Could you go get me Oreos and a Zero bar?"

"They're in the freezer. Just the way you like."

From the way her upper body shook, Ben could tell she was sobbing, and he made no immediate effort to satisfy this latest junk food craving. He would wait until she was asleep and surprise her when she awoke. For now, he lay down beside her and wrapped her close, unaware this would be the last time she let him touch her ever again.

Feeling water droplets pelting his back, Ben rolled over to find Ginny shaking her dripping wet, short blond hair over him. Wearing nude-colored pantyhose and a bra, she leaned down and showered him with lingering wet kisses. He reached out and placed his hand on her ass and massaged gently. He loved her slightly padded, middle-aged rump. She tolerated the few excess pounds, as a preventative measure to keep her face from "looking overly skeletal and gaunt like Jane Fonda." She offhandedly informed him it was cruel for an aging woman to have to choose one over the other – the derriere or the face. She chose to sacrifice the former to salvage the latter, but he did not mind at all. He grew excited while watching her turn demurely away and tug up her skirt at the foot of the bed.

When she whirled around to discover his eager erection, Ginny laughed and said, "You'll have to take a rain-check, baby boy. If you're good, you can have the honors at The Lounge later tonight."

"How 'bout the walk-in cooler?"

"Too chilly in there, I'd have to be swept up in throes of passion to consider it."

Once in a while he interrupted her slow ritualistic process of getting dressed, and they landed back in the sack making love again. He insisted to see her aglow with satisfaction made him more excited, but she modestly countered he was simply horny all the time. Her silk blouse hung open as she flashed him a lazy contented smile.

"Hurry up and dress, so you can give me a ride home on that hog of yours," she said, buttoning her shirt. Seeing him throw on a T-shirt and climb into a pair of tattered black jeans, she thought he resembled an adolescent so much that it almost induced pangs of guilt within her.

"Your little friend isn't here, is he?" she asked, referring to Jack. "The last thing I need is my dishwasher catching me in a compromising situation. He might get the wrong idea."

Ben said of the permanent fixture in the Dooley household. "No, I think Jack's with his sorta girlfriend."

"Who might that be?"

"Alexa Feldpausch."

"Isn't she his sort of cousin?"

"Well, since his last girl friend died on him, I don't think he can afford to be too choosy," Ben said, and she screwed up her face at his distasteful remark. "She's adopted," he explained, as if that alone explained away their incestuous relationship. "She and Thad both."

"Thad was the slowest dishwasher I ever had – employed that is," Ginny said, applying a light shade of pink lipstick. She adjusted her bra strap. "His sister is a rather big girl, isn't she?"

"I guess so."

"But Jack's taller than you."

"Not really."

Ginny smiled and held out her outstretched arms. Her kisses reassured him just because he was short did not mean she was unsatisfied. "Why don't you give Chelsea a call while she's on break from law school."

"It's kind of strange, you're always encouraging me to date your daughter."

"Why not – the name is Ms. Norris, not Mrs. Robinson," Ginny said, slipping into her heels. "You have my blessings to work your magic on Chelsea, then maybe she wouldn't be in such a bad mood all the time. It's law school. She's just like her father – always stressed out."

"As of this morning, your daughter hated my guts and plans to drop out of school and run away to California or someplace," Ben updated her. He struggled to scratch his back, and she relieved him of the aggravating itch.

Ginny's manicured nails scratched away under his t-shirt. "That's too bad, you'd make a swell couple."

"You think?"

"Of course. She'll need a handsome man to mix up an after work martini," Ginny concluded. "But if she plans on quitting law school, maybe she needs something else altogether to make her happy."

"Maybe she's incapable of happiness."

"Personally, I think she'll end up the caretaker of a lighthouse, along with her magical husband. It'll be overrun with their sweaty, barefoot kids."

Ben never pictured Chelsea in such a natural state of domestic bliss, and it agreed with him. He let his imagination run wild with possibilities until Ginny forced him to shelve his fantasies for later by guiding him by his hoop earring out the door.

With Ginny on the back of his bike, Ben cruised the long way to her house. Clutching him from behind, she basked in the concealment the helmet provided. It was as if the bevy of expectations that came along with being Ginny Norris ceased to exist, and she was set free to be whomever she wanted. Ben always dropped her off feeling rejuvenated and full of life. It was as if he were her day-spa treatment.

They pulled in the driveway, and Chelsea let a crate slip from her hands. From the boxes scattered across the lawn, it appeared as if she was loading her car for a move across country. Still upset over their spat over breakfast, she turned her nose up at Ben and disappeared into the house. Before pressing her lips against the back of his left ear, Ginny whispered, "I guess you weren't kidding about her hating your guts and running away."

The senior Ms. Norris climbed off the motorcycle, and she handed him his helmet and walked away wit barely a wave good-bye. As she made her way along the sidewalk, she looked up to face Chelsea, who was curiously watching her from the kitchen window. Ginny flashed a beaming smile, and Chelsea responded by raising a glass of water as if toasting her mother.

Ginny glanced over at the lounge and rolled her eyes exasperated. She preferred hassle-free ordinary business nights to the troublesome family dysfunctions her well-meaning patrons plagued her with. In her opinion, a night out should be a romantic affair, not an occasion to subject the world to familial drudgery. As she stopped to deadhead flowers from her cottage garden, Ginny heard the blaring of the telephone. It annoyed her that Chelsea paid no interest in answering the phone, and so she jogged into the house to retrieve it.

Chelsea met her mother at the backdoor and held out the cordless phone, "It's for you."

"Well, who is it?"

"The love of your life."

"My mortician?"

"No, your lawyer, your ex-husband."

"Well –

"He doesn't want to talk to me, he specifically asked for you," Chelsea said.

Taking the phone, Ginny regretfully watched her daughter grab her water and quickly descend the backstairs leading outside. Chelsea let the door slam behind her, and she collapsed against her old Malibu. Her father insisted when he bought her the car it was a classic from her childhood. She didn't think anything from the 1970s could be considered worthy enough to be considered a classic, nothing except maybe her less than ideal upbringing. Surrounded by boxes littering the lawn, Chelsea realized she had gone overboard packing for her road trip out west. In a few short hours, she had boxed up the entirety of her worldly possessions. Certainly, she would have to start over if she planned on driving away after the wedding ceremony tomorrow.

Along the road in front of the house, Alexa and Jack whizzed by. She was on roller blades while he was riding a BMX bike. The cousins looked like young lovers, and Chelsea wondered what it was like to be young and in love. That's what she would be reduced to if she stayed in Portnorth – incest, she thought. Why didn't she have any cousins? It was enough to make her wish she were related to anyone within the city limits besides her mother.

"Spinster," she said to herself contemptuously, and she gulped down the lukewarm contents of her water bottle.

In all probability, she thought, maybe she would never know what love was.

chapter ten

part ii – slide

Chelsea walked into the church as if she was walking onto a yacht because the sprawling cathedral was constructed to resemble a Great Lakes freighter. The nautical theme permeated the entire town, from the unappetizing name of the local bakery, Barnacle Bob's, to the local newspaper, the Portnorth Porthole. She kept one eye on the Holy Water as she failed to make a sign of the cross. Purposefully underdressed and resembling a mountain climber, she wound her way through the gaudy, overly ornate Catholic Church. All eyes turned to Chelsea, and she flushed from the attention. She was doubtful everyone was strewn about the church atwitter over her arrival. Nick's fraternity brothers, or Brothers Grimm as she referred to them, appeared restless in their mix-n-match Gap getups, Garanimals for grown ups. Their combustible energy supply threatened to explode, sending the resplendent church mushrooming to bits over the quiet little town.

To her embarrassment the wedding rehearsal crowd groaned at seeing her, and it became apparent they were impatiently awaiting the arrival of someone else. Disappointed she was not the reason for the delay, Chelsea explained when asked she had not seen Kate's father or stepmother.

The best man acted as a mouthpiece for the Frat boys; his continual requests to get the show on the road were obviously a source of annoyance for Nick. The Frat Pack sported floppy haircuts, goatees and single stud earrings, and they smelled of Calvin Klein cologne. To Chelsea, they all looked suspiciously gay, except for their designated leader. The best man's hair was in a ponytail, and tiny hoops hung from his double-pierced ear. Kerouac, as he was commonly called, had spent a summer at his parent's cottage in the Upper Peninsula; all the while he lived on LSD and The Doors music. Her lack of common sense and the stirring in her loins kept her encircling him like a cat in heat.

The gaggle of bridesmaids looked hungry, bored and overly tanned. Their bleached hair was stuffed into identical scrunchies, which they adjusted with compulsive regularity when not rolling their eyes and laughing giddily at the Frat Pack antics. The best man and Nick's father paid an excessive amount of attention to the Matron of Honor. She had been Kate's first college roommate, and once during a drunken dormitory all-nighter, the bored housewife and Kate made a pact to one-day be one another's maid of honor.

Unable to fathom sharing Kerouac's attention with the trollop who spent last night with Ben, Chelsea plopped down next to Thad on an uncomfortable church pew. Her yawn set off a chain reaction. She decided the wedding attendants fit the qualifications of what had once been referred to as "Reagan Youth." She imagined everyone one day settling down in cookie cutout subdivisions, and the remainder of their natural lives would be spent conspicuously consuming.

Chelsea squeezed Thad's leg, leaned in close and said glibly, "I've died and gone to hell."

Festering with guilt, Thad failed to respond as he watched Nick playfully grab Kate and put her in a loving headlock. His future wife laughed, swatted away her bridegroom and then gave him a heartfelt hug. She wore a tasteful off-white dress that was a few sizes too large, and it made her look especially flat chested. Thad grew queasy with the knowledge of the groom's rendezvous with the comatose bridesmaid. Damn Nick and Vange, he thought.

Sporting a faux fur, A-line coat, Tristana-Nanette made her way toward her younger brother and motioned to her watch. Her royal blackness had plans to meet the newspaper editor later, and she was presently exhausted from bouncing between her estranged parents. Fat and quasi-classy, Anne Paull stood at the opposite end of the church from her physically fit doctor husband, who brimmed full of lust for the matron of honor.

Hot and frustrated, Tristana surrendered her human tennis ball act and took her seat far from the maddening crowd. She was the most beautiful woman who had ever fled the city limits, and there was no use trying to fit in. Unnoticed, the modern day Morticia hacked up a phlegm globber, spat in the aisle and let a little fart.

"I admire Nanette – I mean Tristana's aloof, ironic Gen X attitude," Chelsea whispered to Thad.

"Gen X?"

"You know, Generation X, like Baby Boomers but without the narcissism and more ironic."

"Oh."

"Do Tristana's breasts seem larger?"

"Ben seems to think so."

"That's depressing if she had an enlargement," Chelsea said.

No matter what the conversation, Chelsea's eyes urged him to tell Kate of her philandering fiancé. Thad imagined her climbing over the pews in her cargo shorts and boots toward Nick, and with her arms flailing she yelled out at Kate that Nick had slept with her stepsister only last night. "He's a dog, Kate!" she screamed, and to prove her point, she pulled out a clipboard and asked, "Whom here hasn't Nick Paull slept with?"

"Don't you think it's horrible?"

"Huh?" Thad asked, and then he remembered the topic of their conversation. "What's the big deal about Tristana's tits?"

"Thad, an augmentation mammoplasty procedure is pandering to the patriarchal dictatorship of what's attractive on a woman's body," Chelsea informed, shocked by his political incorrectness. Then she asked concerned, "Do I sound like a militant feminist?"

He let the drawn out silence speak for itself. Without looking at her, he excused himself to smoke a cigarette. Once outside, Thad wondered whether Chelsea was on the right track. Maybe it was his duty to inform Kate of her fiancé's tryst with her comatose stepsister. Just the sound of it flustered him, and Chelsea's constant glances of knowing disapproval didn't help matters. At all times, Thad could feel her judgmental eyes piercing up at him with soap opera intensity, but he refused to give her the satisfaction of discussing his intentions.

Emerging from an outrageously practical station wagon, Thad's round compact mother and his tall gangly sister made their way toward the church. Thad extinguished his cigarette, and Mrs. Feldpausch waved cheerily. She looked like a red-faced elf next to her towering pissed off daughter. Following them, he reluctantly trudged back inside the church while explaining that Kate's father had not yet arrived. All eyes turned hopefully to them, and then he could feel the collective disappointment of the crowd.

Alexa said loudly as she sat down next to Chelsea, "They're probably too wasted to find the church. Why's everyone in this family a damned drunk?"

"Because it's the right thing to do," Thad said.

Alexa erupted with laughter and Jane Feldpausch smacked both her unruly adopted children. She hastily changed the subject from the genetic likelihood of alcoholism to parental negligence.

"Why would Ed and Shayla bother to show up? His family values became real clear when he had to be dragged to my sister's deathbed," Jane said, referring to her ex-brother in-law with customary distaste. "Kaye got a real prize when she married that S-O-B."

"Why anyone would want to get married is beyond me," Chelsea said.

Alexa bemoaned her plight. "Do I really have to go through with this? Just look at them, a coven of brazen, blond barracudas."

"You have my deepest sympathies," Chelsea said glumly. She didn't want to be a bridesmaid either.

Halfway up the main aisle, Tristana joined Ben and the priest. Alexa remarked Tristana looked like a Satan worshiper next to Father Tim. Ben was an usher along with Kate's brother, Jack, who had also gone missing, but no one seemed to notice because sole attention was focused on the glaringly absent father of the bride.

The priest was a family friend who was routinely imported for weddings. Thad wondered aloud if weddings were like notches in his belt.

"Over sixty-billion married," Thad announced.

"Maybe that's what they brag about when they congregate with other men of the cloth," Alexa said.

"Well, they can't very well advertise over sixty-billion molested," Chelsea said, and Alexa guffawed loudly while their mother shrank in horror.

The family recruited their own priest because the parish regular was the latest in a series of senile dolts making one last, seaside pit stop before being put out to pasture. The present priest was a heinous home-wrecker with tentative plans to retire to Florida with his grandfatherly, Knights of Columbus boyfriend.

As it became more obvious that Ed and Shayla Hesse were not likely to arrive any time soon, Nick approached Father Tim and inquired in a businesslike manner whether anyone else could take the place of Kate's missing father. The priest agreed that for the time being a paternal substitute sounded like an excellent idea. When he determined Kate's brother should assume the duty, Nick suggested it was not a satisfactory option, and he recruited Ben for the job of stand-in. Nick presented the scenario to Kate, and she reluctantly agreed to let the practice proceedings begin.

"Places everyone, places," the priest whispered meekly. Father Tim seemed a somewhat uncommanding Mr. Roarke in black, and this church was his Fantasy Island. All that was missing was a little person to ring the bell and cry out the ritualistic, "The plane! The plane!" and inquire, "Does she have a fantasy, boss?" Thad wondered what was Kate's fantasy exactly, and whether he had any right to shatter her illusions of love, especially on the day before her happily ever after was slated to begin. Maybe it was better not to reveal the dark side of her prince charming.

In his usual ostensible fashion, Nick hung in the back of the church monitoring everybody as they assumed their positions. The wedding attendants anxiously coupled up as if desperate to escape a flood of boredom, and Nick lingered, waiting for the music to sound from nowhere.

Ben felt in his pockets and smacked his forehead. "Oops, I forgot the tape in my other coat."

"Try to remember tomorrow," Nick reprimanded.

Ben nodded at the best man, who was doing handstands next to the Holy Water, and he suggested, "Maybe it'd be safer with Kerouac."

Nick placed a hand on Ben's triceps and said quietly enough for only him to hear, "Believe it or not, he's the only one I can tolerate, but they come as a package deal."

Ben offered no response, and Nick continued to hover like an overseer until Ben walked away with one hand in his pocket. He thumbed the suicide note he had snatched from Evangelica's fingers. It was a constant reminder of his failing to be there when she needed him most. Watching Nick, a surge of remorse shot through Ben, and he protectively linked arms with the bride. Radiating perfect calm under duress, Kate was appreciative of her stand-in father's squeeze of support, and she gave him a peck on the cheek before whispering a heartfelt thank you in his ear.

"For what?" he asked.

"For being so sweet," Kate said, smiling warmly.

While Nick double-checked to make sure the wedding attendants were appropriately positioned, Chelsea leaned surprisingly close to him and muttered, "Sizing up which one of us you'd like to screw tonight?"

Coughing and bug-eyed, Nick abruptly stepped away as if she were contagious with the plague. He shot her a questioning look full of animosity. She cast him a knowing and hostile grin, and reveled in his retreat to the front of the church where he stood beside Father Tim.

A few minutes later, Chelsea lumbered up the aisle in her hiking boots. At her side was T-bone, the Frat boy who drunkenly offered to flash her the source of his nickname.

Alexa lagged sullenly out of step, two paces behind her preppy escort. Halfway up the aisle, she tripped over her own feet and lost a sandal in the fall. As everyone laughed, Nick's sister scurried to assist Alexa upright as her escort stood benignly to one side. Tristana handed Alexa her wayward Birkenstock, and she smiled genuinely sympathetic, for which Alexa was grateful.

With a wink, Tristana said, "I can hardly wait to see how you manage this catwalk in heels."

Last in the procession was the pony-tailed best man, and he accompanied the bleached-blond matron of honor. Noting her synthetic transparency in the light of the day, Ben wondered why he had been too busy entertaining this married woman to respond to Evangelica's call for help. It was not uncommon for him to wonder what he had been thinking the mornings after his dick had lied to his eyes the night before.

Kate looked concerned and asked if he was okay.

"Yes, why?"

"You look a little sick," she said, feeling his forehead. "Maybe you're just having doubts about whether or not to give me away."

"What do they say, if you love something set it free?"

"And if it returns to you, it's yours—

"And if she doesn't, hunt it down and rip its heart out with your teeth," Thad interjected. With his camera dangling from his neck, he snapped occasional pictures of the practice proceedings. Laughing, Kate beckoned him, and he reluctantly let his cousin and her substitute father detain him near the rear of the church.

"Thad if my brother doesn't show up tomorrow, will you take his place and help Ben seat the guests?" Kate asked. "You're the only one skinny enough to fit in his tux."

"Trust me, he wouldn't miss out on the main event," Ben said hopefully because he half-expected Kate to ask him to give her away during the actual ceremony. Despite his optimism, her brown eyes remained doubtful.

Thad could not think of a reasonable excuse to refuse her request, so he agreed to act as an usher in case Jack skipped the wedding.

"And what if your dad is a no show?" Thad asked. "Who'll give you away?"

Kate was quiet for a long moment, and she said, "I guess Jack will have the honors if he's around."

"And if he's not?

She ignored his inquiry altogether as she did not want to entertain the prospect of what to do if her entire immediate family should boycott her wedding. The three of them had not been especially close since her mother's death. Only Kate had been there to witness her mother's deterioration. Jack, who practically moved in with Ben while her father who was out to sea, had not been there for them at all. Therefore, Kate felt only the most lavish wedding her father's money could buy would compensate for her obligatory deathbed vigil.

Finally, Ben and Kate stiffly made their way toward the crowd at the front of the church. Kate appeared to be a martyr being led to her own execution, a lamb to the slaughter. But halfway down the aisle Ben whispered into her ear, and she whirled around as his supportive grasp kept her from doubling over with laughter. Thad caught the light moment on film, with Nick looking out of focus in the background.

Thad took a seat behind Tristana, and he wondered why Nick's sister was not a bridesmaid. Perhaps Kate had not wanted to be upstaged by a freak in fuchsia. More likely, Tristana would have traded her funeral garb for formal wear if only her brother had not insisted on marrying a country bumpkin.

In front of the church at the altar, Kate and Nick were clamped together as they followed the priest's instructions to become comfortable with the gilded portable pew. Tomorrow's full-fledged, grueling Wedding Mass Ceremony would stretch their cherished moment to infinite proportions, but at least while repeatedly sitting, standing and kneeling, Nick and Kate could squeeze in one more cardiovascular workout. They had been hitting the gym hard and looked the epitome of health and happiness.

During this practice ceremony, Kate glanced back only once with the hope her father might have slipped in unnoticed. But her searching eyes merely confirmed her nagging suspicion that Ed Hesse was never anywhere he was expected. She imagined his corpse would be misplaced for his own funeral. What had God been thinking, she wondered staring up at the altar, when he took away her mother who so obviously loved and enjoyed her life while sparing her father who obviously wanted nothing whatsoever to do with his life. Catching a sidelong glance of her future mother in-law, Kate felt reassured by Anne Paull's warm smile and supportive thumbs up.

Settling down in Portnorth, Anne Paull chanced the dreary possibility one of her carefully cultured children potentially marry one of the barbaric natives one day. A suppressed look of dissatisfaction in Mrs. Paull's eyes revealed her secret displeasure with Nick's choice of a life-partner. She had always maintained high aspirations for her offspring, and now her beloved only son was becoming, of all things, a Catholic. She blamed this lapse of judgment on her own intensely upwardly mobile aspirations. Rather than sending her children to the local public school, she enrolled them in the only parochial institution the town had to offer; however, never in her wildest dreams did she imagine it would lead to a complete and total Conversion. It had been all she could do to sit through his Baptism and First Holy Communion without strangling her compliant husband with a Rosary. Mrs. Paull thanked her Protestant Lord that Nanette had spent the bulk of her formative years in a boarding school far away from Portnorth.

Anne Paull belonged to a few of the same civic groups as had Kate's dead mother, but she had always considered Kaye Hesse to be dutiful, kitchen help. Being a full time nurse, Anne never had the time to invest in civic charities the way Kaye, a housewife had. Having been a chief engineer's wife did not detract from Kaye's salt of the earth roots, but at least Kate's mother had possessed dignity, unlike the current Mrs. Ed G. Hesse. Shayla was nothing more than a floozy. With any luck, she thought Ed and Shayla would spare everyone a lot of embarrassment and show up sober for the wedding.

Although the fussing wedding attendants created a teasing ruckus around them, tomorrow's newlyweds nervously surrendered their sole attention to the good Friar. The kindly priest guided them through their matrimonial vows, and he informed them when to expect what. He reminded the attendants when it was time for their readings, which they practiced, and then he summoned Tristana for her sole contribution. She casually made her way to the podium and read Shakespeare's Sonnet 116, and she took perverse pleasure when she concluded with a resounding "to the edge of doom."

Chelsea rolled her eyes at the word obey. She understood tradition, but Kate and Nick had opted for the most archaic vows available. When it came time for the practice kiss, they joined hands and pressed their lips together so lovingly and so tenderly, the onlookers hushed in awe. Everyone basked in the outpouring of love. Even hard-hearted Tristana's eyes grew soft. Chelsea cleared her throat to interrupt their rapt fixation on the amorous couple, and she glowered with a look of foreboding at Thad. She mouthed threateningly, "Tell Kate, or I will."

Unnerved, Thad ambled away to join his squat mother at the recesses of the church vestibule, where they waited for Alexa.

Alexa bounded back down the aisle loudly, and she raked her fingers through his mop of hair as she discreetly slipped her hand under his jacket. Her fingers trailed downward from the nape of his neck until her hand found a niche under his waistband. She could not stand close to Thad for too long without affectionately hugging him, mostly because she liked the discomfort it aroused in him. Preferably, she instigated her molestation in front of their mother in order to amuse herself with her stifled horror.

"Enough with the incest, already," Jane reprimanded.

"I can't help it, he's so cute," Alexa countered, giving Thad a kiss on his crimson cheek. She informed she would meet them later at the lounge, and she made her way out of the dreary church. The back of her coat read "Substance 1987," and Thad smiled because Ben must have given it to her. Thad had once drunkenly puked in the back seat of Ben's old convertible while Nick was driving, and Ben caught the vomit in his cupped hands and wiped the mess down the front of Nick's coat. To this day Thad was unsure if Nick ever realized who really was at fault for his coat shrinking two sizes after the dry cleaning. Nick gave Ben the coat, which he stenciled Substance 1987 across the back and wore until this day.

Chelsea found Thad, and she grabbed hold of his neck. "Are you ready to get drunk? Maybe then you'll work up the courage to tell Kate Portnorth's best kept secret."

"What secret?" Jane Feldpausch asked. Thad's mother hated secrets. She considered them cowardly and in poor taste, which is why she wore all her own secrets written across her face like a walking tragedy. The world knew about her scarred ovaries without her having to say a word. "What doesn't Kate know? Has the Whiley girl's condition worsened?"

"No, mother, she's still safely comatose."

"Then what is it?" Mrs. Feldpausch asked. "If it's about why Katie's father isn't here, then it is a family matter and I have a right to know."

With pointed smugness, Thad said, "I thought you no longer consider him family."

"You'll find out soon enough," Chelsea taunted. "I'm sure everyone will be yacking about it tomorrow when it becomes obvious there won't be a wedding."

"Don't sound so cheery at the prospect," Thad said. He informed his mother if they didn't leave for the lounge, they'd undermine the Feldpausch tradition of being the first to arrive at all social functions.

Once they left, Chelsea turned around to discover Nick brooding behind her. Anxiously, she attempted to maneuver her way back into the guts of the church, but his imposing bulk easily blocked her path. It made her nervous and uncomfortable being alone with him, and she was reminded of her lack of stature as if remembering a forgotten disability.

Although Nick seemed preoccupied, it did not deter him from confronting her. He moved closer, and asked calmly, "What was that crack for, about me screwing one of the bridesmaids?"

Chelsea pulled her cardigan tighter. "It meant it, exactly what I said."

"I don't know what your problem is, but let me remind you of one thing, tomorrow is Kate's special day," Nick pointed out.

"What are you insinuating? I'm out to sabotage your precious wedding?" Chelsea asked dumbfounded. She added bitterly, "You've already done that, Nicholas. You've already ruined Kate's special day, and possibly the rest of Evangelica's life."

"Just what the hell do you think went on between the two of us?"

"I wouldn't venture to guess."

"I didn't pour those pills down her throat. What's wrong with you? What have I ever done to you?" Nick asked, and his face flushed with the memory of one unfortunate night back in high school. "How many times do I have to apologize for that one drunken time?"

"Oh, that takes the cake, you prick-for-brains," she burst. "You've never apologized, not ever— not even once!"

"I just did, yet again," Nick said, sounding wounded. "You can't believe I'm some sort of ogre, Chels. Don't punish Kate for my past mistakes. She deserves a perfect wedding day."

"What she deserves is someone better than you. If you loved her at all, you'd tell her, tell her about your fling with her stepsister two nights before her wedding."

He was silent for a long moment, and then said very deliberately, "I find it hard to believe you honestly care what's in anyone's best interest but your own."

"How can you say that?"

"When Kate's mother died, where were you?" he asked plainly. "I didn't see you at the funeral."

"You think you know everything, don't you? You think you have all the answers," Chelsea said flatly. What was going through his mind, that she was a spurned lover. "You think I'm plotting to tell Kate about your fling with Evangelica because of some old vendetta? Don't flatter yourself."

"Well, it's how you act half the time."

"You're so full of yourself, I can't believe it. Just remember I was never with you willingly," Chelsea said. She was fuming inside, but struggling to keep her composure. She tugged her cropped off hair behind her ears and shut her eyes for a few contemplative seconds. Taking a deep breath, it was all she could do to keep from smacking his blandly attractive face. She could not stand his sense of entitlement or the way he took for granted he was untouchable.

"You're so self-righteous it's sickening," Nick said. He turned away unable to conceal his loathing for her. He found Chelsea's superiority complex even more daunting than his mother, whom he had always considered the Queen of Condescension. Nick detested her capacity for moral and intellectual pretension, which automatically made her point of view lord paramount. "It's easy to take the high road when you've never allowed yourself the luxury of actually living a life."

She felt braver now that Nick's back was turned, and so she issued the ultimatum. "Thad's too chicken shit, so either you tell Kate – or I do, and while I'm at it I should tell her how you forced yourself on me. What you did is called date rape."

Nick became so incensed he smashed his open palm against the table. A pile of church bulletins fluttered to the floor, and Chelsea jumped with fright. Nick asked enraged, "Did Thad tell you about last night? I swear to god I'll kill him if he did."

"You've already nearly killed one person this weekend," Chelsea informed. "Isn't that enough?"

"Oh, cut the melodramatics."

"I think they've only just begun, Nicholas," Chelsea said as she backed away.

She watched him standing alone in the vestibule. Alone and struggling with feeling of remorse was how she longed to picture him for the rest of his life. She opened the church door, and a gust of summer breeze saturated her lungs. She reveled in the nascent dusk. The sun was beginning to recede behind a pinkish purple horizon, but strangely it felt as if a new day was dawning. The more time Chelsea spent with her old friends, the deeper was her urge to purge herself of them. She had never pandered to Nick's ego in the past, and she was not about to start now even if it meant hurting Kate.

Walking to her car, she made a mental note of what few things she still needed to pack, and this time she would pack with more practicality. She closed her eyes and imagined California. She wondered what justifiable reason there was to sacrifice her integrity for Kate's well being. It had always been that way, keeping secrets for the sake of others. Her only real hope was total liberation resulting from fully embracing the truth.

When Nick returned to the crowd, he encountered Ben sharing a private joke with Kate. The radiating bride to-be laughed and gave Ben's hand a playful slap. Her sublime beauty calmed him, and all at once Nick felt reassured. It distressed him the way Ben was always engaging his future wife with comforting witticisms, which were followed by genuine laughter. Nick had only seen her sad and depressed all day, but presently she joked and engaged graciously with their guests. He vowed to spend the rest of his life making her happy. When Nick approached, they sobered up and became so self-conscious he felt like a party crasher.

"Ben, check and see if Nanette needs a ride to the lounge," he suggested and wrapped his arms protectively around Kate.

"She's got the Saab," Ben said, but he went Nick's Goth sister anyway.

Anne Paull had corralled her daughter into a corner, and she was recounting for a small enthralled audience details of her daughter's latest job in Detroit, as a stylist for a modeling agency that serviced beautiful suburban clients looking to score an easy ticket to New York or Milan. Tristana indulged her mother the momentary opportunity to live vicariously.

Tristana and Nick had never been close due to her resentment of their father for his perpetual favoritism of Nick for having been born with an XY chromosome. The doctor generally ignored his daughter, since she belonged to the unfortunate lesser species, relegated to live life sequestered to service the needs of the weaker sex. She could not remember ever hugging her own father, but then again, she could not remember him displaying any sort of affection toward Nick except for hearty backslaps and playful headlocks. She guessed what little affection he had to give was reserved for the bedroom of his mistresses.

The doctor's macho, physical fitness obsession only served to encourage Tristana's willful acts of rebellion. Back in junior high, she organized underground laxative parties for her girl friends. The idea was to bring a dessert to pass, pop a handful of laxatives, gorge and then fight for the toilet. It was after one of these deranged gatherings while plunging the clogged commode, the doctor made good on his threats to ship her away to boarding school. The last thing he needed were his patients streaming in with their binge-purging daughters. It was as if his own child's single-handed mission was to ruin his career.

Nick considered it unfortunate he and his sister never really got to know one another until they both attended the same private college for wealthy kids intellectually unprepared to attend the University of Michigan. The idea was to keep one's money in one's own socio-economic sphere, which neither Paull offspring had done thus far. In Tristana's own words, "You can take the hick outta the woods, but you can't take the woods outta the hick." Nick was marrying down while Tristana was smart enough only to sleep around down. For her mother's sake, Tristana was holding out for a suitable gentleman who could truly afford her hand in marriage. But for the time being her gothic get-ups and dour demeanor would keep at bay any Brooks Brothers clad suitors.

"Nicky, let's bust a move," Tristana pleaded. "I've got a date tonight."

"With Seth Poole?" Nick asked, still holding Kate's shoulders from behind. She slid from his embrace and mingled with her circle of bridesmaids. Nick feared Kate would never feel comfortable in the company of his sister. Tristana was cordial enough, but she refused to hide her displeasure of Kate's misguided attempts to exude worthiness with open embarrassment of her family. Embrace your roots, Tristana believed.

"I'd hardly call it a date. Isn't the technical term extra-marital affair, Nanette?"

"Don't be a little bitch," she said, and added angrily, "Can't you even try to remember, it's Tristana now."

"No."

"Please, give me a break," Tristana said riled. "I had to give whore-dad a lift here, and I was given the old – If you don't start taking better care of yourself, you'll end up looking just like your mother speech. I'd kill for a cigarette, is Thad around?"

"No idea. Where's dad?"

Tristana shrugged. "Check between the pews, he's probably boning Kate's matron of honor as we speak."

"Well, Nanette, maybe you should head to the lounge," Nick suggested.

Having lost her patience, she said loudly, "Tristana Tristana Tristana. Is it so damned difficult to remember?" Then she wrapped herself seductively around Ben and cast her brother a territorial smirk.

Nick rolled his eyes and said exasperated, "Eventually, you'll take off all that black crap and become a hippie and change your name to Ankh or something equally ridiculous."

Tristana laughed bitterly and said, "You're a real laugh riot." Then she asked coyly, "Will Kate's brother be at the rehearsal dinner? I'd like to get a good look at this Jack character."

"Only a look?"

"You've got a perverted mind."

"He's too young, even for you."

"What's crawled up your ass, Nicky?" she asked annoyed. "You're acting like a total prick."

"Okay, sorry," he offered. "It's the stress."

"Forgiven. It's just this kid Jack doesn't sound nearly as morose as the rest of his boring family. Jesus, Nick, they're all terminal cases, and Kate's stiff as a corpse." As an afterthought, Tristana added, "But you already know that, don't you? You'll start screwing around on her once she pops out the first brat, so why even bother?"

Nick walked away shaking his head, and despite Tristana's obvious lack of genuine interest, Ben said, "I'll follow you on my bike, okay?"

"Oh, get a clue," Tristana snapped and walked away.

Before long, the fair-haired maidens and frat brothers made their exit. They piled in their cars and sped away to The Lounge. As if their automobiles were not enough to advertise their political affiliation, their Tauruses and Buicks were plastered with bumper stickers advertising Bush-Quayle.

In the dwindling cluster of guests, Kate thanked ever understanding Father Tim and apologized for her father's absence, but the priest was more concerned about her missing juvenile delinquent brother. Regrettably, Kate said she had no idea where Jack was. While Nick informed Father Tim Jack rejected his most recent college spiel, Kate wrapped her arms around her future husband. Despite the fact Jack was disinterested in pursuing an education, Nick suggested perhaps the priest could recruit him to enlist in the monastery, if not a branch of the armed forces. Correctly, the priest observed it was a trying time for the Hesse family, and he encouraged them to have love and understanding in their hearts. They should keep praying for the best.

Nick comfortingly took Kate's hand into his own, and Father Tim told him how lucky he was before wrapping his arms around Kate and Nick. The priest had baptized the Hesse children and their Feldpausch cousins, and he had watched Kate grow from a ponytailed tomboy into a charming young lady. Father Tim offered firsthand knowledge of what a wonderful girl Kate was and what a truly blessed family she came from. Kate smiled appreciatively, and she wondered when exactly everything became so sordid. It had been a long time since she had felt at all wonderful or blessed.

The priest gave them an emphatic squeeze and made his way to the exit of the church. Holding Nick's hand in her own, she felt it was a crime she should feel so overwhelmed with unadulterated happiness. Now that they were alone, she turned to him and folded herself into his comforting grasp. If she could, she would hold onto him forever. Given a chance, she felt they could make one another complete. As they exited church, which was purposefully constructed to resemble the huge freighter her father sailed, they stopped on the steps. Kate spontaneously kissed her bridegroom. She wanted to litter his life with tokens of love and affection. Despite the recent chaos bogging down their lives, she felt overwhelmed with joy.

"Nick," she whispered, "it doesn't seem right to feel so happy. Let's promise to make tomorrow the best day of our lives."

"I promise," he answered, with only the faintest inkling this was the last time they would share any such intimacy. This moment was the last time Kate would feel anything resembling happiness for a long time to come. He had the sneaking suspicion she should have invested her precious time with someone more worthy, but for now, he was content to bask in her glowing adoration and complete satisfaction.

She felt as if she were going to collapse in his arms while radiating pure contentment, and she flashed him her perfect smile and gazed deeply into his soul with her big brown eyes. She had no idea that in as many months as it had taken for her to orchestrate the most perfect day of her life, it would take a mere few hours for the blissfulness to mutate into a nightmare. Kate buried her cheek into his chambray-clad chest and inhaled. Soon, he would be hers at last.

Holding her close, Nick said sincerely, "Kate, honey, I love you more than life itself, and I would never do anything intentionally to hurt you. I promise you always."

"I love you so much," she said and kissed him again and again.

Kate wished everyone could feel the love she felt because it was crashing against her insides with overwhelming ferocity. She could not wait until they officially became man and wife, even though in her heart, she felt as if they were as good as married could get. It was more than hope she clung to, it was a deep and abiding faith, and all she could muster she had invested in him.

chapter eleven

Hand in hand, Nick and Kate entered the dimly lit floral lounge where hungry guests awaited their arrival. Nick, wearing a sandstone summer suit, and Kate, in her too large, but tasteful off-white dress, looked as if they should be propped on top of an informal, second wedding cake. They smiled appreciatively at Ginny Norris as she graciously led them to the dining room, where they were met with a thunderous greeting. Their tender kisses only exacerbated the crashing waves of applause.

Ginny led the couple to their seats at the center of the head table, filled their champagne flutes and gave them congratulatory hugs. As a prelude to many wonderful years together, Ginny wished them a terrific evening and sashayed away. Simultaneously, Nick and Kate tilted their glasses toward the guests.

"I love you," Kate whispered to him, brimming with emotion. She felt consumed with happiness she had never imagined possible, and she wondered how she would refrain from overflowing with joy.

"To my daughter," a voice bellowed in the distance, and all eyes turned to the man swaying tipsily in the middle of the room. "To my beautiful daughter and my future son-in-law."

Not exactly smiling, Kate bared her teeth and stared blankly at her obviously drunk father. He raised his glass in her direction and grinned from ear to ear. Glassy-eyed and trembling, she clutched tightly to Nick's hand. Her father looked very much like a seafaring sailor despite his sloppily assembled country western gear. Balding and bearded, Ed Hesse possessed a phantom-like dignity that spewed proclamations as out of place as his ill-fitting ten-gallon hat. His sweeping gusts of bravado were as overdone as his silver belt buckle, and with each gale force sentiment, Kate felt herself growing more and more distant as if she were drifting rudderless out to sea.

Chief Engineer Hesse turned to Nick's relatives and spouted, "A toast to the Paulls— the good doctor may mend backbones, but we Hesses are the backbones of this community."

Half the champagne flutes lifted in the direction of the Paull family and then shifted to the Hesse clan, and vice-versa. The guests were unsure for whose honor the toast was intended. Making a spectacle, Ed Hesse swaggered across the room in his snakeskin boots and gave his daughter a big boozy hug. While laughing uproariously, the chief gave Nick a fierce slap on the back which caused him to stumble forward.

"Don't ever underestimate the strength of a sailor, my boy," Chief Hesse uttered from the side of his mouth. Kate felt herself shrinking with embarrassment until Ginny Norris suggested the guests of honor have a seat so dinner could be served.

Kate's father staggered away while Nick and Kate retreated behind a wall of out of town guests. Chief Hesse successfully detoured around the snobs behind which his daughter entrenched herself. From the cordial aloof manner which Kate treated Ed Hesse, no one would suspect they were related, let alone father and daughter. As for her stepmother, despite Ed's encouragement not to, Kate almost always ignored her.

Ed Hesse lumbered to his wife and removed the video camera from her shoulder. He had asked her to film his welcome toast and capture his daughter's triumphant arrival with her cash cow. Chief Hesse had always told his daughter to marry for money, and to his astonishment someone had actually taken his advice for once. However, it was not money that made Ed Hesse happy. He had little to show for his six-figure income, but he understood money provided the means to security a woman required to create a decent home life. Contrary to Ed's attitude, money did make Shayla happy. It pleased her to think that to have come from so little, she finally wanted for nothing. All those years of pinching pennies felt as far away as her first hangover.

Shayla straightened her husband's hat and assisted with the massive video camera. Her shaggy platinum hair looked even more tarnished than her dangling earrings. Her sleepy bloodshot eyes were framed with smudges of frosted blue, and her downturn slash of a mouth was a burnt shade of orange. Shayla's bedazzled red leather pants disappeared into her white boots. An excess of black fringe shimmied from the shiny purple shirt Tucked into her too tight pants. She appeared to be headed to a Dottie West memorial concert.

Shayla held one hand firmly gripped around her beer bottle as if it anchored her to the table, and she waved to the video camera. Despite half-hearted attempts to stand poised in ladylike fashion, it seemed she might be more comfortable bellied up to the bar. Fringe flailing, she tipped her sloshing bottle repeatedly at Kate, and she sipped daintily but often. One futile attempt to initiate conversation began with her informing the entire table Ed was moving her to the country since her childhood dream was always to live on a farm of goats and chickens.

Kate's insides tightened, and her senses clammed up. Oblivious to Nick's hand turning blue due to her tourniquet-like grasp, she wished to vanish. When Nick kissed her neck and left her side to visit with his groomsmen, Kate stood dazed and alone. Her future mother in-law, a picture of sturdy elegance, spotted Kate and summoned her over. Anne Paull extended Kate a comforting smile and told her she looked positively lovely.

Tristana agreed with her mother, but silently she wondered if Kate was so backwards as not to realize her dress should have made a pit stop at the tailors. Kate said thank you and sat next to Anne. To her empty plate, she whispered, "This is the dress my mother was going to wear to the wedding. It came in the mail at our old house, and Nyda Czerwinski brought it by this afternoon."

"Oh, my," Mrs. Paull stammered, attempting to stifle her mounting astonishment. Tristana nudged her mother and choked down a swallow of water suppressing a coughing fit. Still searching for a tactful response, Anne Paull was unsure what she was expected to say in such an awkward situation. She could not very well say the dress would have looked beautiful on Kate's dead mother. Finally, she summoned up the words, "That's a fine gesture, you must feel especially close to her tonight."

"Just today at the hospital, I was trying to remember what she looked like," Kate said flatly. "I think the Valium the doctor gave me was playing tricks on my mind."

"I'm sure it was."

"Spoken from a true voice of authority," Tristana assured, and Anne Paull glared at her daughter. Tristana asked, "Well, didn't you pop them for years?"

"Those were nerve pills, honey," Anne said, and she looked waxen at her secret ex-husband, who leered casually at the matron of honor. They were deeply engrossed in a conversation about the cardiovascular benefits of an anaerobic workout versus an aerobic one. With the hope the good doctor would be later entertaining his most recent object of passing affection, Anne silently imagined herself torching the Pontoon boat later in the evening.

"Did you happen to notice Nick's father's cufflinks?" Mrs. Paull asked. "Nick's grandfather wore them on his wedding day, as did Dr. Paull. Tomorrow Nick will wear them proudly as one day will your son. It's a family tradition."

Tristana rolled her eyes, and just then, Ed Hesse squeezed between Kate and Anne Paull and he bellowed out a request for a dance with his daughter's future mother in-law. With all the grace of hog-tying a steer, he tugged her to her feet and spun her around the dance floor several times while Shayla admonished, "Smile for the camera!" Tristana laughed out loud as her mother's eyes bugged out of her head, and she grabbed onto a speechless Kate.

"This sure is some shindig," Tristana said in a fake Southern drawl. She flashed Ed thumbs up, and yelled with mock encouragement, "You go, Daddy-O!" Spotting Ben across the room, Tristana fled what she considered a lost episode of Hee-Haw for a moment of normalcy.

At the salad bar, Tristana stood behind Benjamin, who was debating whether the mushrooms looked fresh or not. Quickly losing patience, she interjected, "Oh for God's sake, it's a fungus no matter how fucking fresh."

Tristana wished to scarf down a salad and flee the ungodly floral lounge before Kate's pirate/cowpoke father made any more asinine toasts, or he grabbed her to dance, or Kate revealed what other articles of clothing she had lifted from her dead mother's wardrobe. Seth Poole was waiting for her at The Portnorth Porthole, where the newspaper crew was working away to meet their weekly deadline. The paper threatened to become a bi-weekly because Thad was so preoccupied with photographing the wedding, and Tristana consumed all Seth Poole's precious time since breezing back into town.

Tristana glanced at the clock and asked Ben if he had a cigarette for her to bum.

"I don't smoke, remember?" he answered regretfully.

A small voice from behind the salad bar startled them. "I could get you one from the kitchen." They backed away, and Jack swapped the nearly empty salad bowl for a full one. Sweat dripped from his forehead onto his ruddy cheeks, and he tried to look tough. "Menthol or regular?"

"Wait a minute, aren't you Kate's kid brother?" Tristana asked. Placing a hand over her breast, she posed wanton confusion while extending her hand.

"Yeah, so?"

"You're all everyone talks about around here, except for the chick in the coma," she observed. As she sized him up, she nodded approvingly. A dishtowel hung from his front pocket, and he carelessly wielded the empty bowl as if it were a dangerous weapon.

'Who're you, anyway?"

"I'm Nick Paull's sister, Tristana," she said, "but don't hold it against me."

Ben leaned in close to listen in on the future in-laws' conversation. He was clearly enjoying Jack's show of nervousness.

Tristana asked perplexed, "Shouldn't you be out here suffering with the rest of us?"

Jack shrugged unconcerned. "I'm working. Besides it's not my kinda party."

"What exactly does your kind of party entail?"

"Tail?"

"Tail!" Ben echoed loudly, laughing. "His kind of party is the naked kind."

"Are you suggesting you'd like to get naked with me, Jack?" Tristana asked, unable to suppress a wry smile. "Why, tomorrow we'll be in-laws, and that's slightly incestuous."

Mortified, Jack was lost for words. They were laughing at his expense, and he wondered if she had heard rumors about his having fooled around with his cousin Alexa. Presently, he had the attention of the most beautiful woman in the lounge, and he was rendered speechless cast under her flirty spell of bewitching ridicule. He hoped she found the uneasy nervousness of a backwater hooligan attractive. "Well, I-I do get around, it's a small town."

"They don't call him lady-killer for nothing," Ben said offhandedly, not realizing the offensiveness of his comment. After the fatal prom accident, lady-killer was what his classmates chanted at him from passing cars.

"I gotta get back to work," Jack said, flashing a look of discomfort.

"Exactly how old are you, Jack?" she asked. Ben moved away all too aware a juvenile delinquent had usurped his Goth rock pleasure princess' sole attention.

"Um, seventeen, why?" he stammered, and immediately he regretted not having aged himself a few years.

"Too bad, you're kind of cute," she said and flashed a drop-dead gorgeous smile. "Potentially dangerous, but still cute."

With that said, Tristana walked seductively away, carrying her salad back to the table. Jack's eyes followed the long black seams that disappeared under her short black skirt, and he stood in awe of her lean curvaceous body. Tristana approached her mother and informed she would have to leave soon due to an oncoming migraine. After taking a seat, she ravenously stabbed her fork into the iceberg lettuce and inserted a large bite into her wide-open blood red mouth.

"Quit drooling, Jackal," Ben snapped, and he dejectedly left Jack's side.

Jack remained alone, far away from the guests, and he waved for Tristana to come back to him. She sauntered to his side and was quiet while he struggled to find the words to express his desire to spend more time with her, especially before they became family and all. Amused and flattered, Tristana generously offered him a spin in her new Saab if he could meet her outside in 45 minutes. Unable to contain his excitement, Jack eagerly agreed without considering who would do the remainder of the dishes. Tristana nodded to Alexa and suggested he bring his girlfriend.

"Oh, her – she's only my cousin."

Tristana winked and said knowingly, "Consensual incest is cool by me."

Suddenly, Kate interrupted them by angrily demanding, "Just what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Making a date with this cute little dishwasher," Tristana said.

Flustered, Kate said nothing and watched Jack dodge quickly away. She followed her brother into the kitchen, where he continued to scour dishes without looking at her. Outraged, she asked him once again, "What are you doing, Jack?"

"The dishes," he said evenly. He continued to scrape food from the plates as he rinsed them off. "It'd be obvious to any dimwit that I'm working."

"Why?" When he failed to respond, she demanded, "Look at me when I'm talking to you, Jack. Why are you doing this?"

The bustling kitchen was relatively noisy with the scraping of plates, incessant hiss of running of water, and sizzling of the deep fryer.

"You can't ignore me forever," Kate said loudly. She folded her arms and leaned against the wall and watched him ignore her for what seemed like forever. After loading the dishwasher, he inexpertly lit a cigarette and proceeded to blow smoke in her direction despite her small, irritated coughs.

"You don't even smoke," she pointed out annoyed. "If you just give me a chance and listen –

Apathetically, he snapped on the garbage disposal and puffed away.

"Dammit, just listen for one second," she hollered over the roaring noise. Water splattered from the faucet against her bare arms. The anger he felt toward her was palpable.

Kate was rudely bumped out of the way by a waitress, who flung her ponytail about as she pinned up an order while yelling, "Six cod and four loin!"

The server moved Kate to one side, snapped off the garbage disposal and grabbed her long Salem cigarettes. She peered inside the pack and shook them while giving Jack the evil eye. "You're kind of in the way here, princess."

Kate bit her bottom lip and her eyes grew misty with tears. She moved closer to her brother, but he slipped away as he tossed the cigarette into the sink. "I'm sorry, Jonathon Gerard Hesse. I'm sorry for whatever it was I did to make you hate me so. I'm sorry about mom dying and dad remarrying, and for whatever else you blame me for."

"Okay, whatever."

"I'm so sorry."

"I heard you the first time."

"Just you remember, Jack, we're family, you and I always, no matter what."

Feigning apathy, he turned away and said coldly, "The only family I got now is in a coma."

Kate backed away and wiped her runny nose. The humidity from the kitchen had made her thick hair limp, and she was sweating at her temples. Visibly wounded, she said, "That hurts, Jack. It really hurts."

"It's the truth."

"I loved Vange, too," she whispered. Her forehead was sweaty now, and her eyes were watering. "You don't know this, but at one time back in junior high, when we were just kids, Evangelica was like a sister to me."

"If you say so," Jack shrugged, and he put further distance between them. He added, "Then you walked away from her, too, just like you did me."

She said in disbelief, "It wasn't like that, Jack. It's not how you think it was."

Fractured by his indifference, she covered her mouth, wiped her nose and wandered out of the kitchen. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the dimly lit dining room, and the site before her resembled a ringmaster cowboy raising the arm of an unsuspecting circus attendee.

"You heard it hear first, folks," Ed Hesse announced proudly. With his arm wrapped around Nick, he trembled excitedly about to deliver breaking news. Off to one side, Shayla recorded the spectacle. "It's official, this fine young specimen of a man here has promised me at least six grandchildren. Put your hands together for my future grandkids!"

Amongst the laughing and chatter of her expected litter, Kate shivered and ran her hands through her thick dark hair. She shook her head unbelievingly as she grew increasingly nauseated. Escaping the echoing applause, she fled to the restroom in order to splash water on her face and to regain composure.

"Christ Almighty," Alexa muttered. "They're plotting to turn Kate into a breeding mare."

"Kaye would've never approved," Jane Feldpausch said, and she took a gulp of champagne. "This here is a three ringed-circus."

"Literally. When will they bring out the dancing bear?" Thad asked.

Jane shuddered. "I can't believe one of my sister's kids is marrying for money, and the other one, well, he'll end up in jail before he ever gets the chance to marry. Or even worse, he'll knock up my daughter."

Kindly Father Tim put a comforting hand on Jane's shoulder and massaged gently.

Chelsea nudged Thad and pointed to Shayla, who passed the video camera back to her husband. She rolled her eyes and said, "This is the height of hillbilly narcissism."

Jane refilled her tall glass and took another guzzle of bubbly. She no longer had the stomach for her former brother in-law and his new wife. They looked like a demented Roy Rogers and Dale Evans.

In an orderly efficient manner, the waitresses distributed all the dinners except one. It was Kate's idea to give their guests the option of the two cheapest items on the menu, smoked loin or deep fried cod, but neither dish appealed to Chelsea, who demanded she be brought a meatless morsel. Chelsea considered it a personal offense her own mother refused to place anything on the menu that did not at one time possess fur or scales, and she would not stop harping on the subject. Thad suggested she eat a salad.

"Salad!" she yelled. "I've been eating lettuce in this joint for the past 20 years. I'm sick of salad. My mother's deliberately torturing me into eating meat, and you're telling me to eat a salad? Do you consider salad sustenance?"

"Well, no."

"I should hope not," she slurred. "I'm totally plastered. I could drive away from here and careen my car into a family of six, all because all I've ever eaten in this slaughterhouse is rabbit food."

Jane Feldpausch offered Chelsea her dinner roll and exchanged a wide-eyed glance with her daughter. Alexa pushed her plate toward Chelsea, and taunted, "Try the smoked loin." Under the table, her foot entwined its way around Thad's ankle. "It's the other white meat, and it's a real pretty color, it matches your shirt."

"Don't you carnivores get it?" Chelsea asked. "All I want is a vegetarian entree, is that so wrong?"

As if dropped from heaven above, a waitress plopped a plate down in front of the incredulous dinner guest.

"What is this?" Chelsea demanded, "yet another one of my mother's unholy attempts to thwart my life and ridicule me?"

"Nope, just French onion soup with garlic bread and mozzarella. Ginny prepared it especially for you," the waitress said. Then she set down another dish before an outraged Chelsea. "For dessert, cottage cheese on a bed of lettuce, topped with a peach half and maraschino cherry."

"Is this a sick joke? I'm a Vegan!" Chelsea roared loudly for everyone at the table to hear. "Hasn't anyone around here ever heard of a macrobiotic diet?"

From a few seats away, Tristana announced facetiously, "I'm also a vegetarian. I don't eat any meat whatsoever, except for Notdogs."

Chelsea pushed the plate away and demanded in a fit of rage to the waitress, who stood back amused, "Get rid of this garbage and bring me my mother."

Before the plate could be whisked away, Thad speared the peach half with his fork and stuffed it into his mouth. With her napkin, Alexa dabbed at the juice dribbling down his chin.

"Really, dear, you shouldn't take food so personally," Mrs. Feldpausch said lightly, and then she asked Thad for a cigarette. When Alexa pulled her shirt collar over her nose, Jane shook her head in dismay. "You kids today are so weird, I can't stand it. I'll be at the bar, where I can drink myself into tomorrow."

As she moved her chair away from the table, eager guests clanked their silverware against their glasses, and an all too familiar voice bellowed, "Another toast!" Rolling her eyes at her ex-brother in-law, Jane plunked back down in her seat and buried her face in her hands.

"Oh, just great, here we go again," Jane remarked, slumping in her chair.

Ed Hesse stood in the middle of the room, and he prepared to make yet another toast in honor of his mortified daughter. It seemed to Jane many sailors, including her own father, lacked the most basic, everyday social graces required to conduct a normal existence on land. Twenty-odd years ago, she purposefully steered clear of the seafaring breed in her search for a husband, who was presently at home where he should be in front of the television.

Openly disgusted, Jane watched Chief Hesse with the too-fresh memory of his treatment of her dying sister. They had called him ship-to-shore and begged him to get off the freighter because his family needed him. It was not until after finding the courage in the bottom of a fifth of scotch, he staggered to his oblivious wife's deathbed. Kaye passed away the next day, and a year later Ed was married to the bimbo presently hanging off his arm.

"A toast to my lovely wife," Ed chuckled. "I never knew married life could be so marvelous." Champagne bottle upraised, he searched for Shayla. This time, Nick had the honors of capturing the ineloquent, tasteless toastmaster on video. Nick scanned the room for Kate, who had momentarily slipped away, and he was grateful she was spared this latest tacky display.

With his arm around Shayla, Ed called out, "We're not losing a daughter, we're gaining free medical care – Ha ha ha!"

Jane Feldpausch shook her head incomprehensibly at the polite smattering of laughter and applause, and she made her way to the bar where she indulged in a shot of whiskey. Smoking without interference, she glanced up at the TV screen and watched CNN coverage of a Bangladesh cyclone that had wiped out a mere 125,000 people. That was approximately 50 Portnorths. She was sorry there was no chance of catastrophic weather annihilating her surroundings. When finished with her cigarette, she made a beeline for the restroom, where she found Shayla picking at a blemish in the mirror. The bright fluorescent lights enhanced the dull ash tint of her hair, and her heavy black eyeliner emphasized the sagging bags beneath her half-closed eyes.

Looking haggard, Shayla lifted a burning cigarette off the sink and puffed deeply. She pointed at the stall with her thumb and said, "Someone's on the pot."

"I'll come back later," Jane said. She paused, and then added, "I'm sorry about your daughter being in the hospital. I hope everything works out for Vangie."

"Should I be touched by sympathy?" Shayla asked loudly. "I know you all think I'm a gold digger."

"Let's not go there," Jane said. She treated her dead sister's replacement like a kind of aberrant freak of nature and refused to get too close.

"I might've been a tramp once, but at least the plumbing worked, and I was woman enough to birth a child," Shayla shrilly referred to Jane's scarred ovaries. In reference to her adopted brood, Shayla asked, "You're kids don't much look like you, do they?"

"This is no place for a fight," Jane said. She backed away and eyed the occupied toilet stall.

"I'm not fighting with you, but as the new Mrs. Edward G. Hesse, I'm telling you something here and now," Shayla said haughtily. Her words bounced off the bathroom tiles. "Yous people act like I'm scum of the earth."

"It's not true."

"If you think I'm so bad, just ask Ed who he was balling when Saint Kaye was suckin' her last breaths. If you only knew, you'd get down on your knees and thank God Almighty he married me!"

"So crude," said Jane. "So vile." Before she could rip Shayla to shreds, the stall door flung open wide, and Kate emerged with the back of her hand covering her mouth. Kate looked at neither her aunt nor her stepmother, and she fled the restroom as fast as her feet could carry her.

Shayla's sallow cheek felt the stinging blow long after Jane's reflexes overpowered her rationality.

Mountainous and bearded, Ed Hesse maneuvered himself around the room while skillfully balancing a cigar between his teeth and carrying the video camera over his shoulder. He towered above the crowd, and his booming voice frightened everyone he snuck up behind with his recording equipment. "Gotta get you for pros-pear-tee sake, aye," was one line catch phrase with which he coerced his unsuspecting subjects into posing for the video camera. He scanned the room for his daughter, but she was nowhere to be found, and he figured she was hiding behind her out-of-own guests.

"Hey, let's get Friar Tuck on film." Chief Hesse aimed his camera at Father Tim and commanded, "Say, Th-th-that's all folks!"

The priest smiled and waved politely.

When Ed turned the camera loose on his future son-in-law and requested that he record another toast, Nick replied, "Dad, too much of a good thing would only spoil them."

Chief Hesse bypassed the snooty out-of-towners to the dismay of the familiar faces that were no longer related to him. Whenever Ed neared their table, Alexa sniffed and said, "Is that Scent o' Farm I smell?" And mistaking them for friendly locals, Ed swung by often.

Attempting to encourage Alexa to spew soda from her nose, Tristana insisted they were related. "He's your uncle."

"Hell no," Alexa said. "He's my dead aunt's husband."

"Well, I imagine the camera loves you," Tristana said, waving to summon Ed back over.

"All right!" Chief Hesse boomed. "A working man has come to slave for the camera."

"Hey, dad," Jack waved. He let his father affectionately rough him up. While being manhandled, Jack enthusiastically whispered to Alexa, "Dude, meet me outside in 30 minutes."

"I've already extended her an invitation," Tristana said, and she gave Alexa a little wink.

On his way back to the kitchen, Jack noticed a monster truck patrolling the restaurant parking lot. The Czerwinski twins were home on leave from the Army. They had forewarned him after Jule's funeral the next time they came to town they would avenge their sister's death. He shuddered to imagine what injuries the newly buff twin brothers would inflict on him.

Trembling fearfully, Jack gave his father's camera one last wave and returned to work. Chief Hesse carried his camcorder wherever he went, much like hunters carried their guns in racks fixed to the rear windows of their pickup trucks. There was nothing he enjoyed more than to cruise a country byway with a six-pack, filming graceful deer herds sweeping across autumn fields. Not all his video footage was so highbrow, for he also had high hopes of one day catching a spectacularly funny sequence to submit to America's Funniest Home Videos. One time he thought he obtained it when he videotaped a cow unloading on Shayla's red stiletto shoe, and she failed to notice until it was too late. A surefire award winner was lost due to a low battery, but that happened back when he was still an amateur.

"Dance a Polka for the camera, pretty lady!"

Ginny Norris jumped, startled by the loud voice still echoing in her sore ear. "Geez, you scared the hell out of me."

"You're too pretty not to film for pros-pear-tee sake," Chief Hesse complimented.

Ginny groaned. "Oh nice, I've become a sex symbol for old men with video cameras."

"Young men, too," Ben added. A wicked grin spread across his face as he fondly remembered the last time he and Ginny videotaped fornicating against the old, swing-set slide decaying in the Dooley's fenced in backyard.

"Oh, stop your needless torture." Ginny laughed heartily and flashed Ben a look of invitation as she excused herself to check for more lettuce in the walk-in cooler. The salad bar needed replenishing.

Ben, under the guise of having to use the restroom, followed her inside the refrigerated room. She playfully slipped her fingers between the buttons of his fly and pulled him close. Her tongue slid from his adams apple up his neck and over the slight trace of his Fu Manchu whiskers. He tongued her mouth vigorously, and she moaned, "You make me so crazy." Her whole body was instantly swept up in a state of frenzied arousal, and she collapsed against his compact frame. With the fingers of one hand entwined in hers, he massaged her buttocks with his free hand. Ginny gasped and hungrily sought out his pierced nipple. He undid his pants as she melted, but the sound of someone entering the walk-in cooler fearfully froze her close to him.

"Um, oh, uh, oh," Kate sputtered shakily. "I'm so sorry." She remained immobile and looked as if she had fled a gruesome crime scene. Ben immediately reached out to comfort her, but she shirked away and backed closer to the door.

"I'm so sorry," Kate repeated needlessly. She scurried from the chill of the icy tomb and collided with her stepmother, who had stumbled wildly from the bathroom.

"That bitch hit me!" Shayla exploded, rubbing her red cheek. She mindlessly toppled Kate over sideways, and before she could regain her balance, she bumped into Father Tim as he was putting on his coat. The priest grabbed hold of Shayla and suggested she calm down, but she shook free of his grasp and slugged him until he staggered backwards.

As she hurled herself through the swinging restroom door, Shayla screamed viciously, "Who the hell do you think you are? I'll clobber you, fucking cunt!"

Shayla's vehement assertion summoned a number of the guests to the small intersection outside the kitchen and coat rack between the walk-in cooler and the restrooms. On the floor, Kate sat crouching among the coats, and she drew her knees to her chest. Shaking inconsolably, it was as if she was suffering from an epileptic seizure to the beat of the yelps and shrieks echoing from the restroom. As an oblivious mob encircled around her, Kate curled up in a fetal position amongst a sea of ankles. The crowd stepped past Kate as they curiously peered into the bathroom to catch a glimpse of the unfolding fiasco.

Unaware of the melodrama transpiring in the toilet, Chelsea stormed around the corner and pushed her way through the crowd. She also failed to notice Kate curled up in a ball on the floor as she stumbled over on her way inside the walk-in refrigerator.

"Mother, I'm so hungry, I could eat a horse," Chelsea called out, watching her own breath stream out of her like a fire breathing dragon.

Ginny replied nervously, "But, honey, you don't eat meat, remember?"

Benjamin whizzed past them, but he was prevented from proceeding beyond the walk-in cooler entrance because the increasingly noisy herd of spectators blocked the doorway. A few guests were attending the doubled over priest, who pointed haplessly at the lavatory door while gasping for breath. Chelsea opened a jar of olives and grabbed a handful. Popping them into her mouth like movie popcorn, she slipped past Ben and cleared a path for Thad, who was struggling to get a closer view of the debacle unfolding in the restroom.

"Who's in there," Thad asked.

"Shayla and your mother! Stop them, or they'll kill one another," Chelsea ordered, and she pushed Thad into the direction of the dueling women inside the restroom. Thad stepped over his cousin huddled on the floor, and he disappeared behind the swinging door. Chelsea popped more olives into her mouth and attempted to follow him, but Ginny protectively reeled her back into the hallway.

Nick fought his way through the crowd, which had gathered inside the cramped corridor, and he searched the gawking faces for Kate. While attempting to maneuver around Chief Hesse, Nick unintentionally jostled Chelsea into Ginny, and she fell back into the arms of her lover, who nearly toppled over. She clutched onto Ben, fraught with maternal concern until he regained his balance.

"What's going on here?" Nick demanded.

"Whatever it is, I've got it all in here on tape," the Chief said, patting his camcorder. He was diligently recording the entire chaotic scene. "If nothing else, then for pros-pear-tee."

"Don't you mean, posterity?" Nick corrected.

"It's a cat fight," Ben said. "Thad's mom and Vange's mom are slapping one another silly in the john."

"Where's Kate?" Nick asked.

"She was here a second ago," Ben said above the increasing din of confusion.

"Those crazy broads will kill Thad!" Chelsea screamed. With all the strength her small body could muster, she grabbed hold of Ben and pulled him away from her mother and whipped him into the bathroom.

After a few tense moments, she demanded of Nick, "Go see what's taking them so long, don't just stand there and let those lunatics beat one another senseless."

Nick stormed the fighting ring, and he emerged almost instantaneously. Victorious, he guided Jane Feldpausch with one hand and Thad with the other. Jane wore scratch marks across her face and appeared to be bloodied above her left ear. Thad was hunched over groaning about having received a boot clad Karate kick to the gut. But in order to prevent any further provocation of the crazed cowgirl, Thad led his frothing mother away.

Without hesitation, Nick again returned to the ring, and a few moments later he and Ben appeared with a hysterical Shayla restrained between them. With all their strength, they held onto her writhing frame fearful of the extent of the carnage if she broke free. Issuing inane words of support, Chief Engineer Hesse brushed Ben aside and followed his wife and future son-in-law down the long hallway in the direction of the fire exit.

Chelsea rushed to Ben's side as he dodged Shayla's blows. Half free, Shayla threw random punches at Ben while administering surprisingly agile kicks in the direction of her husband's video camera.

"I used to be a cheerleader," Shayla screamed. Her cowboy boot delivered a final blow to Ed's precariously perched camera, and it fell from his shoulder and crashed to the ground. She yelled, "Take that, bitch." When Shayla showed signs of shaking herself free, Chelsea yanked a handful of hair while restraining the possessed Mrs. Edward G. Hesse.

"Fuck all y'all," she cried out as Nick dragged her down the hallway out the back door.

"Oh my God, where's Kate?" Chelsea finally asked no one in particular. Ginny let out a horrified little cry as she spotted the bride huddled on the floor in a quivering ball.

"Good heavens," Ginny exclaimed, pointing downwards. She barked to a passing waitress, "Bring a glass of water!"

The dispersing mob issued gasps of terror at the sight of Kate on the floor, and they once again circled around. Chelsea single-handedly corralled the gawking onlookers back into the lounge.

When there was enough room, Ginny knelt down beside Kate and said, "Katie, dear, can you hear me?" She was unresponsive. "Benjamin, help me get her to her feet. Where's the doctor? Somebody, get him now!" Ginny pleaded.

"He got a page, he's on the pay phone," a voice answered.

"Where's Katie?" an official voice asked, and everyone moved aside to let Nick's father through. Squatting down beside Kate, Dr. Paull hastily checked her over and made sure she could sit up on her own. The doctor ordered, "Wrap her in a blanket, and get her to the ER quick. I'll meet you there."

Ginny demanded, "Aren't you even going to help us?"

"There's nothing I can do for her here." Obviously pressed by more pressing matters, Dr. Paull added, "I've got an emergency."

"What could possibly be more important," Ginny asked, "than your own daughter in-law as of tomorrow?"

"It's Evangelica," said Dr. Paull severely.

"My baby! Oh, no, not my baby girl!" Shayla's agonized cries grew distant as the back door closed behind her.

"Wh-what's wrong with her?" Kate asked groggily. Although frazzled and shaking, her grasp on the doctor's arm was reassuringly firm.

"It's nothing to worry about, nothing that can't be fixed," Dr. Paull said serenely, and he turned toward Ginny and Ben. "It seems Evangelica has cardiac arrested. She's been stabilized, but she's in critical condition. I'm on my way there now. Gotta run, bye."

"Take good care of her," Kate whispered. Her fingers remained clutched around her future father in-law's forearm, and he gave Kate a peck on the cheek. The doctor gently peeled her hand from his arm and set it on Ben's unsuspecting leg. Then he was out the door in an emergency medical flash.

Kate remained paralyzed on the floor gazing blankly ahead. The crowd had almost resumed an air of normalcy as her oblivious father prepared to make yet another toast. The guests collectively yawned and turned to face an undaunted Chief Hesse.

With his glass upraised, he scanned the room for Kate and began, "To my daughter, who'll always be a Hesse first and foremost." Ben helped Kate onto her feet, and when the Chief spotted her, he continued nonplussed, "On the eve of your big, special day of days – here's hoping they never get this special, err, I mean expensive ever again. Ha!"

He chuckled jovially but was dismayed to discover he was the only one laughing; nearly everyone appeared distressed and out of sorts.

"Abominable," Ginny said under her breath. She vowed then and there to retire within a year, and never host anymore hillbilly hoedowns for the rest of her life.

Kate wrapped her arms around herself, rocked back and forth, and searched around for a familiar face to focus on. Everything seemed to grow more and more distant and inaccessible as she felt herself becoming small and far away. A gentle hand touched her on the shoulder and reeled her in from the remote sorrow that alienated her even from herself. Kate turned with tears in her eyes to see it was Father Tim standing beside her. He was the only one in the room, and he held out his arms. The kindly priest offered his support, and she found herself weeping uncontrollably as he held her close. The priest cradled her reassuringly while issuing soothing words of comfort. Kate's wounded sobs filled the bar area and Ginny attempted to guide her into the kitchen where she could break down without an audience, but Kate resisted.

"Katie, honey, just tell us what you need," Ginny said. "Anything, sweetie, anything at all." Ginny draped a blanket over Kate's shoulder and caressed her cheek with the back of her hand. The bride's forehead felt cold and clammy, but sweat dripped from her tousled dark hair. To a passing waitress, the restaurant owner barked, "Where the hell is the water I asked for? And go get Nick Paull."

"Hubby took that crazy Tammy Wynette out to the back parking lot to cool off," said the scrawny waitress, but she dutifully retrieved the water and agreed to fetch Nick.

Suddenly sobered by the magnitude of the crisis, Chelsea grabbed hold of Ben's hand and said, "Looks like it's once again time for Prince Valium to sweep Kate off her feet."

"I— I have to leave. I'll just walk," Kate sputtered, seemingly in shock.

"You're doing no such thing," Ginny said, unsure if Kate was aware of what she was saying.

"Take me to her," Kate pleaded.

"The hospital sounds like a good idea," Father Tim said. He rubbed Kate's back with one hand and held onto her shoulder with the other. He attempted to guide her out the door, but she stood motionless.

"Nick's on his way, he'll be here any second," Ginny reassured.

Shivering, Kate insisted, "No, I have to go now."

Without warning, the priest felt Kate grow heavy as if she were about to faint, and he motioned at Ben to help support her. "Please, please, please, won't somebody just take me there before it's too late?" Kate begged, nearly whimpering. "Please, oh please."

Maybe, Chelsea thought, this time Kate was beyond Valium, and she would require a rubber room in order to regain a semblance of self-control. Chelsea commanded impatiently, "I'll take you there myself. Ben, you bring Nick as soon as you find him. Mother, walk with Kate, okay, while I pull up outside the main entrance."

"No," Kate winced and tried to hold back the tears.

Chelsea grabbed her arm and said forcefully, "We're taking you away; you're going to the hospital."

With General Norris finally having dispensed orders, her obliging troops fell in line and marched away obediently. Their mission was to race the bride to Portnorth Hospital before she suffered a complete nervous breakdown.

chapter twelve

As the silver Saab veered recklessly down Main Street, Tristana conversed with such rapt fixation on Alexa that she paid little attention to the road sprawled before her. Due to the clouds rolling in off the lake, everything appeared gray and washed out. In the backseat, Jack slid nauseous across the slippery leather interior. Tristana found it refreshing to be in the company of people who were too young to remember a time past when she was still Nanette before she had transformed into Tristana.

As always, Tristana was unimpressed with the quiet little town they cruised from one end to the other in mere minutes, so she decided to raise hell in order to liven things up. As they pulled slowly into the car wash, she eyed the jacked-up, monster truck parked alongside a purple Chevy Nova. An Alpha-male and two identical bald rogues, clad in authentic army-issued camouflage leaned against the truck emitting one-hundred-percent pure testosterone. She inspected them as if they were a rare species indigenous to Northern Michigan.

"Busch Beer! Git 'asted," cried the burly one with the premature middle-aged paunch. He raised his bandaged hand in the air and called out, "Burn 'em, git ripped!"

"Fuckin-A!" yelled the bald twins.

Completely fascinated, Tristana asked, "What language are they speaking?"

"Oh shit, it's the Czerwinski boys," Jack said, and he ducked as low as the little car allowed. "Don't stop."

"Why not?" Tristana asked, bringing the Saab to a rolling halt. "Are they actual Gulf War veterans?"

"More like Gulf War inspired. The Czerwinski boys are back from boot camp to kick Jack's scrawny white ass," Alexa informed.

"What for?"

"Killing their sister," Alexa said. The bluntness of the remark made Jack grunt with unease. "Last year, on Devil's Night, as a testament to their ferocity, they slaughtered a slew of feral cats and strung their carcasses in trees all over town."

"Positively grizzly," Tristana said. "Who is the fat-ass between the bookends?"

"That's Rocky," Alexa said. "He was supposed to graduate six years ago. One of his girlfriends is only a senior. He knocks the crap out of her every lunch hour before he porks her in the parking lot."

Tristana shuddered. "He looks rabid. Is this all they have to do?"

"Mostly. Rocky snags fish in his spare time, which is pretty much all the time. The Czerwinski jerks are in the army," Alexa said. Then she reached back between the two front seats and pried Jack's gum from his mouth because he would not stop chomping on it. "They're probably handing out directions to a party at some hick's hunting camp."

"There you go, Tristana, real rednecks," Jack said, and he impatiently added, "Dude, lets get out of here, now!"

"This place is even more frightening than I remember," Tristana said. She drove slowly as if mesmerized. "They don't appear civilized even in their own natural habitat."

Rocky and his two delinquent protégés spotted Tristana. The leader of the pack twirled the end of his mustache and ran his fingers through what looked like a wiry mass of pubic hair crowning his head. He wore a Black Sabbath T-shirt and baggy, cargo-style acid-washed jeans.

"In high school, the twins used to ride trains on passed out drunk girls," Alexa said sadly.

"Gnarly sick fucks," Tristana said, but she felt compelled to put her car in park and watch the stallion swagger toward them.

"This winner knocked up his girlfriend's kid sister," Jack said. He laughed and added, "His girlfriend is a Derry cow now, but she was once Queen of Porknorth."

"Are you on a first name basis with everyone in this town?" Tristana asked. Appalled, she locked the doors as the stallion inched his way closer.

Jack crouched lower until he was practically lying across the floor. He begged Tristana to drive away, but she ignored his pleas.

"This place is still hell on earth."

"It's not that bad," Jack said. "At least we know our neighbors."

"And their family histories for the past three generations," Alexa added.

"It's because you're all cousins," Tristana said bemused, and she added, "Anyway, is it really such a comfort?"

Rocky's unlaced high-top sneakers carried him toward the curious other worldly looking car, but he halted abruptly when he noticed the driver wore a nose ring, had blood red lips, dark eyeliner, and long curly, dyed hair. It was as if he stumbled across a demon incarnate in the night.

"Friggin' vampire," he called out and spat on the car hood. He turned to his identical buddies and said, "Get a load of the lezzies in the Jap car."

The Czerwinski twins jumped up and down, gleefully chanting, "Dykes! Dykes! We like to fight dykes."

"Wait-a-sec, that's Jack Hesse in there!" yelled their fearless leader.

The twins scrambled closer and screamed crazily, "We're gonna pulverize you, Jackass!"

Alexa quickly lowered her window, propped herself out of the car and forcefully stuck out her middle finger. Her wild eyes glimmered as she screamed, "Fuck you, Mother Fuckers!" Tristana tore off and squealed the tires as they fled the human explosives, on which Alexa had just tossed a match. The back end of the Saab narrowly escaped a soaring 40-ounce beer bottle, and shards of brown glass shattered against the deserted pavement.

"You gangsta bitches going to get us killed," Jack said as he rolled around in the backseat.

"Only if you're lucky," Alexa said.

"I'd call 9-1-1," Tristana said, holding up her brick sized DynaTAC cell phone. "But I can't imagine there's any reception up here." Jack stabilized himself in the cramped quarters, and he sighed with relief upon realizing there was no monster truck in pursuit.

"Christ on a stick, this place makes me sick," Alexa yelled out the open window. She longed to do something more interesting than ride up and down the same tired old streets. In the rearview window, she caught a glimpse of Jack swiping his strategically dripped hair off his forehead. She insisted, "You're preening again."

He ignored her and suggested, "Hey, let's do something wild and crazy."

"Let's get into a skirmish with the law," Tristana agreed, "like the Dukes of Hazard County, where crazy high-jinx ensue with each twist and turn of the dirt road."

Tristana opened the console between them and she pulled out a one hitter and a lighter. Tristana put the pipe to her lips and took a deep drag after raising the windows and shutting the sunroof. Heady plumes of smoke filled the car. She passed the pipe back to Jack after Alexa shook her head in disbelief, and muttered, "My God, I'm hanging out with Bonnie and Clyde."

"Then suggest a fun and legal alternative," Tristana said, taking the pipe while losing her patience.

"We could go swimming."

"Isn't it rather cold?"

"Um, yeah," Jack concurred, but Alexa decided the chilly air would make the water feel warmer. A consensus of one was all she needed to get her way.

"Too bad it's not winter, we'd take you ice fishing," Jack said, leaning between the front seats in order to get a closer look at to the intriguing Goth chick.

"Who're you kidding, Jackal?" Alexa asked as she elbowed him to get in the backseat. "Every time we do any serious ice fishing, moron here brings his skis and slides like a madman all over the frozen lake."

"Well, fishing is boring."

Alexa explained, "It requires a Zen-like patience for maximum enjoyment."

"Yet one more fun-filled Northern Michigan out-of-door experience I've missed out on," Tristana lamented. She took the pipe from Jack, and double-checked to make sure it was cashed. "I bet you guys still kill whatever you eat, like deer and rabbit and stuff."

After a brief silence, Alexa mumbled directions to the beach of her choice, and Tristana parked the Saab next to a wooded area.

"Do we really have to trek through this forest to get to the lake?" Tristana asked, fearing for the well being of whatever wildlife they should encounter.

"It's just pine trees," Alexa said, and she jumped from the passenger seat.

At the risk of looking paranoid, the driver rolled up the windows and locked the door. She found herself falling in line behind the two teenagers who led the way along the path through the woods. The evening sky was sporadically overcast, and the tree-lined trail was eerily dark. Tristana made sure Jack remained close beside her by leading him by the hand. He grumbled about the unqualified lunacy of swimming in the cold pouring rain, but it was neither cold nor pouring as the lukewarm air pelted them with occasional raindrops.

"Awe, are you taking the long way on purpose?" Jack whined.

"Why do you always insist on being a monumental pain in my ass?" Alexa asked. Tristana burst out laughing, and Alexa let a tree branch snap back at them. "Quit your bitching."

They continued marching along the black, pine needle strewn path while Jack complained about the frigid cold and the painful lacerations on his bare feet. With her shoes flung over her shoulder, Alexa hummed unaffectedly and paid no attention to her annoying cousin.

"This place smells like raw sewage or something equally disgusting," Tristana said as she held both her and Jack's hand over her nose. The fishy stench of the lake overpowered the pine-fresh scent emanating from the conifers, and wet sandy earthiness permeated the air. The aromas intermingled, and Alexa scarfed them up like a drug.

Spotting sand ahead, Alexa bolted from the near darkness and ran toward the sparkling lake. With typical abandon, she yanked off her T-shirt and kicked away her cutoff shorts. Stunned by the sheer force of Alexa's physicality, Tristana abruptly stopped to admire the younger girl's equine beauty.

Alexa was the perfect combination of strength and attractiveness. Standing in only a bra and underwear, the moonlight illuminated her glorious spinning body. The bluish haze of dusk accentuated each muscle, tendon and curve. Her dark hair hung half out of a barrette and spilled wildly onto her broad shoulders. Alexa looked so deceptively androgynous it was easy to overlook her perfect breasts, which spilled from her bra.

"Christ, they're only a couple of tits," she said disgusted when she caught Jack ogling her. He and Tristana were shocked from their trance-like fixation on her heaving chest. Her full breasts were bound too tightly in a bra she had worn a year too many. They were suddenly reminded she could bind and gag both of them in seconds.

"This is the closest he's come to seeing anyone naked," Alexa pointed out.

"Shut up," Jack hissed.

"That would be incest, you perverted virgin," Alexa taunted. She knew exactly how far he had experimented sexually because they had tried it out together, and she knew he was a virgin for he drew the line at penetration.

"Go to hell."

"Such hostility—

"All right, enough already out of both of you," Tristana shouted over the increasing volume of their petty attacks. "We're not here to fight, we're here to swim, remember?"

Without a second thought, Alexa tossed her bra at them and dived into the lake. Admiringly, Tristana watched Alexa deftly swim away from shore, and then she gazed up at the endless sky. She studied the heavenly clouds, awestruck beyond words. As she caught an occasional raindrop in her mouth, she said, "I haven't breathed this amount of fresh air in such a long time, I can't even remember how long it's been."

"Not much longer. See those storm clouds?" asked Jack, pointing over the lake. "It's going to downpour."

Searching the pink and purple heavens, Tristana said with wonderment, "I hope we get to see those flashes of light in the night sky that look as if they're coming from God's own lighthouse."

Jack rolled his eyes, "The Northern Lights?"

Having grown tired of his constant negativity and sullen disposition, Tristana asked, "Yes, the Aurora Borealis? Don't you think I know what they're called? Your soul lacks poetry, Jack."

"Maybe."

"I wish we had a few doses."

"Doses of what?"

Alexa called out from sandbar, "Acid, dork. You know, LSD."

Jack hurled a stone into motionless Lake Huron, and then he started to undress. Unnoticed by Tristana, he stood in tattered flannel boxer shorts and a T-shirt, which exposed his pallid legs and knobby knees. He tiptoed ankle deep into the water and shivered as the wind tugged at his greasy hair. As he gracefully skipped rocks over the invitingly still surface, shadows from the setting sun bounced off the dark, velvety water. As it became dark, the lake looked as if it were covered with a million carelessly strewn diamonds.

"Hey, wuss," Alexa called to Jack from the sandbar. "Take off your shirt and flash us that concave chest you like to carve on.

"Shut up."

"Don't start," Tristana warned. Sitting in the sand, she removed her black fishnet pantyhose.

"Come in, it's wonderful!"

"It's kinda like cold," Jack said. He watched Tristana sit on the shore and light a clove cigarette, and he whispered, "It's going to start pouring any second."

"What a baby!" Alexa shouted, floating on her back. To her rapt audience, she hollered, "We should've stolen a bottle of booze from the lounge or from one of my mom's strategic, house-cleaning hiding spots." She laughed struggling to keep from sinking into the murky stillness.

Still pelting rocks, Jack suggested, "Maybe Tristana could buy for us." Hopefully, he looked over his shoulder to the older girl and, he did not see his last skipping rock peg Alexa square in the head. The lone swimmer quickly disappeared into the dark expanse of the endless lake.

"I think you hit her," Tristana said concerned.

Jack's wide eyes studied the spot where Alexa sunk beneath the deceptively calm surface. An annoying chirping echoed from every direction, and it drove him crazy with fear, as did a clatter that only stopped when he bit down on his tongue. The shock of pain following the bite reverberated throughout his body.

Tristana rose slowly to her feet and joined him at the water's edge. Her cigarette slipped from her fingers, and she said, "There's no sign of her anywhere."

"We've got to save her," Jack said, shaking.

Tristana gave him an encouraging shove. "Go get her."

"I— I can't swim."

"It's not so deep."

"I'll drown."

"Hardly."

"I flunked swimming lessons cause I couldn't swim past sandbar to the second raft," Jack said. He was unable to step deeper into the lake that lolled goading around his ankles.

"Go get her. It's not even deep."

"You go! Can't you swim?"

"Listen, you threw the rock. She's your girlfriend."

"She's only my cousin—

"Yeah, yeah, save it for your shrink," Tristana flared. "Rescue her, or she'll drown."

"You save her, you stupid rich bitch!" he screamed near hysterics. Having panicked, Jack failed to move ever since the rock struck Alexa's head. The rain droplets began to fall more frequently in rapid succession and with greater force. They were showered with a sense of urgency.

Now knee deep in the water, Tristana helplessly backed away from him toward the shoreline. If she knew how to swim, then she would certainly rescue the perfect drowning specimen. Suddenly, she shoved Jack forcefully away from the shore deeper into the lake. Taken aback, she gaped openly at the lacerations on his chest and arms. With so many sporadically placed cuttings, it looked as if he'd mistaken himself for a Voodoo doll, pincushion, and the Thanksgiving turkey.

Breathing as if he'd just completed a triathlon, Jack lunged and knocked Tristana backwards. Half in the water, she scurried away from him with her blood red mouth agape. Her hostile coal eyes glared at him hatefully, yet she was fearful of what violence he was capable of. She half expected him to start kicking her. Trembling, Jack was unsure what he was more afraid of – Alexa's body washing up on shore or what Tristana would do if she ever rose out of the lake. He cringed, half expecting her to lunge for his throat and gouge out his eyes.

But instead, Jack felt a hand wallop the back of his head, just like his mother used to surprise him whenever she caught him misbehaving.

"I can't believe it, you let me die!" Alexa screamed. Collecting her clothes, she turned away from Jack and said bitterly, "I hate you!"

"What—

"You just let me slide off the coast of nowhere and drown!" she yelled. Then she sprinted down the path leading through the shady woods, and Jack ran after her. His feet barely registered the pine needles stabbing into the bottom of his feet

"You don't understand," he called after her.

Furious, Alexa quickly froze and spun around. She clenched her jaw and wiped the tears from her cheeks. Seething, her breasts heaved with anger. Sopping wet, Tristana joined his side, and together they stood mute before Alexa. Feeling guilty, neither could look at her. Jack focused on the birch tree leaves overhead, and Tristana fiddled with the clothes she had absentmindedly plucked from the shore.

"No, you don't understand!" Alexa screamed.

"What?!"

"You let me die."

"Oh, put down the crack pipe," Jack said. "You're alive, in case you haven't noticed."

"Oh, no, I'm dead. As far as you're concerned, I'm washed out to sea. Dead! This changes everything – everything!" She took a deep breath and feigned calmness as she made her way to the awaiting Saab. Outside the car, she dressed and remained as silent as the corpse their inaction conspired for her to become.

Sopping wet and altogether annoyed, Tristana thrust his tennis shoes into his gut. She ground her clove cigarette contemptuously into the dirt and followed Alexa out of the buggy pathway. She dropped his clothes and hoped the mosquitoes consumed him.

It was now pouring as Jack had predicted. He stood trembling, cold and alone in only his boxers and T-shirt. He could hear Tristana trudging her way up the trail, and he could smell her exotic perfume trailing behind her. Thankful for the sudden downpour, the rain rendered his tears indistinguishable, and he ran until he caught up with her.

Tristana stopped outside the unlocked car and asked, "She always this volatile?"

"I don't even know what that word means."

"Crazy bonkers."

"She just wigs out, she'll get over it," Jack said, holding his clothes.

"But will you?" Tristana asked. She gently helped him into his damp crumpled pants while standing in the rain. While Jack struggled to get dressed, she decided this strangely dejected and wounded specimen was not entirely unlike herself. "Hey, I need to get out of this wet dress, you want to go someplace and get naked?"

He nodded, and said he knew the perfect place. Tristana took his hand and together they bravely approached the car. They found Alexa sulking in the cramped backseat. Hoping to lighten the mood, Tristana hummed a tune as they drove across a bridge over a dried up stream.

"Hey, your only two friends in the world left this for you," Alexa said as she handed Jack a soggy note. Tristana switched on the interior light, and Alexa read aloud, "You can run, but you can't hide – The C-twins."

"Sounds like they really have it in for you," Tristana said needlessly. "I don't get it. If your prom date was driving, why do they blame you for her death?"

Conspiratorial silence befell the younger duo until Tristana finally asked, "Where are we headed? Does anyone have the slightest clue?"

Ashen with fear, Jack tossed the waterlogged note out the window, but it stuck to the other side of the glass like a bad omen.

"Maybe we should just call it a night," Alexa suggested.

"No, we're going to break into the old junior high," Jack said.

"Is that very smart?" Alexa asked cautiously.

"You're such a tight-ass," Jack snarled menacingly. "You never want to do anything fun. Why don't you leave for college tonight."

"I don't feel like going to jail is all," Alexa said, wishing she were still pretending to be dead. "I'm not interested in visiting your second home."

"Dudes, it's foolproof. I worked there last summer," Jack reassured. "I know how to get in and out."

The Saab passed two police cars parked on the side of the road. The vacant county vehicles inspired a maniacal grin to flash across Jack's face, and he suggested they steal a police car.

"Isn't that Deputy Czerwinski?" Alexa asked. She peered out the window and inspected the situation at hand. "Someone should tell him his terrible twosome is on a bloodthirsty rampage."

"He's probably screwing that Amazon police woman with the hairy moles on her face," Jack speculated. Tristana's Saab rolled to a stop, and they gaped in horror as a bare-assed policewoman exited the back door of the patrol car in order to relieve her bladder alongside the road. Having been a passenger in more than one police car, Jack suddenly was struck with an ingenious idea. He instructed them to sit tight, and he would return momentarily.

Nervously, Tristana and Alexa watched out the rearview mirror as Jack made his way inconspicuously to the car where Czerwinski and his constable concubine were fornicating in the backseat. The policewoman crawled back into the car, careful to leave the backdoor ajar.

Back inside the Saab, they waited with baited breath. Alexa asked, "What's he doing?"

"I don't know, but I wish he'd hurry up," Tristana said. Even as they watched him slam the backdoor shut and run toward them, they were unsure what had just happened.

"Drive drive drive," Jack ordered.

"Wonderful, now we're going to have to flee from the police?" Alexa asked bemused.

"They're not going anywhere anytime soon," Jack laughed.

"What do you mean?"

"They're trapped back there, there ain't no door handles in the backseat," Jack explained.

Tristana shook her head. "This town is one excitement after another."

"They're going to have to radio for help, and will have a lot of explaining to do," Jack said proudly. "Hurry, let's get inside the old junior high, so we can report them."

Alexa rattled off the directions for Tristana's benefit, and the silver Saab zoomed in the direction of the massive building sitting vacant in a state of neglect and decay.

chapter thirteen

Resting on the hospital bed, Ben sat alongside Evangelica while holding onto her listless hand. Occasionally, he lifted her flaccid fingers to his mouth to gift them with affectionate kisses. He was shocked at how peaceful and delicate Vange appeared swaddled in the crisp white sheets. Her wavy auburn hair was matted straight, and her flawless face was scrubbed clean. Her ordinarily expressive, heart-shaped mouth was clamped shut and downturn. He ran the back of his fingers over her creamy smooth forearm and issued hushed words of endearing encouragement.

Looking uncomfortable, Chelsea moved away and leaned against the window. The shadowy hospital room was deathly silent except for sporadic streams of coughs erupting from down the hall. The doctor had given explicit permission for them to camp out in Evangelica's room for as long as they desired. Necessity sometimes dictated small town doctors act as a pop-psychologist, and Dr. Paull believed bending the rules at times could be equally beneficial to his patients as their caregivers. Moreover, he had thousands of dollars invested in a wedding, and the sound mental health of the bride and groom was required for it to unfold as planned. Evangelica had not received any visitors since noon except for Kate, and she was presently passed out in a room across the hall with Nick tending her bedside needs.

Chelsea bit off a fingernail and watched Ben comfort an oblivious Evangelica. In between neurotic gnawing, she said, "This place is bogus" or "This place barfs me out."

"You're right, it's too quiet," Ben agreed. "We should play music for her. All her favorite songs, like The Clarke Sisters or Ella Fitzgerald. Maybe then she would wake up."

"She likes all that old music, doesn't she?"

"Yeah, jazz and gospel. The blues. You should see her Etta James impression." Ben smiled remembering. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, paused for a few guilt-plagued minutes and then began, "You know –

"What, Ben? You can tell me." She encouraged him to continue as she inched her way closer to the mechanical bed.

He sighed. "Never mind."

"That's not fair. Please, tell me."

"Well, Vange did call someone last night," he said barely audible. "She called me."

Chelsea placed a hand on his shoulder and wrapped an arm around him. She rested her head on his shoulder and waited for what was to come next. Ben placed Evangelica's hand on her own chest as if she suffered from a broken heart, and she was the only one dependable enough to fix it.

"I—I'm sorry," Chelsea said, holding onto him from behind.

"I should be the one who's sorry," he said. "I guess I'm not a great friend. Maybe you're right, Chels. Maybe I am an asshole."

Biting her lower lip, Chelsea toyed with his glossy black hair. She was unsure how to comfort him. He dug for the suicide note harbored in the recesses of his pocket. He intended to share it with her, but when he turned to face her, Chelsea asked flatly, "Ben, are you sleeping with my mother?"

He quickly returned the note to his pocket and wondered what she could be thinking. Looking guiltily down at Vange's angelic looking face, he said, "My bike's still at the lounge, remember? You'd better take me there."

Chelsea suddenly felt utterly foolish and stepped away from him. She was lost for words. All she could think about was her dread for the day ahead of them, of pretending to be happy and festive when all she wanted to do was scream. She abruptly left the room, not as to enable Ben to say good-bye in private, but because she felt so horribly awkward. From the hallway, she watched him lean over the bed, take Evangelica's hand into his own and softly kiss her unresponsive mouth. He paused there, breathing in her breaths until he grabbed the bed railing. She could tell by the way he was shaking he was crying, wiping his tears on her cheeks.

He stayed there until he regained his composure. Before leaving her side, he whispered affectionately, "See you soon, okay?"

Turning from the display of intimacy, Chelsea wiped away her own tears and noticed Nick sleeping in a chair in the room opposite Evangelica's. Kate lay with her back to him, and her catatonic stare gave no indication of seeing Chelsea standing flustered in the hallway. Ben walked briskly past Chelsea, and she had to jog in order to catch up with him. Together they made their way out of the morose hospital. Ben intended to put as much distance as he could fathom between himself and his employer's overly inquisitive daughter.

Once outside in the rain saturated parking lot, they watched Thad's rusted-out Datsun chug past as if hacking up its last mile. Ben could not help but wince as the car grounded to a halt, and Chelsea grimaced at the sight of the polluting fumes pouring from the exhaust.

With his camera still hanging around his neck, Thad walked through the drizzle and joined them outside Chelsea's classic Malibu. He said, "I thought I'd take a break from the newspaper and check on things."

"It's kind of late to be working, don't you think?" Chelsea asked.

"There's an early morning deadline, and we're swamped," Thad said. "You're leaving?"

"Yup, my bike is still at the lounge," Ben said regretfully. He was tempted to join Thad as he dreaded the ride with Chelsea.

After giving Thad an unexpected hug, Chelsea opened her car door and informed him, "Kate and Nick are across the hall from Evangelica."

"How's she doing?"

"Kate or Vange?"

"Both."

Chelsea ran her hands through her thick blond hair and worriedly shook her head. For the first time since early morning, her eyes reflected a doubtfulness suggesting perhaps it was no longer a good idea to tell Kate anything about Nick and Vange's tryst. "Kate's trying to sleep, and I can't say I blame her. She's upset."

"I thought she was having a nervous breakdown on the floor earlier," Ben added.

"She's in an awful state," Chelsea finished. The streetlight shone off her oily forehead, and she looked agitated.

"What about Vange?"

Chelsea shook her head and turned away speechless.

Ben choked. "Things don't look good at all. According to Dr. Paull, she's in critical condition. She's really weak, and if her heart stops again there's not a lot they can do."

"Sounds bleak," Thad said, and he asked how they were holding up. With sad wonderment, Chelsea entered her car. To prevent bursting into tears, she gave a little wave and chewed on her lower lip. Ben offered Thad a grim shrug of hopelessness, and then he climbed in next to the distraught driver. Chelsea started the car, and heavy raindrops sounded dull plops against the windshield.

Thad unconsciously lit a cigarette, and for a few moments after they drove away he stood watching the sprinkling rain hit the pavement. When he entered the barren hospital, the nurse on duty glanced at her watch and gave him an approving nod, and he walked past. Once inside Evangelica's intensive care room, Thad felt uneasy. All these concessions for breaking the rules were definitely not a good sign, and he assumed the worst. He inherently understood breaking the rules was an extension of things being out of the ordinary. Only extraordinary circumstances called for the abandonment of structure that accompanied rules and regulations, and the absence of rules served as a flashing red warning-sign in his brain.

The digital clock above Vange's bed read 10:15. Time was irrelevant, except the numbers were the same as her birthday, October 15th. Thad wondered if there was any significance to the coincidence. He sat on the edge of an old vinyl chair and rubbed his hand over his forehead until he worked up the nerve to tend his comatose friend.

After several minutes of sitting there, he rose to his feet and stood at the foot of her bed. Spontaneously, he snapped a couple of pictures of Evangelica.

"Oh, you're here," a hoarse voice penetrated the shadowy darkness. Blinded by the flash, Thad glanced over his shoulder and Nick came into focus in the doorway. Thad remained speechless because he could feel the searing animosity Nick aimed at him like a hot poker.

"What're you doing?" Nick asked. He joined Thad at the end of the bed. "Taking her picture? That's so weird, Thad. What's wrong with you?"

Thad moved away from Nick, and he found himself boxed between Vange's bed and the window. Too apprehensive to move, he faced the door and yearned to be free.

"I was on my way out."

"But you just got here," Nick pointed out.

Time dragged while an ailing patient down the hall coughed without end. Nick moved opposite Thad with the door to his back. Bedridden Vange acted as a barrier between them. Without even glancing down at Vange, he nodded his head and said decidedly, "Chelsea's right, you are too chicken shit."

Thad stared up at the ceiling and murmured under his breath, which Nick asked him to repeat louder. Widening his eyes, Thad pointed toward the door and said, "Just forget it."

"No, Thad, you forget it," Nick whispered forcefully to his future cousin-in-law. Evangelica's deep breathing filled the space between them, but neither acknowledged her unconscious presence. "You just forget any intention you might have of telling Kate about last night. What went on between Vange and I means nothing."

"I know—

"No, I don't think you do know. Thad, one last fling in the bushes doesn't merit this," Nick said, and he pointed downwards at his comatose, periodic one-night stand. "I'm not the one at fault here, so don't think you've got to purge yourself of imaginary guilt by unloading everything onto Kate—

"Nick," Thad interrupted as he motioned toward the door, but the well-intended gesture was futile as it was incomprehensible.

Nick had sat next to Kate's bedside mulling over this long awaited encounter. He raged repeatedly and uncharacteristically inside his own head, over and over. He was not about to be cut off or let the moment pass without his having had his say. With his back to the door, Nick said disgustedly, "Kate's white trash family has already done enough to ruin this wedding. She doesn't need you icing the cake."

"I wouldn't do that."

"Then what the hell were you thinking telling Chelsea that Vange and I messed around last night?"

"It was a mistake, I'm sorry."

"Kate's a basket case as it is, and now that self-righteous, joyless bitch is breathing down my neck to tell Kate what's none of her business. Kate doesn't need any more drama right now, so you'd better have a talk with Chelsea."

Thad lifted his hands in protest. "But Nick –

"Does what I just said make any sense to you at all?" Nick was growing increasingly desperate to get his point across, and he was intent on making it by any means necessary. "What will it take to get through to you? What if I told Kate about the time you made that drunken pass at me? And don't even try to deny it, you little closet case."

"Uh, Nick, um." Thad remained flustered and speechless as mounting fear reflected clearly in his horror-filled eyes. He again motioned at the door and shook his head anxiously, but he could not make it evident enough that something was seriously wrong.

"Oh, it's different now, is it, when the shoe's on the other foot?" Nick asked. "I always thought you were a helluva guy, Thad, really unique and special. I don't think it's asking too much that you be reasonable."

Thad was struck mute. To encourage a response, Nick placed a hand on his shoulder and shook him gently. With sympathetic understanding shimmering in his eyes, Nick said, "Have a little empathy. Don't say anything, okay?"

Leaning against the threshold of Evangelica's hospital room door, Kate stood with her arms crossed. She cleared her throat and said, "He doesn't have to say a thing, Nick. Because you've just said it all."

"K-Katie," Nick stammered in shock. His eyes widened in terror as he tightened his death grip on Thad's shoulder.

Calculatedly looking past him, as if she were counting the ceiling tiles above his head, Kate said calmly, "You'd better go now." She was still wearing her dead mother's too large, but tasteful mail order dress. Shoeless, she appeared petite and vulnerable.

"Kate, I think we need to talk," Nick said. He was genuinely unnerved by her resolute calm and apparent indifference.

"I think you've already said everything there is to say."

Nick remained frozen in the same position she found him. His grip on Thad's shoulder grew excruciatingly tight; although he winced in pain, Thad made no effort to move.

With her arms folded, Kate said off-handily with calibrated coldness, "You screwed her, and she tried to kill herself. Now she's in a coma, what more needs to be said?"

"Katie—

"Please, Nick, go away," she whispered as if afraid of rousing her comatose stepsister. Kate's trembling hands reached for her own temples, and she pulled her tousled hair away from her sleepy face. Her bloodshot eyes were encircled with purple rings, and her deliberate, calmness made her appear disconnected from reality. "Please, get out of here, or I'll leave."

"You don't want to do that, Katie. We need to talk this through," Nick said with a trace of hope, but she turned away and left the room without looking back. With Thad's shoulder still gripped in his hand, Nick pulled him close and spat furiously, "Now look what you've done."

Thad struggled to free himself from Nick's grip, and the bed was jarred in the process. Evangelica's hand slipped off her chest and dangled limply off the mattress. They jumped back as if they had disturbed a resting corpse, but then Nick pushed Thad so hard it sent him reeling backwards onto the floor. Although Nick was larger, Thad had never seen him so angry as to touch anyone in an overtly violent manner. Visibly shaken Thad stumbled to his feet and brushed himself off as he watched Nick charge from the room.

Across the hallway, Kate searched her purse to find her set of keys, and Nick remained cautiously hopeful blocking the doorway. Increasingly frustrated, Kate dumped the contents of her handbag on the floor and searched for the keys on all fours. Approaching her with trepidation, he carefully placed his hands on the back of her shoulders, but she shirked away from his nausea-inducing touch.

He reached out for her, but Kate tore away and snapped, "Don't you dare come near me."

"You've got to listen," Nick said.

"The hell I do," she whispered loudly, and her voice cracked. She snatched up her keys and scrambled for the door. "Like hell I have to listen to you."

"Honey, wait," Nick begged. He lunged for her and attempted to pull her close, but she squirmed from his arms and grappled for the doorway. Then she did something he was fully unprepared for, she whirled around and charged at him with all her might.

"You just stay the hell away from me," Kate blurted. "Don't you come near me, don't follow me, and don't try see or touch me ever again."

She ran through the long corridor leading to the hospital Emergency exit. Racing behind her, his footsteps pounded as he narrowed the gap in close pursuit.

Thad followed Nick who pursued Kate, and he remained standing on the curb of the parking lot where he watched her climb into the Jeep Wrangler. Nick flung open the passenger door and called out her name. He attempted to board the moving vehicle, but she sped away with the door flailing open. As she tore out of the parking lot, a loud screeching noise echoed in the rainy darkness.

Without looking back, Nick started on foot in the direction of the speeding Jeep.

Once in his car, Thad lit a cigarette and pulled up next to the solitary roadside figure and opened the door for him, but Nick continued walking without offering even a sideways glance at the moving car. Nick then kicked a dent in the car door as he slammed it shut with his foot.

Nick vowed menacingly, "If anything happens to her, I'm holding you personally responsible."

Thad stopped the car and rolled down the window. "Here take this," Thad offered a cigarette to the reluctant pedestrian. Nick accepted the peace offering and waved him onwards. Thad refused to drive away until Nick finally climbed into the vehicle.

They drove in tense silence as Thad pursued any one of a multitude of destinations Kate may have feasibly fled. At every stop sign, Thad appeared to be in pain as if the most basic decision, right or left, was too difficult to fathom. The slowly creeping Datsun and its indecisive driver quickly wore on Nick's nerves.

"It's too bad you had to witness that scene," Nick said, letting the passing minutes alleviate the tension between them.

"It's okay," Thad mumbled. His car was stopped under Portnorth's only traffic light, and despite prodding car honks from behind, Thad was unsure which direction to pursue.

"What's wrong with you?" Nick asked. "Turn left."

"Sorry," Thad said, and he accelerated with a flourish in the direction of the lakeside park.

"You're so passive, it's irritating."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Nick said, and he cringed as Thad reticently pulled up to yet another stop sign. "Would you rather I drive?"

"No. I'm sorry," Thad said again. He lit two cigarettes and handed one to Nick.

"You've got big problems," Nick said as he accepted the smoke. "Thanks."

"I have problems?"

"You're too cynical, Thad. I don't think you're ever sincere. Don't you have any dreams?"

"They're not so different than yours."

"It's sad. You're sad. It doesn't seem you have any dreams, none at all whatsoever," Nick said with a sigh. "Why the Christ are we parked? Go past the beach."

Swerving over the centerline, Thad looked over at his flustered passenger and remarked, "I could almost kiss you right now."

"See, what I mean – everything's a freaking joke with you," Nick said impatient as he pitched the cigarette out the window.

As they drove past the lakeside park, Thad remained quiet, and Nick thanked him again for the ride and smokes. There was no sign of Kate anywhere. The decrepit Datsun was traversing along so slowly Kate could have very well driven off the boat harbor pier into Lake Huron, and her body could have washed halfway to Canada.

"That's what's so great about you, Nick," Thad said, "you're always so sincere, it's almost embarrassing."

"Well, at least my whole life isn't one big joke."

"It isn't?" Thad inquired, and he pulled into Kate's father's driveway. All the lights were on in the house, but it appeared no one was home. Thad unintentionally dropped Nick off at the least likely place Kate would have ever gone to of her own free will, even if her life depended on it.

Nick thanked Thad again for the ride, and he reassured him everything would be worked out once he found Kate. After saying their goodbyes, Nick grabbed Thad by the nape of the neck, shook him firmly and gave him a light slug on the shoulder. Thad punched Nick gently on the thigh and smiled awkwardly.

"What?" Nick asked

"Good luck," Thad said, "you'll need it." And he gave Nick a shove toward the door.

Nick remained in the car for a few uncomfortable moments, looking sad and questioning and then he slowly exited the vehicle. As Thad drove away, Nick hung out alone in the deserted, rain-drenched driveway wondering what to do next.

chapter fourteen

Jack pointed skyward. "There's the big dipper."

Unimpressed, Tristana said, "Anyone can find the big dipper." His head rested on her bare stomach, and she raked her fingers through his dirty blond, tangled hair.

"Orion's over there," Jack said, and he wrongly indicated the cluster of stars he guessed comprised the constellation of Orion.

"You're full of shit," Tristana said. She guided his face close to her own, gazed into his slate gray eyes and whispered, "But you're pretty good for a virgin."

"Who said I'm a virgin?" he asked, secretly satisfied he managed to please at least one person in his short lifetime, even if it was some freaked out Goth chick who would become his sister in-law tomorrow after the wedding ceremony.

As they lay in silence, he recalled that a mere forty minutes ago they had a played a game of strip hide-n-seek. She sprung the idea on him when his frightened, anticipating prick suffered a case of performance anxiety. To remedy that small obstacle, Tristana suggested she chase him through the hallowed halls of the abandoned junior high.

Vacant classrooms, dusty hallways, and forgotten nooks and crannies provided abundant opportunities to lose and find each other again and again in the moonlit darkness. The expansive structure was a decaying relic and testimony to the pride Portnorth once took in educating its youth. At one time, the town must have seemed more connected to a world greater than its three-mile radius. The deteriorating spacious school was centrally located near Main Street, but its colorful murals and shiny varnished surfaces had long since been abandoned for a gloomy, one-story complex along the highway on the outskirts of town.

When her It Boy finally became comfortable with his enviable fate, Tristana chased him into the planetarium where their game was consummated upon his capture.

In the stagnant circular domed room, they rolled across the filthy floor under a simulated night sky. Whenever Jack felt the urge to explode within the slithering condom, he gazed out into the empty seats and imagined the slick, zitty class of 1958 studying them intently. As Jack found his way deep inside her, they melded into one another moving to the rhythm of a wholesomely pure, mutually unadulterated need.

Jack simultaneously kneaded her arching back and mouthed her augmented breasts, while she drank up the sweat cascading over the scars etched across his chest. Only when she had taken him into the recesses of her enveloping wetness, deeper than he had ever imagined possible, did he burst to the sounds of her moans. As tiny particles of himself exploded inside of her, he registered the stampeding cheers of the class of '58. Greasers, squares, bobbysoxers, and beatniks leapt to their feet and applauded the spectacle before them; this was one planetarium show that well exceeded their wildest expectations.

Lounging comfortably in one another's arms, Jack and Tristana wondered aloud what had happened to Alexa. Eons had passed since their last having heard her footsteps.

"Alexa upset you earlier on the beach, didn't she?"

Jack shrugged noncommittally, "Yeah, I guess so. She spazzes out at times."

Tristana lit a clove cigarette, and said, "I think she's truly beautiful, a one-of-a-kind original."

"She's one of a kind all right, a one of a kind freak," Jack said. "She wigged me out, screaming about how we let her drown."

"Is it because of your mom dying and all?" Tristana asked, and his trickling stream of kisses dried up on her tattooed left breast. "Is that why you were so afraid?"

"I wasn't scared. I'm not afraid of nothing."

"Sure you were. What about those twins who're stalking you, aren't you afraid of them?" she asked, and his face grew ashen with fear. "You were driving during that accident that killed your prom date, weren't you?"

Jack shook his head and looked to the simulated stars; it was as if someone had scraped Jules Czerwinski off the car hood and plastered her to the ceiling.

"I knew it."

"It's nothing I'm proud of," he said, knowing full well he would be in jail if Alexa had not been there to corroborate his story. "It was Alexa who insisted Jules was driving."

"That was nice of her. Were you drunk?"

"Not really. It was a car-deer accident, that's all."

"What about the lunatic asylum they locked you up in? Were you frightened in there?" Tristana asked, perversely interested in the subject. "What was spin in the bin all about?"

"Oh, it was great, especially the bingo on Sundays," Jack quipped sarcastically.

"Did you meet any crazies?"

"You sure ask a lot of questions."

"It's called pillow talk, get used to it. It's a post-sex, girl thing. What did you do for fun in the nut-hut? Sit around and carve each other up?" she asked as she traced her index finger over the razor blade etchings across his chest.

"The only fun was slugging the attendants because they weren't allowed to hit back," Jack said. Lying prone on his back, he rolled away from her and rested his chin on his fists. He asked exasperated, "Is that why you slept with me? Out of pity? Because I'm a juvenile delinquent with a dead mother and a dead girl friend, who was locked away in an insane asylum?"

"Trust me, there are worse reasons."

"So, what, you feel sorry for me?"

"If I felt sorry for you, I would've sent you a sympathy card," Tristana said snickering. Amused by her own sarcasm, she inhaled on her clove cigarette and explained casually, "I fucked you because I'm a slut."

"No, seriously?" Jack asked. He sat upright and wrapped his arms around his knees.

"Isn't that what sluts do, fuck anyone and everyone indiscriminately?"

Jack admired her too-lean body, luminescent in the darkness. She lay alongside him, and he ran his fingers across her bony clavicle. Everything about her suggested lack of nourishment, everything except her unnaturally full breasts, which spilled onto the floor. "Do you really think you're a slut?"

"Everyone does," she said flatly. With her chin resting on his knee, she blew on the downy hairs covering his thigh. "I guess people find it's unacceptable to enjoy sex with every man you meet."

"Were you molested?"

"You're very perceptive."

"By your dad?"

"Hell no," she said. "The who is not so significant."

"Am I just anybody?"

"I guess so, except we'll be related after tomorrow," Tristana said gratefully. She ran her hand down his calves and across his toes. "You're not the first naked stranger that I've unloaded my dysfunctional sexual history on."

"Didn't you tell anyone when it happened?"

Tristana stubbed out a cigarette onto the hardwood floor, and she rose to her feet. He watched as her long legs stepped into her stockings and she searched for her bra. "Sure, I told God all the time, and I begged him to make it stop."

"No, I mean a real person."

"Isn't God real? I guess not. Who would've believed me? After all, I did have the biggest tits in the sixth grade. One day, I just figured, what the hell, why not reap some benefits of being called a slut."

"There are benefits?"

"Sure, sex feels good, doesn't it?" she asked. "On my deathbed, it's doubtful I'll regret ever feeling good."

"Do you ever want only one boyfriend?"

She laughed out loud and clapped her hands, which pressed her breasts together. "Forgive me, I'm being trite," she said sincerely. "It's just that I'm too much for most men; they view me as an ultimate conquest, but then they don't quite know what to do with me."

"That's sad."

"No, that's life. It's the reason for all this Goth shit. I can't put enough distance between me and the person I once thought I was."

"Is that why you changed your name?"

"Because I was molested?" Tristana asked. "No, it was because I didn't like the name Nanette. It sounds like miniature Nan, that's all. Honest."

"You're more messed up than I am."

Standing below the indoor constellation of stars, she ran her hand over the gnarled flesh wounds scattershot across his chest. She traced a letter J, which she assumed was for Jules. "Well, at least I'm not into self-mutilation."

"Maybe you're too vain for that."

"I've had more years to perfect the fine art of being messed up.

"Your scars are on the inside."

"Maybe. Why don't you count to fifty and try to find me," she said, suggesting another round of hide-n-seek.

"You probably say that at the end of all your dates," he deducted.

She laughed genuinely. "You're funny. And you're right, not many of my dates get a second opportunity," she laughed. Filled with lusty excitement, he agreed it was her turn to be It.

"No cheating, punk, or I'll pluck your pecker off," she warned before leaving the room. In the deserted hallway, Tristana searched for the perfect hiding spot, but she was startled when she rounded a corner and bumped into Alexa. They stood face to face, and Alexa unsuccessfully attempted not to gawk at Tristana's abnormally perfect breasts.

"I've been looking for you guys forever," Alexa said. Frozen and flustered, she nervously twirled her damp brown hair.

"Looks like you took a shower," Tristana observed. She remained uncomfortably close to the taller, younger girl. "And you didn't think to invite us, I'm disappointed."

Alexa explained, "I was cold, so I used the old locker room to take a hot shower."

"You smell nice," Tristana complimented. She moved closer to inhale a faint mixture of sweat and Lake Huron and cheap soap. "You're beautiful, you know that, right?"

"I always thought my nose was too big."

"It's not out of proportion. Have you ever considered doing any modeling?"

"I'm no waif."

"Well, neither is Cindy Crawford or Linda Evangelista. Your boobs are too big for the runway. You're better suited for magazine spreads, and you'd still have to lose a few pounds. You're not scrawny like your brother."

"We're adopted."

"Some of the most exotic and attractive people are adopted."

"Really?"

"Of course. What could be more unique than a random, discarded genetic accident? Before I leave town, I'll give you one of my cards. I know people who can get you started," Tristana informed. "They'll set you up with head shots and an agent. But you need to lose at least fifteen pounds."

"Okay."

Tristana reassuringly took Alexa's fidgeting hand into her own, and she placed it over her breasts. Looking away, Alexa blushed but did not resist. Alexa felt her palm skittishly cup the silicon-filled flesh, and she rolled Tristana's nipple between her thumb and ring finger. Alexa's darting eyes finally met Tristana's steady gaze, and she gasped with timorous excitement.

When Tristana thought her admirer had grown comfortable with her predicament, she leaned close and planted a lingering kiss on Alexa's quivering mouth. Alexa felt the older woman's tongue slide slowly between her lips, and her knees became as unsteady as gelatin yanked too soon from a mold.

Alexa backed away abruptly, "My shoes. I forgot them on the roof."

"So?" Tristana asked, placing a hand on her cheek.

Immediately outside the planetarium, Jack emerged in flannel boxers and a T-shirt. Looking surprised he asked, "Aren't you supposed to be hiding?"

"Look who I found," Tristana said as she presented Alexa with a flourish of her hands. "Let's start over, now we can all play. Three is always more fun."

"Okay," Jack said, and he retreated backed into the planetarium as he curiously watched them.

Tristana turned around in time to see Alexa's strong athletic legs carry her away. As quickly as she appeared, Alexa climbed through the open window and vanished onto the rooftop. Tristana followed Jack into the circular room under the domed ceiling of simulated stars. When footsteps sounded in the hallway, she spun around half expecting the heartbreakingly beautiful girl she had kissed only a few moments before.

The door swung open wide, and a blinding spotlight shone in their faces. A deafening voice cried out, "Freeze – Police!" A drawn gun guaranteed their as cooperation. Before long, Deputy Czerwinski came into focus, and he escorted the nearly naked criminals through the vacant building to his patrol car outside. While being pushed into the backseat, Jack asked if this was the same car Czerwinski had been fooling around in earlier. Tristana tried to suppress her laughter, when Jack asked if the backseat had been disinfected. The irate officer yanked on Jack's handcuffed arms and roughly hurled him against the patrol car before tossing him next to his partner in crime. Jack had spent the majority of the evening terrified that the Czerwinski twins would pummel him into oblivion, but now he was afraid their father would beat his spawn to the punch.

High above the scene on the street, Alexa huddled low on the rooftop. Her disbelieving eyes trailed after the police car as it carted Jack and Tristana off to jail. Flushed with grateful bewilderment, Alexa breathed a sigh of relief that she had been spared.

Having spent most of her time in the building in the stale, sweaty locker room, she was now thankful that she had decided to find her shoes and grab a breath of fresh air. Standing beside the edge of the roof, she absorbed the view of Lake Huron as the warm summer rain melted against her satisfied flesh. Although she felt guilty with complacency, she could not help but wonder about Jack and Tristana's fate. Eventually, it became time to leave her three story perch and devise a plan to get them out of jail.

Her intentions to dance on the rooftop and bask in the moonlit rain were all but obliterated. She threw on her sandals and decided to go home to phone Thad or Ben, or anyone else who could assist her in freeing the bandits from jail. The adrenaline rush she experienced while watching them being carted away, caused her to all but forget the kiss she shared with Tristana.

Peering over the building's edge one last time, she soaked up the view of her surrounding hometown. From high above, Portnorth was picturesque. She wanted to stare at the scene below until it claimed its own shelf in her memory.

Alexa climbed off the tar-smelling roof and entered the old school through an open window. Unlike her fellow conspirators, she exited the building through the front door without a police escort. As she made her way through the empty alleyways and side streets, she wandered homeward with the intention of springing Jack and Tristana from jail, but she could not help but question her own meager teenage resources. In all honestly, Alexa could not help but long for her senior year to be over since college was her ticket out of Portnorth. What was there to keep her here? Nothing, she had decided a long time ago, and it was the simple matter of fact. There was Jack and his abundance of problems, and she did wonder what effect if any her absence would have on him. But there was always Ben to look after Jack.

Alexa worried that she and Jack were becoming too close. She had gotten used to the taunting accusations of "kissing cousins" a long time ago. Being she was adopted, they were not actually related, and in such a small town as Portnorth one was bound to diddle a cousin or two anyway. Thad had often made reference to the fact that most of the locals were products of inbreeding, so at least their lust-filled experimentations were not violating any sort of blood ties. The irony was that they never kissed; of course, they messed around a little here and there but kissing was out of the question as was actual intercourse. That would be too intimate, whether they were related or not. More than cousins, they were friends.

She had conned Jack into performing oral sex on her by persuading him that she was doing him a favor, and one day his girlfriend would thank her for making sure he knew proper technique. Of course, she had been obliged to return the favor until he kept making the mistake of blowing his wad without forewarning. Jack was the quickest if not exactly the brightest of pupils, and she made sure that his lack of self-control inevitably worked in her favor. He eagerly agreed to eat her out three times for every one time he came in her mouth.

Their late night oral sessions had actually grown tiresome because she longed to put all the practice she had accumulated with her cousin to good use. It was wasted on Jack, anyhow. He failed to make progress, and as the days wore on, Thad was starting to look more appealing. It was not as if he was her real brother, she told herself when she imagined him lapping away between her thighs instead of her cousin. She surmised Thad, who had only ever had one girlfriend, was probably no better than Jack in the sex department. After all, the only other time she knew him to be with a girl was with Evangelica, their cousin through marriage, this past Easter. Now, she may never be able to ask Vange if he were any good.

"Those disgusting Feldpausch kids," she imagined Portnorth residents saying behind their backs, "a bunch of dirty cousin fuckers."

She never understood why, of all the families in all-the world, she was condemned to be adopted by hers. It was the luck of the draw, she guessed. But she had to get out town before their drunkenness and depravity rubbed off on her for good. Standing in the middle of the street, Alexa was not sure where she was headed, but she knew where she had been, and she had to get out of this place, her hometown by any means necessary.

chapter fifteen

The drizzling rain ceased falling as soon as Nick rang the Dooley's doorbell. For a few impatient minutes, he stood on the back porch knocking frantically until discovering the sliding glass doors were unlocked. He entered the dimly lit house, and the dry warmth felt comforting, but his clammy clothes stuck to him like a second skin. Leaning against an old vinyl dining room chair, he felt achy and tired as if he were coming down with a cold.

Music played softly in the background, and Evangelica's pure voice flooded the room with lush soothing tones. Nick went to the kitchen, searched the refrigerator, and grabbed a bottle of Miller Lite. Only then did he wander into the living room, where Ben sat on a gold velveteen ottoman. Wearing paisley boxers and a stained wife-beater, Ben's long black hair streamed over his face with its usual unkempt lassitude. He ate melting ice cream straight from the carton, and a mess of glossy black and white photographs lay scattered at his feet.

Nick sat in a nearby recliner. He scooped up one of the photos and studied Thad, Chelsea, Ben and Evangelica straddling separate haystacks.

"What's this?" Nick asked.

"A few summers ago, we went out and took a bunch of pictures of us trying to look like J.Crew models," Ben explained. "It was Vange's idea."

"You guys look so young," Nick said. He paced the room while Ben shoveled the medicinal tasting, mint-chocolate chip ice cream into his mouth.

"What's wrong," Ben finally asked, over the sound of Evangelica's rousing vocals.

"You'll never guess what just happened." Nick shook his head distraughtly, and he slugged the beer back in four quick pulls. "I don't think there'll be a wedding tomorrow."

"Huh?" Ben asked with his mouth numb from the frigid ice cream. Nick retreated to the kitchen to fetch two more beers, one of which he set next to Ben, and the other he drank in two less swallows than the prior bottle.

"C'mon, the suspense is killing me. What the hell happened?"

"Well, it all started last night," Nick began, "remember at the bar? I don't know, you were so intent on trying to score with Kate's matron of honor, you probably didn't even notice Vange hanging all over me."

"Sure I did."

"You know how it is, one thing led to another and we ended up getting it on in the bushes outside the bar."

"Oh, really?"

"I swear to God, Benny, it was one of the best lays of my life, that's what makes it so freaky that Vange should do what she did."

"She's a freaky chick."

"Well, you're closer to her than I am. Why'd she do it, Ben?" Nick asked genuinely perplexed. "Do you think she was deliberately trying to punish me?"

"Who knows," Ben deducted, "she's not exactly a sane and rational person."

Nick rubbed his hands over his face and through his wet hair as he sighed with regret. "Everything was going okay, I guess until Kate found out about it at the hospital."

"Jesus, how the did that happen?"

"I blamed Thad, but it was my fault, really. She overheard us talking," Nick said, and he flopped back on the recliner. He was still unable to believe how stupid it was for him to confront Thad at the hospital next door to Kate's room.

Ben kept eating the melting ice cream, and he apathetically watched Nick rock back and forth. When Ben felt full, he set down the carton, lit a half-finished joint and smoked it in silence.

Nick faced Ben and lamented, "I've no idea what to do." Ben offered him the roach, which he declined. Evangelica's wedding vocals came to a halt, and the music stopped.

Cracking his knuckles, Ben sympathized, "That's a bummer, man."

Nick threw up his hands despairingly. "Kate's gone. She drove off, and I'm afraid I've lost her forever."

"What's she thinking, running off the night before her own wedding?"

"I don't know what's going through her head," Nick answered Ben's rhetorical question earnestly. "She was acting so peculiarly, she didn't seem surprised or anything. Her eyes were so cold and hard, like glass."

Ben nodded, slightly stoned.

Nick coughed and took a seat. He slugged Ben affectionately and said, "What a mess, huh?"

Ben tossed his hair to one side and again picked up the ice cream. Suffocating silence filled the room and made Nick ill at ease with the same unnerving feeling he had at the hospital. He began pacing around the room like an expectant father. The orange, sunburst clock above the fireplace had stopped at twelve-thirty, and it bothered Nick that Ben should be so unaffected by the passing of time, or rather the halting of it. It was as if the entire house had fizzled and faded, fixated blurred in a bygone era.

"You know something, Benny," Nick began, "we haven't hung out enough together lately. Remember all those crazy adventures we used to have? High school seems so long ago, but really not a lot of time has passed."

"Not much time at all," Ben mumbled.

"Hey, remember how we used to go camping, wake up at the crack of dawn and fish all day? And those fun times on the boat – just swimming, drinking beer, and roasting hot dogs?" Nick recalled fondly, for those summer days seemed endless, and there was always fun to be had back then.

Nick grabbed the beer he had set down earlier alongside Ben and cracked it open. "I'll reimburse you, okay? I owe you a couple. Hey, do you remember those sinkholes we hiked through our senior year? You got me high out there for the first time, and Thad with his camera kept taking all those pictures. I wonder if he still has them. God, that weirdo is still photographing everyone and everything."

Nick set down the empty beer bottle, and he continued rambling, "Who can ever forget all those snow days – how we'd down tequila shots and then do donuts driving Thad's mom's station wagon in the boat harbor parking lot?"

Ben managed a chuckle, remembering how Thad used to throw a fit whenever they wrestled him out from behind the wheel of his mother's car, which was ordinarily only ever driven at senior citizen speeds. They would spin out in icy parking lots just to hear him scream.

"And we had some wild times at the cottage, didn't we?"

"Yeah, we did," Ben admitted fondly.

"We'd get wasted on Bacardi 151 and go skinny dipping. Those were crazy times. We'd get hammered and listen to music until we passed out from exhaustion. And that one time, we were all set to play strip poker, but Vange refused. Oh my god, even Chelsea agreed to it but no not Vange."

"She always thought she was fat," Ben said. He sat unflinching and motionless through most of Nick's rambling reminiscing of their past teenage exploits.

"Why? She has an awesome body."

"Her mother always made fun of her because she was always skinnier than Vange," Ben said. "Shayla used to make her get on a scale every night."

"That's crazy." Nick sighed, and he thought Shayla's perceptions must have been truly warped to think her daughter was fat. Nick grinned and recalled, "You found out what a great body she had after I dragged you both out to the cottage and we begged her to relieve you of the burden of your virginity. She must've taught you everything she knew that night."

"By the time you finally broke down the door with pizza, it was cold," Ben finished for Nick.

"Vange always gave the best head, don't you think?" Nick asked, smiling fondly.

Mildly entertained, Ben could imagine the preacher concluding Evangelica's eulogy with a wink and the words, "And she always sucked a mean cock, now didn't she boys?"

"You became such a wild man afterward. Christ, you even fucked my sister in my bedroom at my graduation party with all my relatives upstairs!"

"Nanette wasn't even Tristana back then," Ben recalled. "To think she was ever normal."

"Normal might be a bit of an overstatement. She's always been too beautiful for her own good, and that might be the equivalency of a death sentence in this town."

"It's the same reason no one ever liked Vange," Ben added.

"Too beautiful for Portnorth. What sort of ugly, perverted place persecutes beauty?"

Silently thankful for the remote control, Ben yawned and snapped on the television without any volume. He was growing tired of Nick's pontificating and rehashing days gone by. He paused at the news, which advertised upcoming ceremonies in Washington to welcome home more than 8,000 Gulf War Veterans. Only then would the yellow ribbons be taken down from the trees lining Main Street. Ben had no patience for Nationalism of any kind. He was proud to be an American where at least he knew he was free to turn the channel.

Then watching Madonna gyrate across the screen, Ben decided she looked more like a corrupt choirboy than a premier sex goddess. He wondered how exactly she had seduced the masses into believing she was the second coming of Marilyn Monroe. Silently, Ben wished the hedonistic media manipulator would return to her brunette roots, because she most resembled Vange in the Pepsi ad with the burning crosses. He wondered if maybe Nick had a point, small towns persecuted the freakishly beautiful among their midst as a homegrown sacrifice for the benefit of society at large. Who would want to live in a world where Demi Moore, Nicollette Sheridan, or Wynona Ryder never left their hometowns?

Nick picked up one of the glossy photos. For an eternity, he glanced down at Evangelica, sitting on the steps of an old general store. She looked sweet and angelic. He found himself shaking with emotion as he watched the rain run down the picture window. He felt his insides swelling with sadness, but the tears remained safely under lock and key without a chance for parole. Nick could not remember the last time he cried, and he guessed he was so young his father had probably scolded him for acting like a girl.

Shuffling over the photographs, Ben dragged his bare feet across the shag carpet. Anxious for Nick to leave, he switched off the television and removed Evangelica's wedding cassette from his tape player. They would need it for the ceremony tomorrow.

Nick accidentally dropped the picture he was holding of Vange, and it landed at his feet despite his fumbling attempt to retrieve it. "Hey, you remember the Christmas Fiesta, where Vange and I got together for the first time. It was before we conspired to rob you of your virginity. The party was out of control. Somehow, she and I ended up together in a bedroom with a piñata full of condoms."

"Then we went snowmen bashing," Ben recalled, trying to change the subject from Vange's seemingly insatiable sexual appetite.

"We smashed half the snowmen in town, except for Mrs. Norris's, but only because she tried to shoot our asses," Nick said laughing.

"Those were wild times," Ben said admitted disdainfully.

"I don't know what to say, Benny." Nick collapsed back on the sofa. The beer was beginning to have an effect. "I'm not so sure what to do about Kate. How do I make her see this last fling with Vange doesn't mean anything?"

"Nothing at all?"

"All I want is to be married to Kate until death do us part."

Ben shrugged and said, "Looks like you're in quite a jam."

Nick rose to his feet and appeared lost as if he were altogether unsure where he was. He knew he was not in Portnorth anymore, not in spirit. Standing in this time warp of a house did not help matters. It was disorientating. Nick glanced at his watch, paced around in a half-circle and loitered before a macrame hanger that was home to a sad looking spider plant. Finally, Ben walked to the door, opened it slowly and said, "Good luck working everything out."

Flabbergasted, Nick could not believe his oldest friend in the world was showing him the door during the most catastrophic crisis of his entire life. Nick thanked Ben for the beer and apologized for consuming such a large chunk of his valuable time. Banished from Ben's dungeon-like house, Nick felt slightly discarded as he made his way down the desolate street. As his feet carried him in no particular direction, Nick glanced over his shoulder and saw Ben had resumed sitting blankly on the crushed-velvet gold chair next to the ice cream carton.

Lost in his thoughts, Ben attempted to remember if any of his flings with Evangelica had ever not meant anything at all. Eventually, he concluded they all meant something even if it was only great sex followed by interesting conversation. Post-intercourse was never dull, Vange either babbled incessantly, cooked up a feast, or bawled in his arms.

Ben sensed an inexplicable anger festering within, and he felt the need for definitive answers. So, he jumped to his feet, ambled over the scattered photos and carried the carton of soupy mush to the kitchen sink.

As he dressed, the phone rang without end, and it occurred to him he should have made arrangements to meet with Ginny Norris. Above all, his encounters with Ginny were a welcomed escape from his everyday life. Her languid disposition always put him at ease, and her lazy smile of satisfaction would have certainly made him feel more effectual and competent than Nick's endless prattle.

After mounting his motorcycle, he vigorously revved the engine. He drove determinedly through the soft summer rain. Every time he accelerated, he released more of the aggression he had shored up inside of himself for too long.

With a cigarette clenched in his mouth, and a glass of vodka dangling in his hand, Thad poured over a pile of newspaper clippings. Ever since his unfortunate trip to the hospital, he had grown increasingly less productive as he became increasingly more intoxicated. He murmured to himself while half-heartedly attempting to follow Ben's fervent line of inquiry.

Sitting in the swiveling chair with his feet propped up on the desk, Ben drummed a pencil against his leg to the beat of an intense rhythm he appeared to be composing off the top of his head.

"Then what happened?" Ben asked again.

"How many times do we have to go over this?"

"What were her exact words before storming off?"

"She didn't storm off."

"It doesn't sound that way to me. Are you saying she just said, see yah and walked away?"

"That's how it went. Pretty much."

"Hard to believe." Ben stopped drumming and implored, "Don't water this down. I want to hear all of it."

"Why do you even care? The only trace of hostility I saw was when she shoved him and sped out of the parking lot," Thad reiterated, letting cigarette ash fall to the floor.

"As a reporter, you suck. You'll never get a news beat outside this room," Ben said. "Nick threatened you, what was that all about?"

"He didn't threaten me exactly."

"What did he say?"

"He said he'd tell Kate about the time I made a drunken pass at him, that is if I told Kate about his fling with Vange."

"Well, did you?" Ben asked. He sat upright and shifted uncomfortably in the chair.

"Tell Kate, are you nuts?"

"I mean, did you make a pass at him?"

"I've no idea, it was during an alcoholic blackout."

"That's a cop out, did you or didn't you?"

Thad offered ambiguously, "I guess I was sort of making fun of him."

"How so?"

"You know, if a body's just a body, then why not have sex with every body?"

"That's really strange logic," Ben shook his head, unsure if he wanted to pursue this line of questioning any further.

Thad downed the last remnants of the vodka pint and put out his cigarette. Then he asked flatly, "Why go through life with one hand tied behind your back? Why roller-blade on only one foot?"

"Don't be idiotic."

Thad shrugged and resumed pasting the newspaper clippings together. "I could never be gay, men are too simple."

"Or maybe you should be because women are complicated creatures." Ben raised his glass and downed the last of its contents. He then picked up the pint and shook it. Out of booze, their conversation withered up, and he resumed drumming against his thigh. With defeated resignation, Thad worked away at the task of completing the Back to School insert.

Ben cleared his throat, and he began, "You had sex with Vange a couple times."

"And your point is?"

"Did it ever not mean anything at all?"

"What," Thad asked, "like did I love her?"

"Sure, or was it meaningless?"

"Of course it meant something; of course I love her."

"Oh, really?"

"But I could never be in love with her," Thad rationalized.

"Why's that?"

"Ah, because she loves you," Thad said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Didn't she ever tell you that?"

Ben was silent for a long moment, and he finally shook his head. "No, I guess not."

Watching Thad work, Ben was grateful at least his days were his own, and at night he worked around people, even if they were drunks who wove endless tales of yesteryear. It was a shame, he thought, their multitudes of talents and wealth of wisdom should be wasted on dreary dead end jobs in newspaper layout room or a restaurant that served only deep-fried and flame-broiled artery-clogging dinners. Once Ben attempted to convince Ginny Norris to revamp the menu with health foods, but she thought the idea preposterous and too cutting edge for a town that had barely seen an episode of Beverly Hills 90210.

Ben grabbed a pair of scissors and began trimming his nails. "Is this job the reason you dropped out of college?"

Thad laughed dementedly, and he said, "I didn't drop out, but I was nearly too shell-shocked to complete my tour of duty."

"Why's that?"

"Some punk rocker tried to rape my girlfriend, and she dumped me. Then my roommate ran off with his boyfriend, and my best friend got pregnant. And then I moved six times in one year."

"Would you ever go back and get a Masters?"

"If the economy doesn't pick up, I won't have a choice. I can hardly pay back $25,000 worth of student loans with a $6 an hour job."

Distant drunken commotion drifted upstairs from the main entrance and voices filled the vast cluttered second floor with an out-of-place sense of merriment. Heavy feet trudged up the stairs followed by quick, light steps. Seth Poole emerged and saturated the room with his loud, sweaty presence. His short-sleeved, pink dress shirt was open at his fatty hairy neck, and his loosened tie was flung over his bulky shoulder. His gray slacks were more wrinkled than usual, and he grinned tellingly from ear to ear. When he moved aside to let Tristana pass through, his face grew flushed with smug, self-satisfaction.

Tristana giggled loudly and poked at his big gut. She heaved his pants up over the exposed crack of his ass.

"Yes, my roving reporter is hard at work," Poole said pleased. "That's what I like to see."

"The drudgery of deadlines," Thad murmured, and he eyed Tristana's anatomically incorrect body. Her tight short black dress emphasized her skinny waist and unnaturally full breasts. With her smeared lipstick and long henna-dyed hair tousled, she looked hauntingly beautiful as ever.

"Here's a treat for your trouble," Seth Poole said, and he slammed down another pint of booze on the desk next to where Ben's feet were resting. "Drink up, fellas, all work and no play makes Johnny a dull boy!"

"Awesome, my Christmas bonus in September," Thad said.

Ben removed his feet from the desk, sat upright and inspected the cheap bottle of vodka.

"I don't want to spoil you too much," Seth remarked as if reading Ben's mind, and he wrapped his big hairy arm around Tristana. "I prefer to spoil Porknorth's lovely maidens, especially this beautiful fugitive. In this backwater town, the men are men, and so are half the women!"

Tristana's raucous laughter only encouraged his ribald attacks on Portnorth's females, and he added, "And the sheep are scared!"

Top-heavy Tristana giggled wildly and leaned so far back she would have surely plummeted down the steps if it had not been for Seth Poole's stronghold around her scrawny waist.

"You big lug, you really know how to treat a girl," Tristana said, and she squealed with laughter. She flashed Ben and Thad a facetious wink and nuzzled up next to Seth. With all the flattery she could muster, she flicked her long tongue against his swollen, fatty neck.

Chortling with anxious anticipation they made their way up the dusty attic steps, and Seth called down, "Hold all calls until further notice. I've got to teach this luscious little lawbreaker a lesson, you'll never guess where I picked her up!"

"A street corner," Thad mumbled under his breath.

"Jail!" Poole called down, and he slammed the attic door behind them. His raucous laughter was now muffled, along with Tristana's encouraging squeals.

With his eyes wide with disbelief, Ben poured two shots of vodka and downed one. He then threw his feet back up on the messy desk. "You weren't lying when you said they were hot-n-heavy." Ben drummed the pencil fiercely against his thigh with increasing frenzy as he spun around in his seat.

Thad slurred confidently, "Never doubt me, I know most everything that goes on around this town."

"Everything? Then tell me something about myself."

"You're conducting an illicit affair," Thad began, and Ben grew perfectly still. "It's with the girlfriend of Portnorth's only mortician and alleged drug kingpin; not to mention, she's the mother of one of our closest friends."

"Chelsea is not one of my closest friends," Ben said.

"So, then you are screwing Ginny Norris."

"Who told you?"

Thad continued to haphazardly cut and paste together the newspaper layout. He shrugged immodestly and tapped his temple, "No one, women's intuition."

Ben laughed and challenged, "How about intuiting this; I bet Kate doesn't go through with it. I bet anything she backs out of the wedding."

"You really think so?" Thad asked, skeptically. He held out his shot glass for a refill. "I'm not sure. I bet its Nick who backs out."

Growing suddenly excited about gambling, with the stakes being their friends' future, Ben inquired, "How much you willing to put down, fifty bucks?"

Thad grinned and said daringly, "Make it a hundred."

"Dude-man, you're on!" Ben exclaimed, and he jubilantly hammered his empty shot glass down on the table.

chapter sixteen

"It is no use," Alexa said to the air as she forcefully hung up the phone, "He's probably with his elderly girlfriend now that the lunatic is in a coma."

Hovering in the narrow Feldpausch kitchen, she grappled with the futility of her situation as she plotted her next move. She was unsure how to go about springing Jack and Tristana from their cellblocks with only her meager teenage resources. The authorities would hardly release two criminals into the custody of a minor. Besides, Alexa had long ago suspected the Portnorth Police department of holding Jack responsible for the death of Jules Czerwinski, and they were as determined to lock him up as he was elusive.

For a brief moment, Alexa considered calling her parents, but with one hand on the receiver she decided they were probably falling off their barstools as she dialed. She bet Jack's dad and stepmom were in no better predicament. More than anything else in the world, she dreaded a life sentence spent wasted on booze in Portnorth, where the only viable pastime was to piss away years in local taverns.

Unable to reach Ben, or Thad, or anyone else for that matter, Alexa impulsively ran the three blocks to the police station alone through the pouring rain. Soaking wet, she entered the station and shook like a dog for the fun of it. Water droplets covered the Plexiglas entrance barrier. Emotionally wrought screams escaped from the backroom headquarters.

Alexa rang the buzzer and knocked on the bullet proof Plexiglas. But as the yelling grew louder, so did her confidence, and she forcefully pounded her fist against the window. A red headed dispatcher appeared from the Sherriff's office. She blew her nose and dabbed at a steady river of tears. She finally asked, "What for can I do you, kid? Visiting hours are posted on the door."

"I'm here to find out about Jack Hesse and Tris-," Alexa broke off and asked, "What's her real name? It's not Tristana, it's like Nan, or Nanette, maybe?"

"If you come to see that Hesse criminal and the Paull girl, tough luck," said the middle-aged dispatcher, gnawing on a wad of gum. She was decked out in too large Avon jewelry.

"Please, give me a few minutes, it's all I need," Alexa pleaded. "Has bail been set yet?"

"What do you think this is Night Court?" The woman laughed at her stunned face and rattled off the important details. "That weirdo in black was picked up by the newspaper guy, Seth Poole, and it's unfortunate, but the Hesse criminal is not being detained behind bars."

"Where is he?"

"Beats me, we released him into the custody of Carey Derry. He came in and probably took Jack out to the farm, with all the other Juvies," the dispatcher explained. "Uncle Carey likes to bail out boys in trouble and give them a second, third and fourth chance in life. But if I had my way, that pipsqueak criminal would be thrown in the slammer. He'll end up on America's Most Wanted, for sure."

The angry yelling erupting from the backroom lent the police station the ambiance of a mental institution. Alexa stepped back and asked quietly, "What the hell do I do now?"

"Go home, kid, it's late."

"Derry Queen is probably molesting Jack as we speak – they probably have him tied up in the barn and are torturing him," Alexa said.

The older woman rolled her eyes up at the stained, sagging ceiling and quipped, "Well, let's hope he's into S&M bondage and kink."

"This isn't funny," Alexa said hotly. Trying to ignore the barrage of shouts coming from the back room, she glanced out at the wet street. She supposed she could get Thad's car and drive out to the farm and smuggle Jack home, but she had no driver's license. She never learned how to drive, or bothered to get one. She never quite saw the point, as the entire city of Portnorth only covered a four-mile radius.

The dispatcher cringed as the screams grew angrier. "You got to leave here, we're in the middle of a whopping big-ass crisis."

Feeling defeated, Alexa turned away and stepped into a vacant street glistening with possibilities. She leisurely made her way back to her parent's house. As she ambled aimlessly along, she noticed a figure in the distance and vaguely recognized it as being her cousin Kate's fiancé. As he neared her, Nick Paull waved eagerly and called out her name.

"Hey, what're you doing walking around this late at night all alone?" Nick reprimanded paternally. As she summoned the energy to unleash the story of her messed up evening, he wondered aloud, "You haven't seen Kate tonight, have you?"

"No, why is she missing?"

"I wouldn't go so far as to say that, but I really need to talk to her, so it's important I find her."

"So, she's only sort of missing? How did that happen?"

"It's a long story," Nick said, and he walked along with her, in order to see she made it home safely. "You are going home, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Alexa said. They walked side by side, and an occasional rustle of wind sent water droplets falling from tree leaves. "Well, I hope nothing is too wrong, and you find her."

Nick said unconvincingly, "I'm sure things will work out fine."

They continued walking in awkward silence, until their repeated attempts to speak at once digressed into a fit of laughter.

"You go first," Alexa said.

"No, you go," Nick insisted.

"It wasn't any big deal," Alexa said laughing a little, and she wondered what it was that had Nick so worried he was combing the streets on foot for Kate in the middle of the night.

"No, I want to hear what you have to say."

"It's not Evangelica, is it? I mean, she's okay, isn't she?"

"No, no, she's fine. It's not that at all," Nick said with sudden reassurance. He thrust his hands in his front pockets and looked up at the stars, which were mostly choked out by rain clouds.

"Tell me," he began, "do you have many friends?"

"I don't know, not too many I guess," Alexa said. Defensive, she wondered the point of his inquiry. "Why? It's not like I'm out to win a popularity contests or anything."

"It's fine. I was popular in high school," Nick said casually. "But popularity isn't the same as being well-liked. Are you well-liked by the people you're close to?"

"I guess so."

With his thumb, he brushed gently under her eye. "You're bruised. Were you hit?"

"Something like that," Alexa responded. Her cheek still ached from the rock Jack pelted at her face.

"Make sure to put some ice on that. You're going to have a wicked black eye tomorrow."

"Sure thing, okay."

"You're a pretty girl," Nick observed, as a matter of fact. "Have you ever wondered why it's human nature to lash out at what's beautiful?"

"I'm not beautiful, not like Vange," Alexa said, suddenly self-conscious. She slowed her pace as they neared her parent's house. "I guess I never think about it much."

"What do you think about then?"

"I don't know, senior year, college, Evangelica, my brother, Jack and all his problems," Alexa rattled off, and she added, "Why nothing seems to work out. Ever. Stuff like that."

"So, you're big on plans?"

"I guess so."

"You should try to go with the flow, it makes life easier, trust me," he said and stopped at the corner streetlamp outside her parent's home. "One day, you'll be in your mid-twenties and things won't seem so weighted and heavy, and you'll realize there's not much you can do except to live and let live, you know?"

Alexa eyed him with concern as he became increasingly lost in his thoughts. She whispered thanks, and she leaned close to him and hugged him. She thought more than anything in the world, what he needed was a hug, and she was happy to provide it, but then she foolishly kissed him on the lips when he released her from the embrace. Instinctively, Nick's mouth opened and accepted her tongue, but he stepped back as she moved closer to him.

"I'm sorry," he said, raising his hands. "I've got to find Kate."

"I'm s-sorry," repeated Alexa, as she flushed crimson. She felt incredibly stupid, and refused to look up at him.

"It's all right. It's okay."

"It's just it's been such a freaked-out night, and everything's so out of whack. You know, when everything seems so real and alive – everything except yourself?" she asked. She was afraid she was not making any sense. It was as if she had lapsed into a kind of dream state, a transparent hologram.

"All too well, I know what that feels like," Nick said, and he held out his hand, which she held onto eagerly. "Hey promise me one thing."

"What?"

"Don't sell yourself short."

"How do I manage to avoid that?"

"By saving yourself for someone truly worthy."

"I will, promise."

He laughed, "Good."

Nick wished to explain that cheapness was not a thing to be embraced lightly as it resulted in a heavy film not easily cleansed away. He knew only too well, and he had nearly given up hope of ever ridding himself of it. Instead of issuing her cryptic warnings, he gave her a pat on the shoulder and a peck on the forehead. Then he wandered away into the night.

Alexa watched him, wondering why it was he seemed so melancholy, and she concluded his was positively the most beautiful bruised soul she had ever caught a glimpse of.

The smell of cigarette butts and crusty bodily excretions hung heavy in the air as the mammoth Oldsmobile coasted along Portnorth's vacant alleyways. Trying to forget how to breathe, Jack pressed himself against the passenger door and let his imagination run rampant with what horrible acts of sodomy had transpired between old Uncle Carey Derry and his previous delinquent passengers.

Derry Queen's fleshy mouth quavered as he sucked on his extra long cigarette. Except for liver spots splattered across his hairline, Derry's skin resembled an undercooked donut.

The car swerved jarringly across the rain-slicked pavement whenever the old lounge lizard's eyes drifted toward the delicate fawn perched beside him. His white, slip-on dress shoes tapped against the floor mat to the beat of Judy Garland's forceful wails. Almost as forcefully, his bulging belly threatened to burst through its burgundy polyester confines.

Unnerved by his driving companion's look of terror, Carey frowned and said, "Relax. You're in safe hands."

"Now there's a visual I could live without," Jack snapped back.

"You got a dirty mind," Carey laughed. "I like that in a person."

"You're sick."

"Flattery gets 'em every time. Let me turn you on."

"Huh?"

Carey Derry encouraged Jack to open the tattered briefcase, and he studied the young innocent's reaction to the overflowing gold mine of drugs and accompanying paraphernalia. Various sizes of half filled Ziploc bags were strewn about inside the briefcase, along with what appeared to be a toy, pearl handled pistol.

"I don't get high," Jack said. Adamantly revolted, he silently vowed if he ever made it out of the car unscathed he would never again dabble in mind-altering substances.

"Everybody got stoned in the old days," Uncle Carey said nostalgically. "It must be a real drag belonging to the "Just Say No" generation." He pulled a gold cigarette case from his fake lambs wool vest pocket, and he asked, "Want a smoke, to calm your troubled teenage nerves? Or don't you do that either?"

"Okay, I'll take one of your queen-sized cancer sticks," Jack said, and he let the old man's gnarled hand light the cigarette. Jack immediately began coughing, and he gasped, "Ugh, menthol."

Derry Queen pressed the automatic window button, which descended, and Jack tossed out the offending cigarette. The old man shook his head and lamented, "You're holding onto thousands of dollars of feel-good treats. I've got Quaaludes, Ephedrine, cocaine, LSD, Peyote, angel dust, and pot and hash. I even got some Ecstasy that all the English kids are doing at raves. Have you ever been to an all-night rave-up?"

"No."

"I have, in an old abandoned warehouse in downtown Detroit where they play techno music all night long. I'll take you to one if you want – they can get pretty wild," Derry cautioned.

"I don't think so."

"It's nice to explore new and different things. It keeps the mind alive, the spirit young." Derry was contemplative for several minutes, and he steered the yacht-sized automobile with ease around a sharp corner. He flicked his lizard-like tongue over his fleshy mouth, and he said pragmatically, "You know, it might not be a bad idea for you to skip town for a while. I've been following your exploits in the Police Beat and Court News columns in the Portnorth Porthole."

"I don't want to go nowhere."

"Well, it's kind of obvious that's where you're headed," Derry offered. "You're headed the wrong way down a one way street."

Jack shifted uncomfortably and peered out at the rainy blackness that loomed beyond the racing windshield wipers. As the gigantic car sped past Main Street headed for the highway, Jack imagined a brightly illuminated silo looming far off into the distance beckoning them like a gussied-up beacon.

"Thanks for bailing me out of jail and all, but you can just take me home."

"I don't think you're getting the proper supervision there that a boy needs," Derry said. "For now, I think you'll be better off out at the farm. It's a real groovy place."

"Whatever."

With a deep sigh, Carey Derry pulled the car over to the side of the road near the entrance of Portnorth's Everlasting Peace Cemetery. Sliding closer to his trembling passenger, Uncle Carey placed his hand on his shoulder and said flatly, "Listen here, you little shit. We have a connection of sorts. When I do nice things for you, don't get the wrong idea. It's not because I want anything from you, or even like you, but it's out of obligation." The old man massaged Jack's shoulder roughly and breathed his hot stale breath onto Jack's cheek.

Jack reached for the door handle only to discover it was missing, like in the back seat of a police car.

"You have no idea, but your mother was my goddaughter."

Just as Jack imagined Scary Carey Derry Queen was about to make the big plunge for the shriveled prize between his legs, he screamed, "All the more reason you should get your hands off of me, you creepy old pervert!"

Jack nimbly clambered over the sweaty man while groping for the door handle on the driver's side.

"What the hell is wrong with you, kid?" Carey Derry called out. He wrapped his hairy arms around Jack's waist and pulled him close. As Jack fumbled for the door, he felt his knee grind into the old man's crotch. His free hand dislodged the car from gear, and the big yellow Oldsmobile slowly rolled backwards. As the door flung open, Jack dove onto the wet asphalt and stumbled to his feet. He scurried, fast and furious, away from the moving car, which sank trunk first toward a soggy ditch.

"Jacky, Jacky, don't run away," the old man cried out to the empty darkness, but Jack continued to run from the glare of the headlights illuminating ominous tombstones that sat spread out on the other side of the wrought iron fence. Jack gasped for breath as he trudged toward the cemetery entrance. While jogging, his eyes stung with sweat and salty tears streamed down his flushed cheeks.

Propelling him onward was a faded, crumpled Polaroid snapshot of his mother. In the distance, his mind's eye vision of Kaye Hesse awaited with outstretched arms. He had only known one other loving set of arms so comforting, and they belonged to Evangelica. Now she also threatened to slip away.

His feet collided dully against slippery gravel, and the rain pelted his face like needles. Realizing he had nowhere to run, Jack slowed down to an unhurried pace as he found himself in the cemetery. His jaw clenched defiantly, he stood firm against the darkness. Ahead, automobile lights illuminated the surrounding tombstones like rays of hope. Flooded with a feeling of regret, he succumbed to despair when he recognized the nearing headlights. As the lights beamed brighter, he became riddled with an unbridled fear.

The approaching monster truck charged dangerously fast toward Jack as his tired feet carried him onto a two track road that wound around tombstones taller than a grown man. There was no escape. The wild honking pursued him unmercifully over slippery stones and pooling mud puddles.

"Hey, Jerkoff Hesse," one of the Czerwinski twins hollered out the window.

"Want a ride, Jackass?"

The truck sped past him, and then it spun wildly around to face him. Caught like an inevitable road kill in the glare of headlights, he stood stupefied. As the truck revved its engine, he fled the bright lights by dodging behind a towering tombstone. As he surveyed the darkness, he understood there was no earthly way to flee the footsteps that charged after him sounding with bloodlust.

Running and gasping for breath, Jack tripped over a freshly dug grave and fell to the ground. He ate a mouthful of mud and remained sprawled face down in the dirt.

Behind him, two sets of identical footsteps charged closer and threatening. Before long, he felt the full weight of the Czrewinski twins as their knees bore down against his backside, and he was thrust deeper into the soggy wet earth. Unable to see, Jack's face was shoved into the mud, and he struggled to breathe. The only thing he could hear for miles was cracking of his own ribs and the twisted cackles emitting from the identical spawns of Satan.

It was not until he heard the popping sounds of firecrackers that the blows stopped, and he felt himself slipping into semi-unconsciousness.

In the top floor of the Portnorth Porthole building, the illustrious editor sat Indian style with a mirrored tray resting on his bare knees. Across from him, Tristana inhaled her clove cigarette and reached out to lift the tray upwards, so as to allow him easier access to the white powder lines he had carefully arranged with an overdrawn credit card.

When Seth Poole finished snorting the coke, he placed it carefully aside, Tristana knelt across his lap and reached between his stretch-marked thighs. She flicked her long manicured fingernail against his lolling cock.

"It doesn't seem to be working," she said bored.

Seth Poole playfully tickled her breasts with his damp fishy smelling beard. Kneeling perfectly straight, she licked the top of his balding head while he pulled her close and greedily mouthed her prized breasts.

"Try to be gentle," she said, tugging on a handful of his chest hair.

"Say please, daddy," he ordered, and he added excitedly, "or would you like me to give you another spanking, like the one I gave you outside the jailhouse? You're a very bad girl, Nanette."

"Tristana," she corrected him sadly, but Poole ignored her and licked the mirrored tray clean of powdery dust. His heart beat so fast, she thought he would implode and crush her beneath his weight if she did not stay on top of the situation.

She made him lay on his back so she could massage his hairy potbelly as she wrapped her hand around his limp cock. When semi-aroused, he tugged on her long curly hair and pulled her to him. The dim streetlights below illuminated the stuffy room with alternating flashes of red, gold and green, and as the occasional car stopped under the traffic light, headlights cast dancing shadows of against the cracked walls.

Rolling across the dirty hardwood floor, Tristana and Poole felt the mounds of forgotten old pastel colored wedding invitations stick sporadically to their naked sweaty skin.

It was as if they were desecrating an ancient marriage burial ground.

chapter seventeen

Kate gripped the keys to Evangelica's apartment and climbed the stairs as if the answers to every question she had ever pondered in her life were contained behind the awaiting red door. After fitting the key in the lock, she barged into a veritable Garden of Eden.

Flashing white Christmas lights bounced off every imaginable plant – prickly cacti, overflowing ferns, gargantuan palms, African violets, hanging ivy, and spider plants. Exotic greenery filled every crevice and consumed every corner, and Kate was a bug lading in a Venus flytrap. Her sudden intake of breath and subsequent long weary sigh was greedily consumed by the voracious plant-life.

She forged through the jungle and searched for a small trace of hope. In the tiny kitchen, she noticed the archaic refrigerator looked freshly polished, like a 1950s Buick— all chrome and curves. Stuck on the surface was a newspaper photo of Deputy Czerwinski grinning as he held up a marijuana plant and the caption read, "Drug Bust!" Across the photo, Vange had scrawled, Marley's been taken into police custody! She found an old fashioned watering jug under the sink and filled it up to give the thirsty plants a drink.

Kate opened the fridge to find it nearly empty except for various assorted condiments, a gallon jug of Lambrusco and a lonely jar of marshmallow cream. Kate grabbed the wine and poured herself a glass, which she left on the kitchen cupboard in order to search the remainder of the apartment.

In the bathroom, which was a haven for lavender scented candles, Kate rummaged the medicine cabinet to discover an assortment of outdated prescription drugs, only a few of which she was familiar. There were uppers and downers and diet pills galore – it was as if she had stumbled into the boudoir of a Hollywood starlet. Vange's purse sat on the counter, and Kate emptied it into the sink and sifted through still more medicines and drugstore cosmetics. The leopard print wallet was empty, so Kate scoured through Vange's checkbook. Then she stopped cold as she stumbled on a recent entry. It stood out like Vange did on those infrequent occasions she entered a local church. Recorded between the lines reading $12.24 for Chinese take-out and $22.04 for an Electric bill, was scrawled $315.00 for an abortion. Kate clutched the checkbook to her chest and staggered backwards and leaned against the door. Her only consolation was if Nick had been responsible, he would have surely stepped up and paid for the termination of Vange's pregnancy, but what if she had not even told him?

Kate left the bathroom in such a rush she forgot to turn out the light. By the time she was done, every light in the apartment was turned on. Inside the bedroom, she found Vange's bed floating in a bottomless cesspool of junk food wrappers. The walls were lined with a library of tattered books. The only pieces of furniture were a huge paisley chair and a stereo painted with polka dots. Mavis Staples was on the turntable, and Kate wondered if Evangeline had been listening to her while slipping into her suicide-induced coma. Setting on a stack of old records, which included Odetta and Louis Armstrong and other people Kate had never heard of, was a carefully gift wrapped package. The card attached was addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Nicholas Paull.

Reaching for the package, Kate nearly toppled it to the floor, but she retrieved it in the nick of time. In order to steady herself, she placed a hand on the stereo and inadvertently switched on the power button. The room filled with the harmonies of Crowded House, "Hey now, hey now, don't dream it's over," and Kate's face lit up with a wry smile of recognition.

Snapping off the music, she said, "Don't dream it's over. More like a nightmare that's never over."

Kate hugged the square gift box close to her. She fell backwards onto the bed, and she rocked holding onto the present. She remained seated there for as long as possible. Kate's eyes misted over, and her trembling hands ripped open the card. She deciphered the barely legible words: Dah-lings, I wish you a most blissful trip through the country called matrimony – may all your wedded days be holidays! I love you with all my soul. Yours, Evangelica Kirsten Whiley

Kate slipped the card back into its coffee stained envelope, and she carried the box into the kitchen. Placing the tastefully wrapped present on the counter, she picked up the glass of wine and took a large sip. She leaned against the fridge facing the gift, and her free hand clutched her hair at her temple. Her head felt as if it was about to explode, and so she tugged at her temples to relieve the pressure smashing against her skull.

She unconsciously sloshed wine down the front of her off-white dress. Realizing what she had done, Kate hurled the plastic glass into the sink and watched it bounce around. The throbbing echoing inside her brain prevented the noise from the hurtling object from even registering.

Her knees buckled, and she slid against the fridge. Crumpled in a heap on the floor, Kate called out to the surrounding emptiness, "Why? Why did you do it? Isn't it bad enough you sleep with my fiancé two nights before my wedding, but then you try to kill yourself?"

While beating the back of her head against the metal door, she said vehemently, "You vengeful bitch."

Kate's fingers tugged wildly at her temples, and she prayed for the crashing waves to subside. The inside of her brain felt tender and bruised, and she wished more than anything Vange was standing in the middle of the kitchen; if nothing else, it would be nice to scream accusatory obscenities at her sublimely beautiful face.

With trembling hands, Kate reached for the wedding present and opened it slowly. Her nervous delicate fingers pulled a large crystal platter from the box. A note was taped on the serving plate, which Kate read aloud, "I hope this always reminds you of your quaint lakeside hometown – don't ever forget where you came from!" Kate crumpled the note in her hand. Overly sensitive of Evangeline's tone, she took the note to be more sarcastic than sincere. On the face of the platter were sea gulls soaring above a sailboat.

The nautical scene did nothing to move Kate. Dry-eyed, she held the big round glass plate to her chest and remained rocking on the kitchen floor.

Summer, 1985

Having just completed her hippie-dippy dance routine to an old Donovan tune, Kate remained off stage in the wings, where she waited for Evangelica to perform. The sweat poured off of her body, which was concealed under the confines of a foam rubber conifer costume. Ordinarily, the dreary scholarship pageant was hardly the social event of the summer, but tonight the whole town appeared to be packed in the teeming bleachers. They had come to see whether the rumor was true if the Whiley girl could really sing.

Dressed in a tight black velvet gown, Evangelica strutted down to the end of the runway as she had been specifically instructed not to do. For the past three weeks, pageant director and Home Economics guru, Nyda Czerwinski, had made it her private mission to eradicate any show of personality or evidence of individuality from her contestants. All her attempts to curb the excesses she saw in Evangelica's stage presence were a resounding flop.

"Vangie," Nyda reprimanded during the dress rehearsal, "you're swaggering again. This is the queen's runway, not a catwalk."

"It's my pony walk," Evangelica protested to the woman who peered over her glasses like a nibbling gerbil.

"Whatever it is, it's terribly provincial," Nyda said. "And fix those lips!"

"What's wrong with my lips?"

"Can't you make them smaller? Stop moving so much. This will never work, can't you do something about those breasts?"

Evangelica's milky cleavage was ammunition in her arsenal to thrust in the direction of the other girls. Like boulders released from a slingshot, she seized any opportunity to aim her ample gifts at the other contestants. Despite the director's admonishments, Kate, along with everyone else, was overtly jealous of Vange's ample bosom. Eventually, Evangelica grew more outraged with each new attack on her body until she finally yelled from the stage one afternoon, "Listen, the requirements of this pageant never said you had to be light as a feather and stiff as a board." She tormented the pageant director by grabbing her crotch for emphasis.

Whenever Nyda caught Vange sauntering, she clapped her hands and called for odds-on-favorite Heidi to demonstrate the graceful stride of a genuine lady. "Girls," Nyda instructed, "watch Heidi, now this is how a queen walks."

With exaggerated abandon, Vange rolled her eyes, hunched her back and made a gagging face sending Kate into hysterics. Heidi was the daughter off the local hunchback baker. Her own back was beginning to show signs of a slight hump, but it did not detract from her sunny temperament. Heidi had been sent to dance classes ever since she was a toddler as it was her parents' hope dance would afford her enough refined agility to detract from the dreaded hunch whenever it finally decided to reveal itself. Tall and lean, Heidi was also fortunate enough to have a long thick mane of red hair to cover up the emerging eyesore.

Perhaps cut throat competitiveness was to blame, but the endless rehearsals, where everyone acted so painfully fake, only served to drive a deeper wedge between Kate and Vange's waning friendship. Against Chelsea's objections, Kate let Nick and Vange talk her into wasting the summer before her senior year by entering the inane pageant to vie for the title of Miss Portnorth. The closest Kate and Vange came to rekindling their rocky friendship was during the dress rehearsal, when they found Heidi huddled in the shower bawling her eyes out.

If she did not win the pageant Heidi's parents would not disown her, but rather they would not buy her a car. "Then how will I be able to come home every weekend from college to see my boyfriend?" Heidi wailed. If she lost the pageant, her life would be doomed – her boyfriend would leave her, and she would never get married. The look of horror Kate and Vange exchanged while comforting the sobbing probable queen was one of the few genuinely intimate moments of their friendship.

"Smile like Heidi! Walk like Heidi! Stand like Heidi! Pretend you're Heidi!" echoed from Nyda's mouth for the three weeks during rehearsals. Being a decent human being, Heidi did all she could do to alleviate the dictator's obsession with her, but it only made the potential queen more sickeningly sweet. On more than one occasion, Kate glanced over at Heidi, who smiled without any trace of conceit or bitterness, and she thought, Idiot.

The night of the actual pageant was on of the most anti-climactic of Kate's entire life. Beginning with her opening line, "Hi! My name is Katherine K. Hesse, and I'm proud to introduce my parents, Kaye and Chief Ed Hesse!" Even though her parents beamed proudly in the spotlight at the front of the gymnasium stage, Kate knew they were embarrassed to have to witness this display of exhibitionism; they were as uncomfortable there as she was.

Compared with Vange, the rest of the contestants were an excruciatingly unimaginative lot, and it was torture that each girl was required to perform a talent-less skit. Heidi had the dance moves she had been perfecting since birth, and Vange had her God-given voice, but everyone else had to miserably fake it. Kate wanted to shrivel up and die of embarrassment for her talent skit, but instead she took the easy way out and donned a pine tree costume covering her from head to toe. Totally concealed as a conifer, she had danced around the stage to the song, Jennifer Juniper.

"You should really show a little leg," Evangelica advised. "They make green tights."

The scholarship pageant droned on until every girl except Evangelica had performed her pathetic talent number. Even Heidi, the presumed queen, had resorted to a series of backflips to the tired Bette Midler song, "The Rose". From a Distance, she looked like an arachnid carnival sideshow freak.

Once Evangeline took the stage, it was her mission to hold the town hostage till she was fully drunk on their swooning adoration. Kate barged past the director and watched from the wings. She was not about to miss Vange's singing debut in front of a mass audience.

From the edge of their seats, the spectators lurched closer like death-starved buzzards preparing to swoop down for the kill. Vange clenched the microphone tightly in her trembling hand, and her heart-shaped mouth in all its painted red glory could be seen quavering from the highest row of back bleachers.

As the music began, the crowd simultaneously sucked in their breaths. The fiendish vultures boiled over in a hot swell of skepticism. Their heady breaths and sweaty anticipation revealed a longing to devour this mere dreamer who had the audacity to think she could show up an entire town with the power of her singular instrument.

Shaking at the end of the runway as if on a guillotine platform, Vange's voice arose like a soft whisper from nowhere. In the wings, Kate chewed her bottom lip, shut her eyes and felt her two crossed fingers dig into her thighs. Then the supernatural occurred, Vange was swept up into a state void of anxiety. Her dark lush voice saturated the auditorium with ageless wisdom to beat back the banality of the scavengers hovering around her. Imperturbably, the female David sang well enough to conquer all of Goliath's monstrous doubts.

Kate hung back with her mouth agape as Vange sang "Someone to Watch Over Me." She prayed Vange could feel her encouragement. The audience slumped in defeat in their bleacher seats, for Evangelica had enchanted them into submission with the darkly sweet melody of her song. By the time she reached the rousing climax, the crowd whimpered groveling and submissive at her feet.

When the gymnasium exploded upright, it was to express their acceptance with thunderous applause. The social misfit was elevated beyond their reach – she became more than their sister, mother, neighbor, daughter or friend. And she radiated cosmically aglow on the runway. The boisterous ovation resonated with acceptance. It was music to her ears, and while she lingered for what the director considered distastefully too long, she left them longing for more.

The spotlight reflected a sparkling glint in Evangelica's eyes that mesmerized the audience, whose energy soared blissfully around her. They continued to pound away, inebriated from her stage presence. Evangelica, who had barely ever left the city limits but had combed its dredges, successfully projected worldliness more sophisticated than anything they had personally encountered. That night she was elevated permanently into the local folklore. Her lush, full voice had forever entrenched its way into their hearts.

Thoroughly enamored, Kate forgot her anxiousness for the pageant to be over with. Standing as if her conifer costume had taken root, Kate forgot she already should be squeezed into her evening gown. The time was fast approaching for her to hobble across the stage in heels and an ill-fitting borrowed prom dress in order to reveal what her favorite holiday was.

On her way to the locker room, Evangelica discovered Kate lingering overwhelmed with awe. Breathing heavily and sweating slightly, Vange asked defensively, "What? Didn't you think I was capable?"

Speechless, Kate shook her head trying to find the right words, but Vange risked no chance of hearing anything resembling doubt, and she snapped, "Don't worry, Kate, I've got this."

When her time came, Kate unenthusiastically paraded around the stage in a gown that made her look more like a white cloud than a celestial virgin. She did not care if she stammered through her rehearsed answer, "Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. It encompasses all the warm family feelings of Christmas without any of the commercialism."

Standing frozen on her designated stage mark, Kate watched Vange shimmy up to the microphone in yet another sparkling, form fitting dress. Nyda-the-Living-Dead insisted wildly from the wings the gown was obscene because the back was cut so low it flirted with the crack of indecency. Nyda rushed out on stage and wrapped a shawl around the offending contestant in order to reign in her burlesque act. Undaunted, Vange was the only girl who mildly flirted with the Master of Ceremonies, "I love all holidays, Dick. I'll gladly seize any opportunity to make merry and be festive."

Filled with trepidation, the contestants became jittery mannequins as their smiling lips dried to their teeth while the dictator director rattled of her annual spiel about how the pageant could not be successful without all the little people, the social munchkins who were comprised of past contestant losers, and their mothers and younger sisters.

Kate stood stiffly and did not doubt for an instant that Heidi would be crowned Queen of Portnorth. It would be impossible for the judges to select a sacrificial virgin queen among this crew, without settling on Kate, who smacked of frigidity and offered no stage presence whatsoever. So they were forced to settle for the next best thing, which happened to be an outgoing girl with a long standing boyfriend to whom she would become safely engaged once relinquishing her royal duties; only Heidi fit the bill.

Gussied up like cattle on one last ditch effort to finagle their way off the prized butcher block, each contestant was allowed one last trek down the runway. As Kate walked her final walk, she recalled Vange's inspired dress rehearsal stunt. For motivation and inspiration each girl was draped with the winner's cape and crowned in order to practice walking down the runway, but Vange had swung the cape out into the phantom audience with irreverence as she briskly charged her way back up the runway. There would be no such antics tonight, and Kate meekly returned to her penned off position with the other cattle.

Kate watched Evangelica walk her final strut, and she wondered what Vange was thinking. Kate hoped Vange did not harbor any delusions she had any serious chance of capturing the crown, which would be a coup of magnanimous proportions. Brimming with character, Vange would no doubt send the cubic zirconium tiara blasting to bits if it was ever placed on her head.

As everyone rightly suspected, the crown went safely to Heidi. Amongst snickers, one of the pigeon-toed Derry girls teetered across the stage in dangerously high heels considering her pregnant state, and she relinquished the crown to the new Miss Portnorth. Kate felt genuinely happy for the slightly hunchbacked queen because, with the exception of her wedding day, this was probably the highlight of her life. Evangelica, holding onto her talent award, was not so happy for Heidi and visibly fumed under the spotlight.

During the annual Limestone Festival, which was merely an excuse for the entire town to ingest mass quantities of alcohol under one tent, Heidi reigned regal over her intoxicated subjects. They dutifully paid homage to her bland beauty and big 80's hair. The moment of glory was lost on Vange and Kate, and so they danced a Tango amidst the country line dancing Garth Brooks and Don Juana-bes. Evangelica even made T-shirts for her friends, which she and Kate wore over their formals, advertising the "W'Limestoned Festival." The two loser contestants were sent into hysterics when Thad nearly shook Heidi's crown off as he exclaimed, "Quasimodo, Queen of Shithole, USA!"

Kate's proud mother later reprimanded her by lamenting, "With all the respectable girls in the pageant, you made a poor choice dancing wildly with Shayla Whiley's daughter. Instead of making a fool of yourself, you could've danced nicely with Queen Heidi!"

Kate often wondered what would have become of Heidi if she had not won, and her parents had not bought her a coveted car to enable those faithful weekend trips home from college to visit her boyfriend. The Ford Escort was probably the reason Heidi dropped out, returned to Portnorth to get married and became a home daycare provider. Six years and four kids later, Heidi's long locks were shorn, which caused the little hump on her back to grow more prominent.

Of course, Evangelica won the talent award; there was never any question, but she later claimed it meant absolutely nothing at all to her. During the ceremony Evangelica out-performed special guest Miss Michigan, who was a professional pageant maven whose only ambition was to be crowned Miss USA and Miss Universe. From that night on, Evangelica's voice became a renowned community asset, and she was asked to sing the National Anthem at high school sporting events and the annual Little League kick-off extravaganza. Her voice graced many local weddings, even Queen Heidi's.

It was not until her daughter Jule's death that Nyda Czerwinski finally resigned her position as pageant dictator. The realization her own daughter would never be crowned pushed Nyda over the edge, and she plummeted into the depths of small town insanity.

Although the merciless dictator of queenly attributes invited Vange to perform at subsequent pageants, Kate thought it ironic Vange, who was never queen, became the staple entertainment to liven up the otherwise dreary ceremony. If she happened to be in town, Kate usually attended the shows and left immediately after Vange's performance.

The last time Evangelica was asked, she had grown tired of delivering a performance that made the audience wonder, "Heidi who won that year?" By that time, the pageant gig had merely become a masochistic venue for her to prove she really was refined queen material. On her final trip down the hallowed runway, Vange wore ripped stockings and a short leather skirt, and she grinded out the Tina Turner song, "I Might Have Been Queen."

She was never invited back to sing, and Kate never again attended another pageant.

Gazing at the chrome refrigerator handle, which alternated between darkness and shiny due to the blinking Christmas lights. Kate clenched the serving platter in her sweaty hands, and she remained seated on the linoleum floor with her legs wrapped uncomfortably beneath her. As if mesmerized into a trance, she did not wish to move again.

Kate found it ironic it was at a senior high school Christmas party Vange and Nick messed around for the first time that she knew about, and last night outside the bar was perhaps the last time Evangelica would make love to anyone ever again. It was not long after the infamous holiday party that Kate wrote Vange out of her life for good. Now she wished her stepsister and future husband had never met let alone shared an ongoing infatuation. A small part of her hoped their flirtation would be snuffed out once and for all in a hospital bed, and whatever feelings they shared would die along with Vange, with whom she had made no real effort to keep in touch following high school graduation. Maybe in the back of her mind she always understood what Vange's intentions were, and Nick had been all too complicit in perverting her hopes and dreams into a trash talk-show nightmare.

When Kate's mother died approximately a year ago, Vange inconspicuously arrived at the funeral home and slipped Kate the warmest, most sincere hug she could remember receiving. It was that embrace which prodded her into asking Vange to be a member of her bridal party and to sing during the ceremony. The fact they had become stepsisters in the interim was immaterial, but rather it was the hug that convinced Kate to let bygones be bygone.

They had maintained a conspiracy of silence regarding Ed and Shayla's unexpected union; it was as if they were able to render the marriage nonexistent by merely not mentioning it. Perhaps at Kate's mother's funeral, Vange knew more than she let on, but she refrained from telling Kate. It seemed to Kate most of her peers knew more than she did; Chelsea had the brains, Vange was street-smart, but Kate was always in the middle.

Why, Kate wondered, why had their friendship been filled with such a bevy of silent, unutterable understandings; from the time they exchanged looks of horror while comforting Heidi in the locker room, when they danced with wild abandon at the festival proceeding the pageant, whenever Kate looked over and caught Vange looking at Nick, and when they hugged at the funeral home? They never really shared any deep conversations, but rather mere psychic flashes of understanding.

Last night at the gathering at Chelsea's house, Kate attempted several feeble overtures resembling sisterly-ness, but Vange aloofly avoided her the entire evening. When Vange bowed out early in order to join the guys at the tavern, Kate announced she was retiring for the evening, and Chelsea accompanied the bridesmaids to the bar. Kate regretted not confronting Evangelica because now she could only speculate the reason for Vange's peculiar standoffish behavior, which she was prone to write off as jealousy.

Sitting on the kitchen floor, Kate felt a slightly cold wet hand rest on her shoulder. She yelped with fright as blood trickled down the front of her dress. The crystal platter she held in her trembling hands fell to the floor, where it made a dull thud and shattered.

Kate spun around and faced two bony kneecaps, which were scuffed and poking out of tattered blue jeans. She covered her mouth as Jack gasped and clutched his side. His bruised purple left eye was swollen shut, and his spliced open lip was bleeding profusely. Saturated with mud, blood, and rain, his clothes were dirty and torn.

"What on earth happened to you?" she cried out.

Holding onto his side, Jack staggered toward her. Kate reached out and grabbed onto him before he hit the floor. She situated him in her arms and placed his battered bruised head against her chest. Rocking him gently, she whispered, "Talk to me, Jack."

Growing hysterical when it appeared he was losing consciousness, she pleaded, "Jack, tell me who did this to you."

Jack had not expected to find his sister in Evangelica's apartment. When Carey Derry shot at his attackers in the cemetery, Jack gladly let the older man carry him back to his car. But while riding alongside Carey Derry, Jack noticed Vange's apartment lights on, and he insisted he be dropped off there. Her Christmas lights flashed at him like an invitation from beyond, and in his confused state, he fully expected to find Vange puttering around her apartment. But instead, he found Kate sitting on the kitchen floor alone.

He choked up blood, swallowed hard, and asked softly, "What're you doing here?"

"I—I'm not sure," she said. Kate placed the back of her hand over her mouth and shook her head unbelieving. Tears dripped from her dark eyes, and she whispered, "I just wanted to feel close to her, I guess. Like you must."

He shut his one open eye and nodded painfully. She held onto his hand and yanked at the telephone cord. When the phone fell from its cradle, she dragged it across the soiled kitchen floor.

Kate held him in her arms and breathed the sweet smell of rain, sweat and blood. As she gathered him close, he shook like a disfigured baby in her arms. While dialing the numbers, Kate mopped his stringy blond hair away from his scraped forehead, and she kissed his damp scalp. She sniffled as she felt his hot tears and snot dripping against her neck. Holding onto him tightly, his muddy, blood-soaked clothes stained her off-white dress.

When she pulled his crimson matted T-shirt away from his skin, she noticed the number of self-initiated scars far outnumbered any damage that had been inflicted on him that night. Self-mutilation was a habit he picked up after being released from the hospital after the death of his prom date. Jules was etched across his pallid, pigeon chest as was their mother, grandfather and Vange's names. His body was log of the dead and departed.

Kate shook her head and said, "You promised you wouldn't cut yourself anymore. You promised me, Jack."

He swallowed hard and closed his left eye, which was not swollen shut.

The phone rang and rang, and she noticed the cracked platter beside them and murmured softly, "Oh, Jack, look at what I've done." She pieced the broken shards of glass back together and said, "It was a wedding present from Vange."

Dialing yet another number, she rubbed his head and said, "I can't figure it out, Jack. I can't figure out why, why she'd do this to us? Why would she want to die?"

He coughed and asked hoarsely, "Why would anyone want to live?"

"Don't talk like that."

"She was tired and bored, kind of stuck."

Kate hurled the phone against the wall and cried distraught, "No one's home to help us, not dad, or Nick, or anyone else, and you need to see a doctor. I'll take you to the hospital, okay? Can you move at all?"

He nodded, and Kate helped him to his feet. Jack leaned heavily against her, and she wrapped her arm around his back with her hand under his armpit. Careful not to touch any of his bloody lacerations, she gave him a peck on the cheek and supported him down the stairs into the Jeep Wrangler. All the while, she whispered encouraging words and was relatively successful at withholding her own confused sobs.

chapter eighteen

With his hair parted in the middle and held back with two pencils, Ben was hunched over working on the newspaper layout while Thad answered his second phone call in as many minutes. The first interruption was from Kate, whose presence they awaited with a mix of dread and anticipation. Thad was presently humoring a police dispatcher who was divulging the innards of a late breaking scandal.

In the meantime, Ben assembled strips of newspaper columns into rows to the beat of an old Bob Seger tune; one way to tell if you were approaching Portnorth city limits was to employ the radio test, which was to listen for three Seger songs played within the space of a half an hour. Feeling reckless, Ben took a brave drag off of Thad's cigarette. Coughing, he stubbed out the offensive burning cancer stick that polluted his runner's lungs. He returned to the newspaper, but he found himself reading more than he was pasting.

Ben read about friendly deer wandering up to an elderly lady's patio and eating carrots from her out stretched hand. She warned, "Hunters, stay away!" Then he scanned the engagement announcements to learn a bleeding heart nurse he had graduated with was marrying an old alcoholic abuser with five kids from a prior union. Although slightly repulsed, he could not help but reading more and more. There was a full-page advertisement for the Potato Festival in a neighboring town. One year he and Vange attended while stoned to trip out on the farm animals. She insisted he take a picture of her cradling a piglet.

He searched the "Happy Ads" for any familiar names and came across, "Lordy, Lordy, I'm only forty, but isn't it nifty my sis Nyda just turned fifty! Happy 5-0, big sis!" Ben shuddered as he glanced down at his former home economics teacher gazing up at him. She wore geeky glasses and was spotted with acne. She looked as if she was in need of her weekly bath. The skeletal Mrs. Czerwinski had inflicted the public high school with her parochial mentality and accompanying poster of the Pope. She once prophetically informed Ben he would never amount to anything because of his attitude. Taking a swig of Thad's vodka, he quickly turned the page.

In spite himself, Ben found the Republican-slanted Portnorth Porthole a compelling read. Each week it quietly chronicled the lives of his friends and neighbors. The century of back issues read like a hometown scrapbook. If he never turned on a television or opened a daily paper, life would appear positively Rockwellian, with no S&L scandals, murders, Iran Contra, muggings, Bush, or crumbling former Soviet Union to speak of. Portnorth's crime scene amounted to B&Es, kids getting pulled over with weed in their cars, domestic abuse and drunk driving.

"There's a crisis brewing at police headquarters," Thad said as he hung up the phone and rubbed his sore ear. "Deputy Czerwinski was caught with his pants down in a cop car."

"Again? What a pig," Ben said, rolling waxy paste between his fingers. "Isn't this his second offense?"

"You bet, and the last time it was in the marina patrol boat," Thad said laughing. "Someone reported him earlier tonight for messing around with that Amazon police woman down by the river. They were trapped in the backseat."

"Will he get fired this time?"

Thad lit a cigarette. "My guess, he'll be suspended with pay, same as before. Compensation for his dead daughter."

"You know what, you're a heartless bastard," Ben said, and he stepped back in order to admire his creative newspaper page. "People mourn in all different ways."

"Don't quit your day job."

Thad began dismantling Ben's artful work. "I wonder if Czerwinski will slap on the back brace he wears for sympathy."

"Hey, remember the time he pulled us over on Main Street? We were all drunk off our asses," Ben reminisced as he propped himself up on a cluttered desk.

"Thank god it was an election year. That's when I puked all over that leather coat Nick gave you," Thad said.

Ben refilled their glasses. "He just gave us a warning and let us drive home. Another close encounter with the long arm of the law."

As he came across the Happy Ad picture of their home economics teacher, Thad commented, "Nyda-the-Living-Dead." He fixed her picture upright as Ben had purposefully placed it upside down.

"At what age does it become pathetic to hate and resent all authority?"

Plaster dust drifted from the ceiling and sprinkled them with white dustiness. It was if a person had caught on fire and was rolling across the floor above them – Stop, drop, and roll! As they had once been instructed by Deputy Czerwinski, a member of the VFD.

"Shit, Seth Poole and Tristana-Nanette, or whatever the hell her name is, are really going at it, like freaking rabbits or something," Ben said, amazed to be dusted in plaster. "This is so depressing, Thad. Do you always work in the middle of the night, with other people screwing over your head?"

Frantic pounding exploded downstairs, and they exchanged wide-eyed looks of alarm.

"That must be Kate," Ben said, sitting upright.

"Go let her in."

"You. What if she's having a nervous breakdown?" Ben asked uneasily. "You didn't see her when she was flipping out earlier. It was like she was having a seizure."

"Just go let her up."

"She's your cousin, she came here to see you."

Thad cast him a look of annoyance. "I don't have time for this."

"Me neither, it's way past my bedtime."

"Just tell her everything will work out fine. Comfort her a little."

Hesitantly, Ben descended the stairs, and he found Kate leaning outside the front door with her fists pressed against the glass. She looked like hell, not only was her dress stained with mud, blood and wine, but her hair hung limply in tangles. He approached her with cautious curiosity. She appeared aggravated and on edge. It was as if divorce papers were pending before the nuptial vows were even spoken.

Ben opened the large glass door, and Kate rushed in to anchor herself against his affable familiarity. Unsuspectingly, she had been unmoored to brave a sea of turbulence, and he was the nearest lighthouse to navigate her to still waters.

"Thad's upstairs," Ben said. With her hand wrapped in his own, he led the way to the steps. Looking back at her soiled dress, he asked concerned, "What happened to you?"

"Oh, Benny," Kate said as if in physical pain. "I can't begin to tell you what a mess everything is."

Slouching forward into him, Kate was dead weight he guided toward the glowing light at the end of the stairwell. She lacked the energy or will to ascend the rickety steps, and her legs buckled beneath her. She collapsed, and Ben knelt down before her to take both her hands into his own.

Sitting at the bottom of the stairs, Kate mustered all the strength she could in order to stifle the glassy tears brimming in her smudged eyelids. She thought about Jack and the way he had held onto her before leaving him at the hospital. She wondered, had it been to comfort, or to be comforted, and did it matter? She was not sure of anything anymore. It was foolish for her to come here thinking someone would have the answers to her questions; besides, her search was not so much for an answer at all, but rather to obtain a comforting shred of doubt.

Pulling her hair away from her face with both hands, Kate whispered his name and shook her head as if all forms of communication were futile. The haze she had been wandering in for the past few hours dispersed and things came clearly into focus on the brightly lit stairway. The dam broke, and all the half-truths she had been trying to suppress flooded her consciousness. The squalid waters of deception were muddied by withheld half-truths and misinformation, but it no longer polluted the innards of her brain. She could see clearly now.

Kate looked directly into Ben's guilty almond eyes, and she asked, "Did you know?"

As he looked away form her, every sordid tidbit she suspected to be true was immediately confirmed. "Who all knew, Ben – everyone?"

Kate pulled her hand free from his, and she recoiled away in horror as she clamored halfway up the stairs. Thad hovered above them, and Kate felt as if she was a maimed animal trapped within a pickle of deceit. Her face wildly reflected disbelief and revulsion; she turned back and forth, looking to and from the benign, ineffectual strangers who held her captive for so long with their half-hearted lies.

"Katie," Ben pleaded, grasping the gravity of the situation for the first time.

"You knew? You both knew at the bonfire this afternoon at Nick's house. You knew and said nothing?" she asked incredulously, letting her purse drop on a step. "Did Chelsea know?"

Struck dumb by their affirmative silence, she backed against the wall. She kept her eyes shut as waves of tension crashed against the hulls of her mind.

"We didn't want to hurt you," Ben said.

"We didn't know if you could handle it," Thad added.

"Hurt me? Handle it?" Kate cried. "What do you think I am, a child? My God, this is my future – my life! You were content to sit back and watch me walk blindly into a sham of a marriage – that's what I'm finding hard to handle here. That's what hurts."

"Nick loves you, Kate," Thad said. "We're sorry."

"Honestly, we're so sorry," Ben added.

"No, I'm the one who's sorry here. I'm sorry I ever thought I had a friend in either one of you," Kate said. She attempted to yank her purse off the steps, but it was caught on a rusty nail. She tugged until the strap ripped, and she was sent toppling downward. Unexpectedly, she landed at the bottom of the stairs in Ben's outstretched arms.

She struggled to free herself of his grasp and said, "Let me go." He held onto her tighter until she screamed loudly, "Let go of me, asshole!"

Flailing wildly, she felt him tighten his grip around her. Thad charged downwards toward them and placed a hand firmly on her shoulder. When Kate opened her eyes, she found herself staring directly into Ben's dark eyes. His long eyelashes batted with regret, and his eyes were filled with concern. She wanted to implode with contempt, but instead she brushed her lips against his trembling mouth, which felt like what she imagined a girl's mouth to feel like. His lips were soft and tender as she crushed her mouth against him again and again until he became passively receptive of her tongue's forced entry.

Altogether unsure what to think, Thad backed up the stairs in complete shock.

Chelsea stumbled groggily out of bed and wound her way through the dark kitchen until she reached the door, where a late night visitor was knocking furiously. She had only momentarily drifted soundly asleep, after spending an exorbitant amount of time wondering whether or not her mother and Benjamin Dooley were lovers. Every observation drew her to that conclusion. Why else would they have been caught alone together in the walk-in cooler looking out of breath and guilty with desire? Moreover, at the hospital, when she confronted him with her suspicions, he pulled away and insisted they leave,

Chelsea knew better than to question her mother with her speculations because Ginny would merely emit easy laughter and dodge the question with a lazy wave of her hand. Since Chelsea had been away at college for the past five years, she no longer had the ability to monitor her mother's behavior as closely as she had while back in high school. She wondered what her mother could be thinking – taking a lover who was young enough to be her own son; after all, Ginny already had one boyfriend her own age, the town mortician.

Cautiously approaching the front door, Chelsea wiped the sleepy gunk from her eyes and tied her hair back with a navy night sash. She looked virgin pure, wearing nothing but a linen nightshirt. Sleep never failed to transport her to a peaceful uncorrupted state of bliss. In the midst of slumber, her every obsessive thought dissolved and dissipated. While away, she had often slept for marathon stretches in her dorm rooms dreaming of her safe harbor on Lake Huron. Lately, Portnorth seemed neither protected nor without its share of trouble. But it had more to do with the abundance of problem-plagued people littering her life. She would not venture to guess what catastrophe stood knocking at the entrance to the floral haven of her mother's home.

She opened the front door to find Nick sitting distressed on the steps of the porch. From beyond the locked screen, a gush of warm humid air rushed past her bare legs. A damp earthy aroma saturated her grateful lungs as she waited for him to notice her presence. As he rose to his feet and faced her, he looked weighted with agitation and worry.

Nick rested his hand on the door handle and stammered, "I-I'm sorry, I wouldn't have come here unless I were desperate."

Chelsea backed away and demanded, "What do you want?"

"You got your wish," Nick said. "Kate found out about Vange and I."

"You don't say, that's nice."

He ignored her sarcasm. "Have you talked to her at all? I've been looking everywhere she could be for hours. I thought maybe you might know where she is."

Annoyed but oddly satisfied, Chelsea asked, "Did Thad tell her? Even after I let him know outside the hospital I didn't think it was such a good idea to say something?"

"No, I told her."

"Oh, I don't believe that for one second."

"She overheard me confronting him. What difference does it make? She knows now." Nick backed off the steps and stood on the pavers leading to the road. "She's upset, and I'm trying to find her. I'm sorry to inconvenience you!"

Chelsea eyed him moving dejectedly across the lawn, and she was reminded of the horrible Christmas Eve years back – when she watched from her bedroom window as Nick, Thad, and Ben bashed her snowman to pieces in the front yard. Later that same evening, she let Nick in through her bedroom window, like a half-frozen Romeo, and he forced himself on her.

December, 1985

As they approached, their distant singing awoke her in the dead of the night, and their warbling battle cries aroused her sleepy curiosity. She had knelt on the bed and watched as they drunkenly stumbled over snow piles, armed with baseball bats. The trio daringly confronted the snowman she and her father had painstakingly built during one of his rare visits. It was yet another age inappropriate, pathetic attempt at father-daughter bonding, but Chelsea figured if he summoned enough of a sense of duty to want to build a snowman, she might as well not let her seventeen-year-old cynicism get in the way. Besides, who was she to discourage his momentary lapse into paternal nurturing?

As Chelsea held back the curtains and opened the second story window, a gust of icy wind ripped through her old baseball shirt, and their awful singing filled her ears. She perversely imagined her daddy's precious Frosty, with his coal eyes, wool scarf, bowler hat, and carrot nose was their supreme conquest of the evening. He had to be destroyed at all costs.

The outdoor lights blinked and cast a majestic glow on the ice sculpture, which sat directly in front of the living room picture window. The bat-wielding rogues gathered around the frozen beast, which stood indifferent to its impending demise. Definitely not holy wise men, the trio more resembled sorry looking arctic shepherds. The gifts they carried were Louisville Sluggers. Even in the frigid darkness, she could see they shook with anticipatory trepidation for the air was electric with their teen fueled testosterone, and she could see their breaths hot with excitement.

A couple months prior, both Ben and Nick had awoken Chelsea in the middle of the night to tell her they were both madly in love with her. She and Nick had been seeing one another secretly ever since, but she made him promise to keep their romance on the down low because he and Kate had recently broken up for the umpteenth time. Although Chelsea wished to spare Kate's feelings, Nick seemed intent on mauling her in front of his ex-girlfriend and her best friend at lunch. His logic escaped her, as did Kate's feelings of betrayal.

From the bedroom window, Chelsea watched Thad standing off to one side. Lame dreariness seeped from his pores as he slowly counted away the eternal seconds. For some unknown reason, battering Frosty to bits did not hold the same appeal for him as it did for Nick and Ben. Chelsea thought perhaps he was too drunk, or too sober, or too lacking in testicular fortitude. The blinking Christmas lights made his eyes cross dizzily, and he jammed his hands in his pockets with his bat hanging limply to one side.

Nick, on the other hand, stood fully erect, and his unflinching eyes teemed with perverse Neanderthal glee as they reflected the gleam of the flashing lights. With each crushing blow delivered to the snowman, beads of perspiration soared off his forehead, and Chelsea imagined the sweat pouring down his muscular chest and thighs. She shivered as he hammered away at her father's creation.

Like a blast from the local quarry, Nick's pent-up schoolboy aggression and frustrated sexual energy were an explosive mix. Chelsea's hand slipped beneath her ratty nightshirt. After dabbing them with creamy wetness, her fingers made tiny spirals around her hard nipples. The chilly night air and her own probing hand sent shivers down her spine.

Nick pushed Ben out of his way for more swinging room, but Frosty's frozen head would not budge. The illuminated snowman stood tall and defiant despite Nick's fervent efforts to reduce it to mush. Nick was the most intelligent person Chelsea knew apart from herself, but he was also the laziest. She imagined his Epicurean desires amounted to becoming a man of the world; to drink lots of beer, travel lots of places, and make love to lots of girls, and yet make a small difference before croaking as an old man with no regrets. With every blow, he beat back all the inferior nobodies defacing his existence, and perhaps he even reserved a few blows to beat back the little nobody who dwelt deep within himself.

Without warning, the porch light flickered on, and a bright glow instantaneously saturated the dimly blinking Christmas lights. Wearing a fuzzy bathrobe and carrying a shotgun, Ginny Norris stormed out the front door.

"You mother fuckers," she screamed out into the darkness of night.

Just then, Frosty's mutilated head gave way and rolled off with muffled plop. From fright Nick's grasp on the bat loosened and the Louisville Slugger soared from his sweaty grip. The bat crashed through the picture window and landed in the middle of Ginny's delicately decorated front room. The explosion of shattering glass was nearly as deafening as the subsequent terrified screech and proceeding gunshot.

Chelsea scurried off her bed and ran through the house with her ears ringing. As she joined her mother on the porch, all the lights in the entire neighborhood switched on. The empty street looked as if suddenly blessed by the star of Bethlehem. Ginny Norris scampered off the porch, tripped on slippery steps, and fell backwards on the ice. Sprawled on the slick walkway, she waved the imposing-looking weapon, which had pummeled their eardrums with an excruciating bang.

Waving her smoking gun animatedly, Ms. Norris yelled, "Just what the hell do you think you're doing?"

Thad fell to his knees and vomited a half-gallon of black Russians into the pristine snow. Ben winced, and a wet spot emerged in the middle of his jeans. Prepared to watch them all die one by one, Chelsea remained frozen on the porch. It was Nick who finally helped Ginny to her feet, and, in his all-American Boy Scout fashion, he dislodged the gun from her clenched fingers. Calm and collected, he coaxed their way into the house, where they drank hot cocoa spiked with Bailey's Irish Cream. After patching the window with garbage bags and duct tape, Nick promised the vandals would pay for the damage and perform reconstructive surgery on Frosty in the morning.

Later, after dropping off his cohorts in crime, Nick returned to the sight of the carnage and climbed through Chelsea's bedroom window. They kissed and made out until he became insistent they go all the way. Chelsea wrestled her way out from under him and walloped him alongside the head with her complete works of Shakespeare. When he finally passed out, she left him alone to sleep on the floor, only to be awoken hours later as he bore down on top of her. Taken by surprise, she was too drunk with sleep to resist him physically and let him have his way with her.

Evangelica was the only person Chelsea ever told about how she lost her virginity on Christmas Eve of her senior year of high school. Vange laughed mirthlessly at Chelsea, who asked if it were possible that Nick had date raped her and whether or not she should tell Kate. Ignorantly, Vange informed that if he did not orgasm it was not actually rape, and even more ignorantly Chelsea believed her. After all what did they know, they were just teenagers playing grown up games. Without any regard to her feelings, Vange haughtily informed Chelsea that letting him through the window had made it consensual, or else she was a cock tease. Vange told Chelsea she practically had sex with Nick earlier the same evening at a holiday party and she could care less if Kate ever found out.

Nick never called her throughout the duration of the winter break, and a few months after school started back up, he resumed his faithless spot alongside his ex-girlfriend.

Chelsea stepped from the safety of her mother's living room and found herself outside. Wondering what exactly was expected of her, she called out his name, and Nick halted in the middle of the lawn. With his hands stuffed in his pockets and his head held high, he mustered as much dignity as any sopping wet person could project. His stance was uncompromising as he patiently awaited her gleeful response to his own private hell.

"Nick, wait!"

"So you can gloat?"

"No, asshole, so I can help you look for her." Chelsea explained, "As a favor to Kate. I don't want to spend a sleepless night wondering if she's safe or not."

Nick remained standing alongside the curb, and Chelsea retreated in the house. A few moments later, she pulled up alongside him in her old Malibu and opened the passenger door. Nick slipped silently beside her, and he noticed she now wore track pants, but she was still braless under her linen nightshirt.

Taking the dry University of Michigan T-shirt she held out for him, he thanked her. Removing his soaked jacket and wet chambray shirt, he noticed luggage and boxes filled the backseat, "Going on vacation?"

"Something like that."

"I really do appreciate this."

"Don't. I'm not doing it for you."

"Regardless," Nick said, naked from the waist up. His hairless chest was not as defined as she remembered, but then again everything she had once known for sure was now blurred around the edges. Everybody and everything had gone to seed. "I don't know what I'd be doing right now if it weren't for you."

Full of hostile animosity, Chelsea demanded, "Don't you ever get sick and tired of telling people exactly what you think they want to hear?"

"What?"

"Do you have to be everyone's best friend at all times?"

"What's your problem now?" Nick snapped defensively. "I was merely thanking you."

"Make me barf, don't feel obligated."

"You think I have an ulterior motive? My intentions were honorable, believe me."

"I wonder, at the bottom of all your good intentions, do you even have a personality at all?" she asked, shaking her head. "It's so fake."

"At least people don't find me fake and abrasive," he said to the window, scanning the streets.

The car stopped under Portnorth's one traffic light at the intersection next to the newspaper building. "You pitiful bastard, if Kate has any sense at all, she'll leave you at the altar."

"I'd never agreed to this if I'd known you were going to be a total bitch about it," Nick said as he pulled on the dry, too tight T-shirt. "Let's hurry up and find Kate, so I don't have to sit here and suffer through any more of your sanctimonious bullshit."

"Oh, please," she erupted, "spare me!"

Chelsea drove her car through the blinking red light and pulled over to the side of the road. "Get out if you want. Go find her by yourself. I'm sick of pretending I care what happens to either one of you. You should've called one of your idiotic frat brothers to drive you all over God's creation looking for your runaway bride."

"I don't believe you. You have serious issues, have you ever considered seeing a psychiatrist?"

She put the car in park next to the newspaper building and smacked her palms against the steering wheel. "Oh yeah, I'm the one who's crazy. I can't believe Vange would consider killing herself over the likes of you. What a waste."

"More kind words," he observed. She was like a bottomless pit of nastiness.

More and more, California looked like an attractive getaway plan. She could not wait for the wedding to be over with, simply for the fact that she would never have to see any of them ever again. She sighed exhausted, and said, "Just get out, Nick. You don't want to be in this car anymore than I want you in it."

Pointing to a lone vehicle in the supermarket parking lot, Nick said, "There's the Jeep."

Nick bolted from the car and jogged across the pavement hoping for a sort of clue as to Kate's whereabouts. Chelsea turned off the Malibu ignition and joined him in the barren lot. The hood of the Jeep reflected a portion of the large illuminated sign that spelled out Foodliner in red letters. Whenever Chelsea saw the sign, she always repeated to herself one of Thad's more unforgettable mantras, "What the fuck is a Foodliner anyway?"

Nick inspected the empty vehicle as if he would find Kate sitting behind the wheel mindlessly gazing up at the Foodliner sign. While he hopelessly scanned the area, Chelsea suggested, "Maybe she walked down to the beach."

"What would she be doing there?"

"I don't know, maybe she'd rather take a long walk off a short pier rather than marry you."

Nick glanced up at the three-story newspaper building. It was the oldest and tallest structure in town, and a blinking haze glowed from the large attic windows. He walked toward the main entrance of the Portnorth Porthole.

Chelsea remained behind soaking up the desolation emanating from her wet surroundings. She had not yet left the city limits, but she was already feeling nostalgic for her lakeside hometown, which was more hell than hamlet these days. Hopeful, she could not help but think at twenty-three years old, she was at the end of something along with the rest of them. Morning in America had been a wildly successful political slogan of her youth, and the market-tested optimism was drummed into her head at the end of what was considered a national malaise. But morning had lingered too long and lasted all day, and an unremarkable dusk slipped away into an indistinguishable nighttime. Her youth had been spent clinging to false promises of a better tomorrow ornamented with snarky irony parading as wisdom.

Boiling inside of her was a reduction of rage and disappointment, voiceless and forgotten like a mute offspring tucked away in an attic. She hoped that tomorrow, the day of the wedding was rainy as well; moreover, she hoped for an Indian summer flood to rinse away everything and everyone littering her near perfect existence.

Inside the newspaper building, Thad hovered halfway down the stairs debating what he should do. Furious knocking created a disturbance at the front entrance while Kate melded herself into Ben. Her fingers dug their way into his shoulders and throat as she smashed herself against him. Ben inhaled all of her wet hungry mouth into his own while her nails blazed searing trails over his chest. She writhed against his body and clutched onto his long black hair and smothered his face against her small breasts.

Ceaseless hammering echoed in her aching head, and she automatically assumed it was the mounting pressure beating mercilessly against her brain ever since Evangelica landed in a comatose state.

Kate wrapped both her legs around his middle and pulled his face to her chest, with his shocked mouth between her breasts. The frantic banging only grew louder and more intense. In the frenzied moment, Ben struggled to place her feet down on the floor. But she was equally intent on wrapping herself around him as she muffled his protests with her Pez-like mouth.

From the corner of his eye, Ben watched Nick pounding away on the front door. With overwhelming rage, his face contorted with violence as he beat his fist against the glass door. Kate struggled to remove Ben's shirt, which was caught on the silvery chair around his neck while the glass door rattled so loudly it threatened to shake from its hinges if it did not first smash to bits. Growing unsteady, Ben strained to support Kate on his aching thighs as she wriggled against him full of a desire possessed by revenge. They fell onto the floor in a dizzy whirl-spin.

Kneeling across Ben's middle, Kate remained seemingly oblivious to the situation imploding around her as she grappled to free him from the confines of his T-shirt, which read "T2: Judgment Day" across the front. With the stairs finally unobstructed, Thad bounded downwards and whizzed past them in the direction of the battered door. Tangled up in his shirt, Ben blindly felt an ominous shock of fresh air against his bare abdomen as Nick's bellow of inhuman rage echoed throughout the room.

Nick hurled angrily past Thad, and Chelsea followed close behind. She yelled after him, "Calm down, Nicholas, before you do something else you'll regret."

Standing at the open door, Thad contemplated whether he should call the police, but he could not decide who posed a bigger threat: Nick or Kate? In one fell swoop, Nick plucked Kate off of Ben's waist and gently tossed her aside. She landed near the customer service counter where she remained crouched and hyperventilating.

Blinded by his shirt, which bound his hands over his head, Ben lay prone and shaking on the floor as he endured a kick to the ribs. In order to visualize the blows being delivered to his chest, he struggled to get up on his feet. Nick sympathetically grabbed the shirt and tore it off, freeing Ben from his straight-jacket-like constraints. Nick landed his first punch between Ben's pierced nipples and Ben gasped as Nick pelted him across the jaw.

"Stop it," Chelsea screamed at the top of her lungs. "Stop, or you'll kill him!" She ran to Nick and clung to his arm, but he merely shook her loose while she kicked at his shins.

"I can't believe this," Nick said. Mad as all hell, he lurched closer to Ben. "You turn me away, when I need your help most – so you can come here and fuck my wife!"

From a safe distance, Thad piped in, "You have it wrong, Nick, that's not the way it was."

"And she isn't even your wife yet," Ben added. He rubbed his sore jaw and staggered backwards.

"She might as well be," Nick said, pointing at Kate on the floor.

Soon they were locked in a near-death struggle, with Ben experiencing most of the death. Trying to force him to see reason, Chelsea leapt up on Nick's back and pounded her fists against his shoulders as she held onto the nape of his neck. Thad stepped up to the three interlocked beasts and attempted to pry them apart. Ben and Nick finally separated on their own accord, out of breath and weary. However, Chelsea remained perched on Nick's back with her hands gripped around his neck. If capable, she would strangle him with all her might. Nick attempted to shrug her off of his back, but her legs were wrapped around his waist. He tried to pry her fingers from his neck, but they would not budge.

"Get this crazy bitch off of me," Nick ordered, "before I trip and fall and crush her to death."

Ben and Thad reached for the back of her arms and pulled her off Nick. He unhooked her feet, which were interlocked around his groin, and they struggled to disentangle her. Finally, Chelsea found herself held confined between Thad and Ben. When they released her, she attempted to shove Nick away from them, but he pushed her backwards into Ben, who fell against Thad, who nearly tumbled over.

"You're lucky I don't hurt you," Nick said to Ben, his eyes reflected confusion and his voice crackled with betrayal.

"It's not as if you've been able to so far," Ben said, and he looked around for Kate, but she was nowhere in sight.

"Where's Katherine?" Chelsea vocalized their concern. She rubbed her sore arms, which would be bruised by morning.

Thad ascended the stairs two at a time, and he scanned the newspaper layout room. Lighting a cigarette, he called down, "She's not up here."

Nick cracked his sore knuckles and shook his hand, which hurt from connecting with such force against Ben's chest. Ever chivalrous, Nick swiped his rival's shirt up from off the floor and threw it at him.

"She must've left during the fight," Chelsea said unnecessarily, and she made her way to the glass front door.

Ben inspected his ripped T-shirt, and he felt his throat to make sure the silvery-blue necklace had not been lost during the scuffle.

Chelsea returned from outside and announced, "The Jeep is still here."

"And her purse," Thad said, holding it up. "Maybe she spontaneously combusted."

"I know where she could be," Ben offered, sticking his arm through the gaping tear in his shirt.

"And where might that be?" Nick asked. He was annoyed by Ben's claiming to know where his future wife had run off to, especially when he had not the slightest idea. "Where?"

"I bet anything she went back to the hospital," Ben said, and he watched Nick rush toward the door. Then he taunted lying, "Hey, Nick, even if me and Kate would have done it right here on this floor, it wouldn't have been the first time."

"You sonofabitch," Nick uttered, charging at Ben, nearly knocking Chelsea over in the process.

Nick reached out to grab Ben by the neck, and he ripped the chain from his throat. After bowling him over backwards onto the floor, Nick knelt across his middle and aimed a clenched fist at Ben's face. Ben squinted and contorted with fear as he tried to writhe away. But rather than delivering the deathblow he was surely capable of, Nick slapped his open palm forcefully against Ben's forehead and pushed his skull into the floor.

Turning away, Nick said resolutely, "You're not even worth the effort."

After Ben spat between Nick's eyes, the last thing Ben registered was Chelsea's shrill shriek and a popping sensation in the middle of his face that sent a stream of blood gushing down the front him while simultaneously seeping in the back of his throat. He never had any idea what a broken nose felt like until now.

chapter nineteen

part iii – don't dream it's over

Thad staggered through the narrow kitchen while swiping his bangs away from his face. The silver necklace was entwined in his fingers, and the rhinoceros charm dangled hypnotically before his sunken eyes. As he made his way through the dysfunctional galley kitchen, a mere hallway, it occurred to Thad he had never really liked the house he grew up in. But it was not to keep him from coming back.

"Um, where have you been?" demanded his sister, who sat at one end of the oversized dining room table. Bent over, lacing up her suede boots, she looked as if she were embarking on a midnight mountain stroll. The wrought iron chandelier dimly illuminated and softened her features.

"I've been working, you know that," Thad pointed out, nonplussed by her agitated state.

"Screw you."

"And greetings to you, too." He stuffed the necklace into the front pocket of his khakis.

"Sweet-ass job, dropout."

"You even apply to any schools yet? I got my BA remember, a degree in English? Christ, does everyone think I'm a drop out?"

"What the hell college graduate would come back to this hellhole?"

"Where you going?"

"I was coming to get you. We have to find mom."

"What?"

"Mom thought dad was flirting with skank slut Shayla at the bar, so she ran out and fell down the steps. Then brain-dead asshole watched her climb into a stranger's car before going back in for last call," Alexa explained irritated. She put on a fake fur coat that was clearly too small for her.

"So, mom is passed out in a stranger's car, and dad is getting drunk with Uncle Ed's new wife?"

"He says he wasn't. But when he finally left, mom was gone – and she has like 800 dollars in her purse."

"Wow, she could be halfway to Canada."

"I hate pay day."

"Where's dad now?"

"He's out looking for her in the station wagon," Alexa said, walking away. She yelled from the back door, "Hurry up, Thaddeus! I'm tired, and I've got to stand up in that stupid wedding tomorrow."

Thad thought it sounded like the wedding from hell. The groom screws the bride's stepsister who then attempts suicide; it was a Jerry Springer episode.

He tossed her the keys. "Maybe you should drive."

"You're drunk!" She raged, "You pickled motherfucker."

"It's not like I'm wasted or anything. I only had a few drinks at work," he said with a shrug.

"Good thing you inherited the alcoholic gene, not me."

She was out the backdoor, and he said to no one, "Who knows, our real mothers could be drunks too."

Thad fell into the decrepit Datsun, and Alexa mumbled a flood of obscenities until the engine finally sputtered to life. His fingers sifted through the trash at his feet until he found a crumpled pack of Camels. Stale smoke wafted from the cigarette, and he decided it was surreal they should be combing sleeping neighborhoods for their inebriated mother.

The streets were as lifeless as a hosed-down after hours morgue. Splicing the silence, Alexa raged on, "I wish we'd find that bitch face down in a ditch." The car hydroplaned passed boarded up buildings and through the town's only traffic light. Rather than locating her mother, Alexa was on a mission dislodge her very being from the past as if it was a joint she could pop out of place. They whizzed past a faded sign boasting politely, "Thank you for visiting Portnorth, Limestone Capital of the World."

Heading away from town, the Datsun chugged onto the highway and sped along the vast waters of Lake Huron. Perhaps they would find their mother washed up on shore in a heap on the beach.

Self-inflicting an excruciating pain, Thad pressed the rhino charm between his thumb and middle finger. The tiny metal horn burrowed into his skin. How had he come to repossess this gift from his only girlfriend? They had said their final good-byes months ago in a cold impersonal stairwell. She had slipped the necklace around his neck and let her fingers trace the V that it made as it dangled below his collarbone. It was a trite notion, but Thad had always imagined he would marry the first girl he ever made love to, and he told himself that is why was he never pursued any local Portnorth girls— for fear that such drivel were actually possible. Even now, Thad still believed he would marry the first girl he ever had sex with, and he wondered what she was doing now three hundred miles away while he was searching the dead of the night for his drunk mother.

"Is that her, over there in a pile?" Alexa asked hopefully. Scrunching up her unibrow, she pointed to the curb across from their parent's quaint house on the corner.

"It's only trash."

"Same difference," she quipped. "Let her sleep in the streets. She can rot in hell for all I give a flying fuck."

"Circle the block one more time, Al."

She did so without protest. As they rounded the corner, they noticed a door was open to a sprawling old garage behind their house. The enormous structure was now storage, but it once belonged to a gas company. Longhaired, grimy gas guys used to cruise around the neighborhood in their monstrous gray trucks. Back then, they spent more time cruising the local high school parking lot for girls to party with in their hotel rooms than searching for gas. Presently, someone had opened the doublewide garage door and wandered inside, perhaps looking for the remnants of a long forgotten good time.

"This can't really be happening, tell me this is only a bad dream," Alexa said. She stopped the car at the end of the driveway, not far from the open door.

"This nightmare is your life."

"Should we leave her here and go call the police?"

Their squat mother had trapped herself in the sprawling innards of the garage, and she now crawled mindlessly out from the blackness toward the headlights. Blinded, she was a maimed animal grasping for the white light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. From the bleeding gash above her left eye and the dirt smudged across her clothing, Thad deduced she had been fumbling through the cluttered darkness for no small amount of time.

Stopped in the driveway, Alexa realized how truly pitiful the sight was before them, and her foot instinctively pressed on the gas pedal. The Datsun lunged forward and rammed into a pile of old tires, which toppled over and besieged their mother with bouncing abandon.

Thad slugged her on the arm and yelled, "What the hell's wrong with you? You want to add matricide to list of character defects?"

"Screw you." Alexa focused her wild gray eyes on the wreck of a woman who stumbled blindly toward the glowing beams of the headlights. Her square jaw was clenched. At that moment, Jane Feldpausch had the same effect on her daughter as a lone, unsuspecting soccer ball in the backyard – it was too tempting not to run fast and give it a hard kick. Alexa put the car in reverse and once again attempted to mow down the brightly illuminated road kill.

"Are you crazy?" asked Thad. He grabbed hold of the steering wheel and swerved the car from its murderous course. The Datsun veered sharply to the left and collided into the garage. Once the sound of crunching rusted out metal subsided, the car rattled to a stop.

"Christ, Al, get a grip!"

She hung her head low, and her dark shoulder length hair fell forward. She muttered coldly, "You shoulda let me kill her."

A smattering of litter trailed behind him as he exited the car. With all the gracelessness of someone feigning sobriety, he fetched his mother and stuffed her into the front seat.

Oblivious, Jane Feldpausch sat ignoring the matted wound on the side of her head and drying blood trickling from the cut above her eye. The scratches across her cheek looked painfully raw, but she appeared numb. Thad wondered if the all-consuming anguish ripping at her insides outweighed the pain of all else. Her defunct ovaries had squelched her existence of any sort of life-purpose.

"Should we split the loot in her purse?"

"Let's just get her home to bed," Thad said wearily.

As he inspected the gash in his mother's head, he impulsively licked a smear of clotted redness from his thumb. He half expected his mother to taste of alcohol. Jane blathered nonsense while Alexa attempted to revive the dead automobile. Finally, she ordered Thad into the driver's seat so he could put the car in gear and steer. She pushed the car homeward wearing Tristana's A-line faux fur coat.

Once in the house, Jane charged to the refrigerator and cracked open a can of Miller High Life. She raised the beer to her lips with two hands and guzzled it down as if starring in her very own TV movie of the week. She pressed the cold can against her lacerated face and then flung it across the kitchen as she flew into a rage.

"Go-ta bed! Where's your father?"

"He's out looking for you."

"Don't lie to protect him. I know where he is."

"He's out looking for the paycheck you lost," Alexa said.

"He's with her!" screamed Jane. "He'd screw a snake if he could."

"Oh, shut up."

"See how she stands up for her precious daddy," Jane said. "Like father like daughter."

Alexa's voice cracked with regret as she said, "I wish you were dead instead of Aunt Kaye."

Jane lovingly whispered her dead sister's name, but then she exploded crazy mad. Her eyes became two slits of hatred, and her lips disappeared into crinkled slits. "You don't know nothin'. You don't know what it's like to lose a sister. I know, I've been there!"

"She's sorry," said Thad. "Al, say you're sorry."

"She's sorry?"

"Say it!"

"She's sorry?!"

"Ok, I'm sorry."

"I'm the one who's sorry! That's right, I'm barren, and she got cancer," said Jane, and she covered her mouth. Unsure whether her mother was going to vomit or cry, Alexa dodged out of the way and backed into Thad. Jane, ever a pillar of strength, fought tears. "I'll tell you one thing, little girl, I loved my sister."

"Then why did she hate you?"

"She was jealous! She was living a lie! If she were alive today, would her daughter be marrying for money, and would her son be a juvenile delinquent? Would her husband be with that whore?" Spittle showered past her lips as she emphasized, "I loved her, loved her, do you understand?"

"So what? You're crazy, and she was a miserable bitch," Alexa snarled. "I'm only sorry she's dead, and you're not!"

Jane snatched up a half-full glass of lime Kool-Aid from the kitchen counter and tossed the contents into her daughter's face. Alexa automatically grabbed the plastic pitcher and hurled it at her mother. Falling to her knees, Jane was blinded as the fluorescent green liquid ran freely down her face, unlike the blood coagulating around her cuts. Dripping green and gasping for breath, Jane struggled to her feet, but her hand felt something damp. She held up a pair of green-stained underwear.

"Whose are these?"

"Mine," Thad lied.

"Liar!" countered Jane. She did their laundry with religious devotion and knew better. She pointed at him flustered until she could manage to expel the words, "Boxers, not briefs."

"I'm into tighty-whities now. They're all the rage."

"Don't you cover up for that tramp!"

Hoping to appease their mother, Alexa said off-handedly, "Okay, they're mine. I got sopping wet in the rainstorm, and had to change my clothes in a hurry." She was caught off guard when Jane sprang to her feet and pelted her with the elastic waistband of the underwear.

"Freak!" Jane screamed. Beating on her towering daughter, she reprimanded, "My baby girl, a lezzie, wearing Fruit of the Looms!"

"Christ almighty," Thad burst, and he feebly pried his pit bull of a mother off his sister.

On the verge of tears, Alexa turned to him and asked, "What's wrong with you? Why would you ever come back to this hellhole? You don't belong here anymore than I do."

She had a point. Flashing red lights shone through the kitchen window, and Thad wondered what the hell he was doing here. When he and Alexa were much younger, their father would impulsively follow fire trucks. Once, it was to a farmyard fire. Unexpectedly, the incredible blaze, which they generally anticipated was accompanied by a horrifying sight of half-charred piglets running into a burning barn. "It's their home," their dad explained, "it's where they feel safest." With the air smelling cloyingly of bacon frying on a roaring campfire, Thad and Alexa wept for the baby pigs. Even now on Sunday mornings, with his mother in the kitchen making breakfast, he sometimes choked up thinking about the torched piglets.

"It's the police." Alexa peered outside. From the window, it appeared as if the sheriff's deputy was interrogating their father.

"Tidy up, Wilma, Fred's home," said Thad, as he wiped off his mother's face with the green-stained briefs. She swatted him aside and pushed Alexa out of the way of the window. She yanked it open wide.

"He tried to kill me!" Jane screamed at Deputy Czerwinski. "Throw his ass in the slammer and toss away the key."

"Mom!"

"He tried to shove me down a flight of stairs in cold blood!"

Flushed, Alexa pulled her mother out of the open window, and Thad slammed it shut. Jane spun around like a wobbly top and stopped in Thad's face. She emitted the sour, boozy stench of a tavern, and spit showered Thad as she yelled, "It's Screw-n-ski! That swinger couldn't even raise his own kids right, let alone all the bastard babies he's fathered all around town!" She stumbled to the fridge and grabbed another beer, "I told your father to buy a 30-pack!"

"Mom, go to bed, please."

"We have cousin Kate's wedding tomorrow."

Jane ignored the pleadings of her children and attempted to crack open the last beer. She blathered drunkenly, struggling with the can, "This wedding is a fiasco, a mess, and if my sister were alive, none of this shit would be going down."

"It really is time for bed."

"Here," she handed Thad the can, "open this goddam sonofabitch!" He cracked it open and guzzled down most of the contents before handing her the last swallow.

"You know what Screw-n-ski is? I'll tell you what he is; he's an asshole!" Her drunken tirade came to an abrupt halt when she remembered her husband was being accosted by the same police officer outside. "Yous wanna know what I heard tonight, straight from the mouth of Shayla-whore? Hop-along Czerwinski is her daughter's real father—

"What?" Thad interrupted.

"You heard me right, and now the daughter may never know because she's in a coma!" Jane began taste testing the empty cans on the counter, drinking whatever swill were fermenting at the bottoms. "That's not all, now Screw-n-ski's snooty-assed wife— that board up her ass bitch— is ditching him."

"Czerwinski is Vange's father?"

"Yup, and Nyda-the-Livin-Dead is also leaving The Church for the cult of bible beaters up on the hill! Can you believe it? That trash got caught embezzling from the Little League and the Dollar Store, and now she's a holy roller!"

"I can't believe it," Thad whispered.

Alexa ran from the house to see what was happening outside while Thad remained behind, half-heartedly listening to his mother's meandering, alcohol-fueled stream of conscience, blathering. He felt for the necklace in his pocket as if it were the Great White Hope.

Thad was never amazed by the complete and utter senselessness of these drunken episodes. To him, everything not bolted down was completely senseless; the more he fastened himself to his fleeting reality, the less it all made sense. Paralyzed, he could only watch the mayhem unfold. Lately, he had been going nowhere and doing nothing except revisiting all the old places he had already been. Surrounded by relics from the past, and none of it meant anything.

His mother pried the kitchen window open and shouted, "Czerwinski, you've got a daughter in a coma, and your wife is leaving you for Jesus! And everyone hates you!" Satisfied she had told the police officer exactly how things stood, she lit and proceeded to smoke the wrong end of one of Thad's cigarettes.

Fuming, Alexa barged back into the house and begged, "Shut that freak up, or they'll arrest dad."

"Oh, no, not her precious daddy! He tried to kill me! Shoved me down the steps so he could go home and make Shayla-whore another bastard, 'cause I'm incapable!" Jane stuck her head out the open window and let loose a tirade. "I can't help it my ovaries never worked! That scumbag tried to murderize me. Take him away! I'm afraid for my life, and the safety of my selfish, ingrate children who aren't even born of my womb!"

"You should be arrested!" Alexa yelled.

"Me?! For what?"

"Butchery of the English language for starters," Thad quipped.

Once again Alexa slammed the window shut, but this time she locked it and begged her mother to be quiet. Jane staggered away from them and fell into a heap in the dining room. Soon afterward, the flashing lights were extinguished, and officer Czerwinski sped away to resume his night beat across town.

Entering the house, Mr. Feldpausch sprung to his wife's side. He found her moaning under the dining room table, and he demanded to know where was the missing purse, which contained whatever was left of his paycheck. Jane groaned she was in too much pain to recall where she stashed the purse. But she mustered up the strength within herself to demand he oversee Alexa clean up the spilled lime Kool-Aid. Their father insisted Thad and Alexa go look for the purse while he mopped up the sticky green mess.

"Screw this shit. If I find any money, I'll keep it," Alexa spat.

"Listen here, your mother and I have given all we have to you," said Feldpausch. "We've sacrificed everything to give you a home."

"Well, your everything doesn't amount to much."

Feldpausch's blue-collar angst was released with a slam of his fist on the kitchen counter. He cried out, "I work my ass off for what?"

"So that fat bitch can lay on hers," Alexa said, pointing to the moaning pile rocking on the floor.

"That's your mother, for God's sake," he wailed. Their father swayed unsteady on his feet. "Where's the respect?"

"You tell her, you tell the little bitch," Jane encouraged, in between gasps of pain.

Close to tears, Alexa shook her head and whispered, "She was never a mother to me."

What she meant was Jane was hardly the mother she would have chosen, and Thad guessed, given a choice in the matter, he would have gladly taken a different father had one been offered. Thad envied orphans who were never adopted, because their parents were whoever they imagined them to be.

The Feldpausch's drunken antics were not usually this explosive or melodramatic. Generally, the intoxicated couple only taunted one another with mere talk of domestic Armageddon; rarely did they ever make good their empty promises.

Mr. Feldpausch reached out, grabbed his daughter by the collar and shook her. "You think you got it so bad? Tonight, at the bar, we ran into your Uncle Ed and Shayla. They're moving into the country, and they're not taking Jack."

"So what!"

"Think about it, your cousin will be put out onto the streets, he'll be homeless, and you think you've got it so rough."

She struggled to free herself of his grasp and rushed past them out the door. Her combative nature and continuous acts of rebellion made Thad embarrassed of his own passivity, but it was not quite enough to spur him into action. He walked past his father and descended the basement steps into the family rec room.

"Thaddeus, go look for that purse," Mr. Feldpausch ordered from the top of the stairs. "Two weeks pay is laying out there, waiting to be stolen."

Thad paid no attention and poured himself a tumbler of vodka. His parents confused their remote hometown with the anonymous inner city neighborhoods portrayed nightly on TV shows like "COPS". If anyone happened to find a purse, he or she would drop it off at the police station. If someone was curious enough to look inside, they might even go out of their way to drop it off at the house. However, having spent the past decade sprawled in front of the TV eating potato chips and drinking beer had distorted the Feldpausch's own sense of reality. Television had brainwashed them into thinking themselves as setting on the edge of a seething ghetto. When in reality, Portnorth sat forgotten at the edge of the world, slowly being washed away by the endless waves of Lake Huron.

"Thad, go find that damned purse!"

In the family room, Thad remained seated cross-legged on the floor despite a crashing noise, which sounded like a sack of potatoes rolling down the steps. In the subsequent blissful silence, he stared blankly at the silvery blue rhinoceros necklace, and he thought of the girl who'd taken it off her neck in what seemed like the previous lifetime.

He picked up the phone and dialed the number to the downstate subdivision seemingly so far away it might as well have been in a foreign country.

"Hello - Hello," a hoarse voice stammered groggily.

Hesitantly, Thad began, "I - I was just wondering if I could speak w—

"Who is this, do you know what time it is?" the woman demanded, roused from her suburban slumber.

"About two a.m., ma'am."

"Is this you again, Thad?"

"Yes."

"She's not here." The voice explained curtly, "She lives in Ann Arbor now with her fiancé."

"Oh, Okay."

"I'll tell her you called, when I see them on Sunday for dinner."

"You want my number?"

"I don't think it's a good idea, bye," she said, and his momentary connection with civilization was severed.

Thad hung up the phone and rolled over onto the floor. Marooned in a fetal state of apathetic indifference, he finished off the bottle of vodka and passed out on the floor with the chain entwined in his fingers.

chapter twenty

Ben crawled across The Lounge floor past flitting shadows in order to retrieve his randomly discarded clothing. He scurried low to the floor so he could dodge headlights sporadically streaming through the dining room windows. They had come here with the intention of treating his wound with a First Aid kit, but one thing led to another and they ended up having sex in a circular booth across from the bar, and now he was attempting to slip out unnoticed.

His only objective was to escape without facing her, and once safely home he would bury himself in sleep without dissecting the evening's skewed turn of events. Ben did not want to contemplate anything except the empty king-sized waterbed awaiting him. On his hands and knees, he found his ripped, bloody T-shirt on one of the vinyl swivel chairs. He sighed with relief, stuffed it in his back pocket, and ambled toward the main exit.

As he opened the door, an obstinate voice said, "How typical."

He guiltily turned around to face Chelsea. She was scantily clad in one of the floral tablecloths, and her arms were crossed. She inquired, "Is this the shoddy good bye treatment my mother and Evangelica get?"

"I-I'm sorry." Ben struggled to find the right words. "I thought you were asleep. I didn't want to wake you. It's so late, and you need to get some rest, with tomorrow being such a big day and all."

Chelsea nodded her head, swiped her cropped blond hair away from her steely eyes and walked away. She called over her shoulder, "Well, then don't let me keep you."

Ben followed her back to the bar area where she poured a tumbler of club soda. While drinking slowly, she pretended to be disinterested in the way his black leather jacket rested seductively against his bare chest, which was the color of raw honey. She acted as if the glimmer of the hoop earrings piercing his nipples held not the slightest bit of intrigue, and she could care less about his tattoos or his ass hugging jeans. As long as Chelsea kept her eyes focused on the ice floating in her glass, she could smother the fire smoldering in her eyes.

"I-I don't have to leave if you don't want me to," he said, and he pointed his bruised, swelling nose. "It's just my face. It hurts."

"Don't you have a date with your boss?" Chelsea asked. She gathered the tablecloth tighter across her chest and flattened her already small breasts. "On your way out, check to see if my mother's left a light on for you."

"Please, leave your mom out of this," Ben requested. "I thought if I stayed it might make things awkward in the morning, that's all."

"For me, you, or mother dearest? How do I know you weren't thinking of her when you were with me? Or Evangelica for that matter?" she asked, shifting uncomfortably when he stepped closer. "How do I know you weren't thinking of them, or that airhead matron of honor?"

"You don't. What does it matter?"

"Ugh, all of the sudden I feel so cheap. Maybe you should go."

Ben placed his hands on the bar and leaned directly in front of her. He propped himself up on the counter top and removed the glass from her trembling hands. Kneeling on the bar, he lightly kissed her forehead and placed his hands on her bare, tanned shoulders.

Chelsea backed away, out of his reach and said, "I don't think a repeat performance is necessary."

"Chels, I don't have time for games."

"It appears to me, Benjamin, that time is one thing you have an overabundance of," she said icily.

"What does that mean?"

"Please, give me some credit. What could you possibly not have time for? Your obligations amount to tending my mother's bar and bed."

Ben jumped off the counter and joined her next to the cash register on the other side of the bar. Unable to believe he was actually defending himself, he protested, "But that's not all I do. I paint houses in the summer, and I help coach the cross country and track teams."

"You're a glorified gigolo is all," she said flatly. "And a relatively cheap one at that."

"Where do you get off judging me?" Ben asked. "You've got no right, you don't know me."

"What is there to know, except you're easy on the eyes and so-so in the sack?" she asked. "Vange knew you well, and look where she ended up. The bottom line, Benjamin, is you're not to be counted on."

His face flushed at the mention of Evangelica's name and what she was insinuating, and Chelsea immediately regretted having mentioned their indisposed friend. "I give up," he said shaking his head, and he made his way around the bar and stormed off. She called out his name and followed him to the main entrance. At the door, she grabbed his sleeve when he reached for the dead-bolt lock. Naturally, he pulled away.

"I'll give you some advice," Ben said bitterly. "Law school is the perfect place for you. You're so hell-bent on prosecuting everyone who surrounds you. You don't know one thing about my relationship with Vange, so stick it up your lily white ass."

"I'm sorry. Maybe I was out of line."

"Maybe?"

"All I'm trying to do is better understand a few things, that's all," she said softly with regret.

"The best defense is a good offense, right?"

"I'm sorry if it sounded as if I was attacking you."

"Don't worry about it."

"Would you like a drink on the house, before I drive you to your bike?" Chelsea asked remorsefully. Her eyes pleaded for him to accept the peace offering.

He planted a small sympathetic kiss on her cheek, and they made their way to the liquor stash. With little modesty, she climbed over the counter and poured him a cold beer from the tap. He accepted it and thanked her without any trace of hard feelings.

"Are you in love with either of them?" Chelsea asked without thinking.

Exasperated, Ben rolled his eyes and flashed her a look of warning. "Wracking up future ammunition?"

"No, positively not. Honest."

Ben sighed as he twirled the beer mug in a circle with his index finger hooked around the handle. He felt uncomfortable discussing the details of his relationship with Ginny Norris with her only child. "Your mom is totally accepting and carefree. Nothing brings her down, Chels."

"Do you love her?"

"I feel like a grown up when I'm with her. We both know it'll end sooner rather than later, and it's purely accidental we ever hooked up in the first place."

"Sounds like a pleasant mistake."

"No, I wouldn't call it a mistake," Ben corrected as he watched her sip her soda. "Your mom's the best, she doesn't have a care in the world."

"Hence there lies the problem, she doesn't have a care in the world," she protested. "Ever since the third grade it's always been she and I against the world, but I never felt we were a team, she's always just never had a care in the world."

"You're mom is devoted to you," Ben said. "You mean more to her than anything in the world. What does she have to do, throw herself in front of a bus?"

"Maybe. I've always watched the way she was with her customers, and she's always the same with everyone, so diplomatic, so kind and so caring. There's no special treatment."

"Because they all get the special treatment."

"She keeps her professional distance." Chelsea shrugged and added, "Maybe most of the time, I feel like one of her patrons."

"You're overreacting," he said, reaching out to give her a hug.

"What about your relationship with Evangelica?" she asked, and he folded her into his arms. "Are you in love with her?"

"I don't think anyone could make sense of us."

"Try me."

Ben's face grew warm with affection as he thought about Vange. To prove his point, he dug in his pocket and handed Chelsea a tattered slip of stationery.

"So long and sorry, Darling, when we found a rip in heaven, we should have just ascended then," she read incredulously. "What does that even mean?"

"Exactly. It's a song lyric from Aimee Mann. Your guess is as good as mine," Ben confessed. "It's her suicide note."

"That's it? How cryptic. How vague."

"That's our relationship in a nutshell, vague," Ben said, and he grinned slightly as he envisioned Vange. "She was more than my best friend. We got really close when everyone else left for college, and it got to the point where we were always there for one another, no matter what, no strings."

"Not exactly monogamous."

"Even if we're in relationships with other people, we always manage to end up with one another."

"Is it love?"

"It's deeper than that, it's more like incest," Ben said, and Chelsea's eyes widened with increased interest. His relationship with Evangelica was the greatest bond he had ever felt with another person, but it was problematic. He was unsure how to verbalize his ambivalence in such a way as to do justification to his deep abiding feelings. "We know one another so well, we joke sex is like masturbation."

"Sounds intense."

"She calls me her psychic twin and mentor," Ben said laughing. "It's been mostly good times with her."

"And the bad?"

"You know, she has borderline personality disorder. I can tell when her mood is about to change, even before she can."

Chelsea poured him another beer and seated herself next to him. They positioned the bar stools, so they were facing one another with his knees on either side of hers. She observed, "It must be difficult loving a person like that."

He shrugged. "Sometimes the hardest people to love need it the most."

"Still, Ben, the mood swings must be difficult to deal with."

"Here's the thing, it never feels like I'm dealing with some big crisis," he explained. "Her moods are on a natural cycle that fluctuate like the seasons."

"Or PMS from hell."

"Magnified," Ben stressed. "She has a really irritating way of being apologizing if you spend any time with her, it's like she feels sorry for you having to deal with her. I always wondered what happened, to make her feel like such a burden to the world?"

"Maybe it was because her father killed himself," Chelsea suggested, "or because her mother married five different times."

Ben silently stared into his beer for a few reflective minutes, "She called me last night."

"And—

"And I didn't even bother to pick up the phone."

"Ben, you didn't know."

"I heard her crying out for help, and I did nothing," Ben said without emotion, and he swallowed the last drop of his beer. "But she called me like that all the time, and she always claimed it was life-threatening, and I always rushed to her. Except this one time when she needed me most."

"There was no way for you to know," Chelsea said, placing her hand over his. "You can't blame yourself."

"What I blame myself for is her messing around with Nick," Ben said. "Lately, things between us had become pretty tense, with the pregnancy and all, and this wedding. Also, Vange was sort of jealous at times of your mom, and then when she saw me hitting on Kate's bridesmaid at the bar last night –

"She went a little crazy."

"The weird thing is, I think I was trying to feel closer to Kate."

"By sleeping with her matron of honor?"

"By being with someone from her world."

"It was a callous thing to do, and Vange slept with Nick to get back at you," Chelsea said, trying to comprehend the inner politics of their dysfunctional relationship. "Ben, it doesn't make any sense."

"Why not? Our whole relationship doesn't make any sense." Playing with his empty mug, he said, "It's like we're both too stubborn to admit that we really care for one another, and now it looks as if she doesn't mean anything at all, but that's so not the case."

"Benjamin, it sounds like you were both doing the same thing," Chelsea said. Her attention shifted from his downcast eyes to his hands, which were in an odd sort of tug-o-war with a tattered napkin. "You can't blame yourself. She made the decision to take those pills. It was her choice, and if you ask me, it was a pretty shitty thing to do. It's seems so weak."

"She's the strongest person I know, but she counted on me to save her," Ben said flatly. "I let her down, time and time again."

"You're being too hard on yourself."

"All I know is if she happens to, well, you know. If that happens, then I've lost the one person who'll always mean more to me than everyone else. And I don't have anyone to blame but myself."

"I don't know," Chelsea said and sighed sadly. She empathized with his pain, and she felt compelled to give him a hug, but he remained dry-eyed and inconsolable, distant and unreachable. "You can't carry this guilt around with you for the rest of your life."

When she let go Ben rose to his feet and brushed his hair away from his battered face. It was time to go. She insisted on giving Ben a ride to his bike. From the foyer, he watched her pull the linen nightshirt over her head and let the tablecloth fall to the floor. Then she stepped her strong runner's legs into the ratty jogging pants.

They left the lounge arm-in-arm.

Main Street was desolate and dimly lit for as far as they could see, and if they had wanted to, they could have rolled a bowling ball or shot a cannon through the middle of it. By the time Chelsea parked her car outside the newspaper building behind his bike, Ben's hand had already reached for the door handle.

"I'm sorry— this probably wasn't the most ideal one night stand."

"Don't be sorry," she said. It's not as if she necessarily desired a meaningless late night encounter.

"Um, thanks for putting up with me," he said, lost for words. He gave her a slight peck on the cheek with his lips; in return, she abruptly kissed him full on the mouth and inadvertently bumped his sore nose.

"Oh, my nose."

"Sorry."

"I can't believe Nick clocked me so hard," he said, rubbing his watery eyes. "Maybe it's broken."

"I think so, but I'm no doctor," Chelsea said, and they sat quietly for an uninterrupted moment. "You should really come with me to California. I've decided to skip the wedding reception and leave right after the ceremony tomorrow."

"In your bridesmaid dress?"

"If need be."

"Well, it looks like you're all packed," Ben said, glancing at the luggage and boxes that filled the backseat. He had never imagined her to be so carefree as to throw caution to the wind and follow her bliss. For as long as he had known Chelsea, it always appeared her life was consumed by too many obligations. It did not leave much room for any sort of freedom, which generally afforded the luxury of choices.

"I'll finish packing when I get home," she said. "I have to leave away from here, Ben, and it looks to me as if you could use a vacation yourself."

"I don't know, Chels, it doesn't sound very feasible." He explained, "We start painting a new house Monday. All those people are depending on me, and what about Vange? I can't just skip town with her in a coma."

"Thad had a long list of excuses too," she said disappointed. "But for the life of me, I can't remember what they were."

"They're not excuses, I think they're called responsibilities."

"Well, whatever you call them, there will always be plenty of reasons to keep you stuck here in this town forever," she said solemnly, and waited for him to exit the car.

Ben made no effort to leave the quiet sanctuary of her Malibu, and he imagined her working as a waitress in California, flirting with surfers and hanging out. He pictured himself sticking it out in Portnorth while working away and occasionally having sex with her mother. Chelsea's thoughts mirrored his, except it seemed unfair that her mother should enjoy such fantastic bedroom encounters with Ben, and she wished he would abandon his life for an excursion with her into the setting sun.

As Ben opened the car door, the interior light flashed on. In their dimly lit confines, he leaned over and gave her a good-bye kiss on the cheek. Seizing one last ditch effort to persuade him to change his mind, Chelsea grabbed hold of the back of his head and crushed her mouth against his neck. Her index finger toyed with his pierced nipple, and her mouth traced a wet path over his jutting collarbone.

"Chels, it's way late," Ben pointed out.

Tossing her fierce dignity to the wayside, along with her nylon pants, she insisted, "I don't care. Fuck me again. You'll never have to see me again after tomorrow."

"What, no-strings are supposed to make it all the more tempting?"

"Just shut up and unbutton your pants," she ordered.

Chelsea climbed aboard his lap, and her eager hands gripped his wiry forearms for support. He raised his hips, lifted his butt off the seat and allowed her to tug his black jeans down to his knees.

"We're right in the middle of town, almost under the red and green light," he protested pointlessly to her small round breasts, which peaked through her nightshirt.

"What about yellow? Everyone always forgets about yellow, but Portnorth is the kind of town where a yellow light means slow down, not speed up," she rambled. "Remember me always, Ben. Think of me, promise, whenever you slow down for the yellow light."

"Okay, okay," he said. When he felt her hand maneuvering him inside of her, he reminded her, "We don't have another condom."

"So what, or are you HIV positive?" she asked. She couldn't imagine anyone in Portnorth having AIDS, and she figured Portnorth was probably such an incestuously small town it easily could be wiped out by plague or petulance.

Ben shrugged, indicating he was safe as far as he knew. She laughed and chided, "Then I don't care if you get me pregnant, our baby would be beautiful."

"Okay, just watch out for my nose. If it weren't for my shirt, Nick wouldn't have gotten in so many good punches," Ben said, and she placed an index finger over his mouth.

Chelsea gasped when she felt herself engulf his member in its entirety. As she slowly moved him in and out of her, her forehead pressed into his collarbone while her bobbed hair bounced against his bare chest. Sliding closer to him, one of her knees dug into the vinyl seat, and the other slapped against the door causing the interior light to flick on and off. His hands encircled her tiny waist, and he supported her rocking hips while his fingertips massaged the small of her back. His streaming black hair brushed anxiously against her breasts.

Headlights temporarily flooded the car, and Chelsea surged forward as the rising waves of satisfaction lulled against her inside. She faded against him, jolted by the jerking spasms of his moist thighs beneath her. The seat was slippery with their sweat, and she felt his wetness seeping from her. She remained straddling him while gazing deeply into his pleased, dark almond eyes.

"I love fucking you," she said breathing hard into his ear.

"You're not so shoddy."

"Am I better than my mother?" she asked, and he grew rapidly flaccid inside of her. "I'm sorry, I couldn't help it."

"Forgiven," he said, and he generously kissed her frowning lips several times.

"Will you think of me next time you're with her?"

"You don't quit, do you?" he asked, smiling tiredly. Then he informed her it was probably time they said goodnight. Once again, headlights shone into the car, and he was graced with an up-close and personal view of her small athletic frame.

Chelsea climbed off of him, and she did not bother putting on her pants. Instead, she watched him pull up his black jeans, and while he buckled his belt, she leaned over and kissed his neck below the ear. Although her mouth lingered on his wet lips, he pulled away and left her sitting alone under the traffic light. She watched him mount his bike, wave casually and drive off in the direction of the highway.

For a long while, Chelsea sat there feeling strangely satisfied and yet hungry with longing. She regretted not having any excuses or responsibilities to tie her down in the place she loved more than any other in the whole entire world. The great wide open was hers to discover and conquer in solitude, but all she really longed for was a person to attach herself to, preferably one from her adopted little hometown where nothing ever changed, and everything remained comfortably the same.

chapter twenty-one

The hospital room was dimly lit from the outside streetlamps. Leaning against the window, Nick's shadow loomed over Evangelica's bedside. Jack dozed in a chair, and one of his scrawny arms lay across Vange's waist. Their labored breathing sounded in unison throughout the room.

In the darkness, it looked as if Vange was sleeping so soundly that she would wake up in the morning fresh-faced and dewy eyed. Jack sat with his face in his arms on the bed, and his downward position concealed his many lacerations and bruises. Nick's weary eyes roamed from Jack to the chair at the foot of the bed, where Kate sat stiffly gripping the arms. She remained fixed in this position ever since leaving Jack's side.

Earlier, Nick found her protectively maternal suspended over her younger brother. While watching Kate run her fingers through Jack's stringy blond hair, he saw a sense of nurturing responsibility stirring within his future wife. It occurred to him Kate, Jack and Vange all shared a common world-weary toughness; however, Jack and Vange's matching hospital gowns served as testimony to their defeat, whereas Kate's disheveled appearance was the hallmark of a true survivor.

Kate had not even glanced at Nick since he invaded the hospital room with a change of clothes for her, and she refused to offer a response whenever he quietly whispered her name. She continued sitting statuesque in the chair with her eyes downcast. Under the dim lights, the spots of her dress that were still white leapt out from behind the dried mud, blood, and wine stains. She looked like a ghostly corpse who had been mowed down by Mack truck.

The digital clock hanging above the monstrously huge hospital bed indicated it was almost three in the morning, and Nick found it impossible to believe tomorrow was his wedding day. He felt unnerved and exhausted, but there was no way he could plunge into sleep with so many issues unresolved between them. Unnoticed, he watched her, and he was impressed with her facade of resolute calm. He speculated the extent of her feelings of betrayal and guessed she was churning inside with bitterness, but he had no way of knowing her exact emotional state because she gave no indication of her feelings.

When Kate rose to her feet, she picked up the clothes he had set aside for her and walked dazed into the bathroom. He waited until she emerged wearing scrubs he borrowed from a nurse, and he followed her down the hall to the lounge, where she extracted a pungent cup of coffee from an unreliable looking vending machine.

Kate stepped around Nick as if he was an inanimate object, and she remained frozen when he reached out and touched her arm. Moving away from his grasp, she encircled him without speaking, and she fixated her gaze coldly on him.

"Honey, we need to talk," he began.

"About what?" she asked, with determined intensity to sound calm and rational, which only made her seem insane.

"Don't you think we need to discuss a few things?" Nick asked, and he continued pointedly, "Tomorrow is our wedding day and you're acting like a complete stranger. How can we walk down the aisle like this?"

Unsure whether or not she wanted to be anything more than strangers, Kate said blankly, "I don't know, you tell me."

Nick motioned to the mauve, half-circle couch, and he invited her to sit down to discuss what had happened in the past twenty-four hours.

"What's there to talk about? You slept with her, and she tried to kill herself," Kate said. "End of story."

Nick sighed and regretfully shook his head. Still wearing his crumbled sandstone suit. His open chambray shirt revealed a too tight U of M T-shirt, and he seemed pathetic for the first time she could remember. His bloodshot eyes and look of loss compelled Kate to take a seat on the ugly sofa.

She refused to look up at him and demanded, "Well, start talking."

"Why did you attack Ben like that?" he asked, swaying before her. "Especially when you saw me outside the door. What was that all about, some sort of revenge?"

Kate expelled a burst of ironic laughter. Her feet instinctively threatened to carry her away. "You want to discuss my behavior? I don't think so."

Nick sat and folded his hands together under his chin as if praying for everything to work out. "Please, Katie, we have to start somewhere."

"Well, let's start with this – do you know how worthless you've made me feel? Can you even imagine the humiliation?" Kate asked, and she sat back down across from him on top the coffee table. "Maybe that's why I did what I did with Ben, to make you feel as small as I felt."

"It worked," Nick whispered. "I can't believe I lost it so bad I slugged him like that. I feel horrible."

"So what? Does this mean we're even because you feel bad about punching out a high school buddy you barely talk to anymore?" Kate asked angrily. "Is that how this works?"

Nick moved to sit closer to her, and she shirked away as if he posed a threat of contamination. She was disgusted by the mere thought of him touching her. They remained silent for a long time while Kate sipped the coffee and Nick sat stooped over with his hands resting on his chin. The minutes dragged with the silent exchange of her animosity and his brooding.

Finally, he turned to her and said with complete sincerity, "I'm so sorry. You can't know how much I mean it. There's nothing I can ever do to make this up to you, but please at least let me try." He did not understand what she was thinking or feeling, but he needed her to help him to understand. He paused and then added, "I never intended to jeopardize our future together."

"The only thing you never intended was getting caught," she said. "I didn't think I'd have to deal with this crap until you were at least out of medical school."

"Kate, I-I love you," Nick stammered, and he leaned forward so he could look directly into her eyes. "Believe me, above all else I love you more than anything."

Kate reached out for his unsuspecting hand and leaned into him. She rested her other hand against his chest and flattened her open palm against him. Then she balled up a fist and calmly slugged him several times.

"Damn you," she whispered. "My whole heart is filled with nothing but hatred for you." She detested him and hated that he made her hate him so much there was no room for anything else. "Sitting there in the hospital room, I want to feel something for Vange, to feel sympathy, but all I can do is think about how I hate and despise you."

"Kate—

"How will I ever be able to trust you ever again?" she asked hopelessly. Tears streamed down Kate's smudged cheeks. "Is this how you're supposed to spend the eve of your wedding day? I don't think so, Nick, I don't think so at all."

"I can't stand what she's done to us," Nick said. He was painfully aware his future wife was more than anything inconsolable.

"Don't blame this on her. She's given us more than we deserve."

He shook his head, unable to fathom her faulty logic. "What has she given us, except reduce our lives to a melodramatic soap opera?"

"Don't you see? She's given us the truth," Kate said. "How can I deny she's in a coma, and the two of you were together last night – two nights before we're supposed to be married?"

Kneeling before her, Nick took her trembling hands into his own, and he said softly, with his voice breaking, "I can't change what's happened, and maybe I don't deserve a second chance, but it seems I've lost you in the worst way possible. If it's the last thing I do, I want to make this up to you."

"Really?"

He glanced away, trying to contain his remorse. "I love you, Kate."

"You can't bring her back, Nick," she said. Tears rolled down Kate's olive cheeks, and silence confirmed her deepest fears. "You can't bring her back."

"Right now, Vange has been stabilized, but she's in critical condition," Nick said, and he gently caressed her hands and rubbed her forearms. "With each passing moment, her chance for recovery grows slimmer. Honey, you don't want to hear this, but I've got to be honest."

"Why start now?"

"Things don't look so good, Katie, you've got to face the possibility –

"I don't want to face anything, it's too soon to give up hope."

"Just be prepared for the worst," he warned. He rose from his kneeling position and sat down beside her. "I just wish I knew why she did it. I never thought she would try to get to get even by swallowing a fist full of pills."

"Is that why you think she did it, out of spite for you?" Kate asked, shocked by his egotistic outlook. She pulled her hands from his and smoothed her soiled dress over her thighs. "Maybe she did it because she couldn't face me."

"Kate, don't be ludicrous."

"Don't even think about twisting the facts – just to ease our conscience. If only I was different, then she wouldn't have taken such extreme measures. If I was half the person she was, she could have just told me what happened, and I would deal with it –

"Maybe she couldn't live with herself," he said. "Honey, you can't blame yourself."

"Who's to blame then, you alone?" Kate asked, and she shook her head. "She couldn't have cared less about you, Nick, so why would she kill herself over you?"

He turned away frustrated by her reasoning. He was not altogether convinced Vange cared about Kate. It did not make any sense, and he was unwilling to accept the guilt she was straddling herself with – and even more, he could not accept the guilt she was unloading onto him. It was as if they were co-conspirators in Evangelica's impending demise.

"I wish I could walk away from this whole mess," Kate said to his back. More than anything, she wanted to fast forward their lives into the future in order for this whole weekend to be in a distant memory, with an option never to look back.

"If you'd like, I can call our dads and have them postpone the wedding," he offered. "I don't think anyone would blame us under the circumstances."

"Who am I to rob you of a second chance? It's sad to say, but I don't want to walk away out of principle and then spend the rest of my life wishing we were married."

"We can elope at a later date, when things calm down. Anyone can run, Kate, but you're not made like that," Nick said.

From across the room, she looked lost sitting alone on the long couch, like Princess Diana stranded at the Taj Mahal. He moved closer to emphasize his point, "Chelsea that nitwit, is running off to California, Thad runs to the bottle, and Ben runs from one one-night-stand to the next. Vange has run into the open arms of death itself, but that's not you, Kate. You're stronger than that."

She shook her head in disagreement and looked up at him. "No, we're all one and the same – because tomorrow at the altar, I'll be running to you."

"You don't mean that."

"Maybe it's the truth that has everyone running scared, but Vange has given me a truth I can't deny or run from."

"What truth?"

"It was a one night stand, wasn't it, Nick?" Kate asked, dreading his response. Her knuckles were white as she clenched her hands into two fists at her side. "I mean, you only slept with her this once, right, except for the time way back in high school? Right?"

Speechless, he studied her tormented brown eyes, which brimmed with resignation. "You're needlessly torturing yourself."

"She wasn't in love with your or anything like that, was she?"

"No, of course not, she's always loved Ben."

"When was the last time you were with her?"

"Kate—

"I need to know, tell me."

Nick shook his head, and his silence confirmed her suspicions. She sighed deeply and said, "That's what I thought. I was in her apartment earlier tonight, and I found her checkbook, on one line she had written, where it states the purpose, she wrote Abortion."

"What does that have to do with us?"

"You tell me, Nick. What would her abortion have to do with us, with you?"

"So, you think Evangelica aborted what was my baby?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"For chrissakes, Kate, who is to say it wasn't Ben's baby, or Thad's for that matter? Jesus, for all we know, it could've been half this town's kid," he only stopped because she placed two fingers over his mouth. Nick slipped away and said, "Don't do this, not to me, and not to you."

Holding onto herself, Kate walked away and faced the vending machines. It was as if she were trying to make one last selection, and for a handful of change the rest of her life would spit out, neatly wrapped and uniformly mass-produced. It would be what she always longed for, a picture-perfect cookie-cutter existence like her suburban gaggle of galpals.

Kate thought about her mother working tirelessly to be the perfect wife, mother and citizen. Her mother's need for harmony and balance had been thrown out of whack by the harsh realities life had to dish out. It had been a struggle for her mother to realize that life is not a place where people can be made to fit preconceived views of perfection. And it now seemed Kaye Hesse had taken on the weight of her home, neighborhood, community and world until it crushed her. All Kate's life, her father had told her she was the best, simply because she was a Hesse, but it was her mother who showed her how to be her best self.

"My mom spent her whole life waiting to be happy. She worked so hard to be perfect, all just to minimize the cold hard truth that seems so obvious now," Kate whispered blankly, staring into her reflection at the vending machine.

"Honey, what're you saying?"

"I don't want my life to be an all-consuming lie that drains me of every last thing until there's absolutely nothing left to do except wither away and die," she said morbidly. Then she turned to face him, and she asked, "Tell me if I die after we're married twenty-five years, would you dredge the gutter and marry anyone, all because you couldn't face being alone?"

"I—I don't understand what you're getting at," he said, struggling to comprehend her line of thought.

"This whole town laughs at my father for marrying Shayla Whiley, but it's only because they don't want to admit it could happen to them," Kate said. "Tell me, Nick, will you treat me the way your dad treats your mom? Will you have affairs and lie about them? Or even worse, flaunt them in my face? Will I put up with it and stay with you, because I'm too afraid to be alone?"

"We don't have to become our parents," he assured.

"The funny thing is, we already are," she answered, and she wrapped her arms around him as if he were all she had. She felt his heart beating against her cheek, and she longed to be reassured that everything would work out fine, but she could never truly believe it now.

Shivering, Kate pulled away. Looking down at hospital-issued slipper clad feet, she wondered, "What am I even doing here. What's the point?"

Nick held onto her and said, "You have to do what makes you happy. That's what it's all about, Kate, and it's the hardest thing of all."

"Did having sex with Evangelica make you happy?"

Before he could reply, an intrusive commotion erupted at the end of the brightly lit hallway, and it had spilled over infringing on their private moment. In a mad dash, Jack came running toward them with his one open eye reflecting terror. With his abrasions showing through his skimpy hospital gown, he looked like a freshly minted pint-sized Frankenstein monster.

"It's Vange! The machine she's hooked up to went haywire. I called for a nurse and—

"Come on," said Kate taking him by the hand. Together they ran down the long corridor until they found her hospital room filled with a frantic swarm of busy nurses in scrubs. Off to one side, brother and sister stood watching them work on their ailing stepsister.

Sturdy Dr. Paull rushed past them and filled the room with his energetic, authoritative commands. In front of them, a nurse pulled closed the curtain and concealed the patient behind billowing whiteness.

"Oh God," Kate shuddered, holding onto Jack. "What're they doing to her? Hasn't she suffered enough? Why can't we be with her? This isn't right, she shouldn't be all alone."

Nick stepped up and wrapped a heavy arm around their shoulders, but Kate moved closer to the ominous curtain. He placed a comforting hand on her back, but she retaliated by moving beyond his reach.

Kate ordered savagely, "Leave."

"Kate, you can't mean —

"Would you just get out of here," she ordered. "Haven't you done more than enough?"

Glancing between Kate and the curtain, Nick backed away. Jack now sat crumpled in a heap on a chair, and a nurse quietly tried to coax him from the room. Nick was clearly unwanted, but his feet remained cemented to the tile floor.

"What're you still doing here?" she demanded. Furiously, she spun around and faced him. "Get the hell out of here, Nick."

"Katie—

"Shut up," she spat. "Just shut up! You did this, we did this to her, together, you and I."

Kate hurled herself against him, and he wrapped his muscular arm around her, but she resisted. Wrestling free, she beat her fist against his chest three times. It was futile, but Nick tried to soothe her wild anger with comforting words.

"Lies! Lies! It's all lies!" she yelled into his tired face. Pulling her hair back at the temples, she covered her ears. "I don't want to hear any more damn lies!"

Nick grabbed her firmly by the elbows and shook her. "I never thought anything less than a lie would be good enough for you."

She turned away and held herself tightly as she took a deep breath. She walked to the curtain and pulled it aside. Clutching the white cloth, she gasped while she watched the medical team's efforts to revive Evangelica.

The doctor shouted over his shoulder at his son and future daughter in-law, "I don't know what the hell you two think you're doing, but I'm trying to save a life here. Take this argument elsewhere."

Nick had not moved since Kate's attack in the chaotic confusion, and the hospital stench wafted around him. He felt powerless like a pawn being shifted around by the whims of others. For the first time in his life, it appeared he had no control over anything whatsoever, and it unnerved him. Amidst his father's heroic efforts to save Evangelica's life, Nick thought he could never be considered anyone's hero, and he wondered what it took to become a hero to oneself.

Nick left the hospital room and slowly made his way through the long corridor until he neared the empty nurse's station where Ben stood waiting impatiently. Their gazes fixated intently on one another as if daring one another to look away first.

"I think I need medical attention," Ben said pointing to his nose, sounding nasal and congested.

"It looks broken," Nick said, and he wiped the watery snot dripping from his own nose.

"I'm sure it is," Ben said. "Hey, are you all right?"

Nick inspected Ben's nose, and after several moments, Ben asked, "Is there anyone here?"

"Everyone's working on Vange," Nick said quietly, and he reached out to place a hand on Ben's arm. Ben looked Nick up and down, questioning and mistrustful. "I can't say for sure, but it doesn't look promising."

"Oh."

"I was just leaving. Kate's in there with her."

"She might need you right now, more than ever," Ben said worriedly, stepping away.

"There's nothing I can do for her."

"There must be something."

"I'm the last person she wants to see or needs right now," Nick said. He nodded in agreement with himself and swallowed hard.

Ben backed away as he watched Nick standing by himself in the hallway. Finally, Ben turned around and jogged toward the commotion emanating from Vange's hospital room. He increased his pace as the noise grew increasingly frantic. Ben found Jack sitting slumped and stupefied in a chair, and Kate stood motionless in the middle of the room.

"Make them stop," she pleaded hoarsely as Ben wrapped his arm around her. "Tell them to quit torturing her, Benny. It's inhumane."

"Doctor," said one of the nurses. She placed a concerned hand on Dr. Paull's arm. "It's time to stop, Doctor. She's gone."

"Goddammit," Dr. Paull exploded, as his attempts to revive his patient came to an abrupt halt.

"Doctor, please," the nurse repeated firmly.

With resignation, Dr. Paull backed away from the table and rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. Defeated, he said only, "Time of death, three-eighteen AM."

Kate's knees buckled under, and Ben grabbed hold of her. As she turned to bury her forehead in his shoulder, he gathered the teary-eyed bride-to-be in his arms and, she wrapped herself around him.

"No," she said and repeated, "No No No." His lips swabbed her tears as he held her close.

"It's okay, Kate," Ben whispered in her ear. "She's in a better place."

"Oh, my God," she said. "Nick."

"You don't have to marry him. Marry me instead."

"Oh, my God," she repeated, looking over her shoulder at Evangelica's lifeless body. She felt like crawling onto the hospital bed next to Vange, and would have except Ben held onto her. He gathered her close to him with one arm, and he rested a hand on Jack's head and pressed it against his side.

The doctor curtly made his way past the trio of grief and with a wave of his hand, he said of his future daughter in-law, "Sedate her."

chapter twenty-two

part iv – backwards and forwards

Far above the maddening crowd, Thad made last minute preparative checks in the balcony, as the crowd below dealt with an unexpected delay. The missing bride and her brother prevented the nuptials from commencing. The fidgeting crowd appeared to be teetering on the edge of their seats, and from his elevated position, Thad marveled he had never before during such a formal occasion seen so many black and blue marks.

A portion of the guests appeared to have wandered in from a WWF tournament. Most obviously wounded was Ben with his broken nose. He had refused to let Dr. Paull treat it as he did not want to ruin the wedding pictures due to a garish bandage swaddling the middle of his face. Although the groom inflicted the ruinous blow, he had not escaped unscathed. Nick's neck bore thumbprints from Chelsea's death grip, and his cheekbone was bruised where Ben must have landed at least one previously unnoticed punch.

Thad watched as Ben escorted his parents down the center aisle. His mother's face was scratched from Shayla's dagger-tipped fingers. Never one to go down easily, Jane Feldpausch had landed a few blows to Shayla's heavily made up bruised face. But it was Jane's own drunken, self-inflicted wounds that screamed out the tragedy of her defunct ovaries. Thad was grateful when his mother took a seat alongside his father and spared him with a rear view, which almost passed for normal. Her missing purse was slung over one shoulder. In her inebriated state, her drunken logic caused her to stash the purse in the woods near their house. Her every intention had been to skip town while everyone was at the wedding.

Thad zoomed in his camera for close ups, and he snapped a few pictures of Ben as he made his way to the front of the church. Earlier, Thad had given Ben a hand escorting the wedding guests to their appropriate sides of the church. As he promised Kate, Thad stepped in when Jack, the other usher, failed to show. The flood of guests eventually dwindled to a trickling stream of stragglers that Ben managed alone.

Peering over the railing down into the intricate guts of the ornate church, Thad watched Kate's father lugging around his video camera. Thad understood the need for wedding photographs, but he considered an actual video of the event a sadistically boring memento for newlyweds to inflict on their unsuspecting family and friends. With an unlit cigar chomped between his teeth, Chief Hesse circled the church on his eternal quest for America's funniest home video.

"So, what do I play?" Alexa asked. She sat slouched over, pouring through a hymnal at the organ. She was responsible for ensuring Vange's prerecorded vocals were played on cue but due to the unforeseen delay, Nick requested she retreat to the balcony and play organ music to pacify the restless guests.

"Play the Prayer of St. Francis."

"I don't know any religious tunes."

"Don't you know any classical stuff? What about Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, you know Ode to Joy?" Thad suggested. He did not feel very joyous, but at least his bloodshot eyes were concealed behind little round sunglasses.

"Oh, yeah, good one," she said, cracking her knuckles. Alexa hammered out the first few bars before messing up. "Hey, Thad, do you think two people can be loyal to one another, even after all this ceremonial bullshit fades from their memories?"

"Um, I think that's the reason for all this ceremonial bullshit, so it doesn't fade from their memory," Thad said. "What, don't you believe in happily-ever-after?"

"I want to," Alexa said, studying the organ keys. "Did you know swans mate for life?"

"Well, you're no swan," he said, amazed at his sister's unnatural longing to couple up for all eternity. Despite their dysfunctional origins, she seemed prepared to forge her own path into the unforgiving jungle of domesticity. "Just say no to the whole idea of matrimonial bliss." Alexa laughed out loud and resumed playing the organ. Stooped over, she pounded away maniacally on the keyboard with her wavy hair dripped over one black eye, where Jack's rock had hit her the night before.

Ascending footsteps sounded in the balcony, and Chelsea emerged at the top of the stairs. Despite her faint trace of a satisfied smile, she looked as tired and worn out as he felt. While she leaned against the railing with her back to the crowd, he inspected her bright fuchsia dress. It was the same horrific Scarlet O'Hara formal dress Alexa wore. They looked like Prom escapees.

Chelsea raised a fringed shawl and spun around witchy like Stevie Nicks. Her voice dripped with insularity, "Don't I look positively Bo-Peep?"

"You're pretty in pink," he said and snapped her photo. "What's up with the shawl?"

She lowered the out dated crochet shawl fall to expose the back of her arms, which were covered in purple bruises as it had taken all Thad and Ben's might to pry her off Nick's back last night.

"These black and blue marks make me look like a heroin junkie," she said proudly. "I can't wait for it to spread all over town I'm strung out."

"Still no sign of Kate?"

"No," Chelsea said. "I think Nick went to see if he could find her."

The wedding party was causing their usual commotion directly below them at the back of the church. They had not yet begun to dry out from their drunken escapades. Although he was sure he was missing prime photo opportunities, Thad did not have the energy to trudge down the steps and stalk them like the Paparazzi.

Silently disapproving, Chelsea noted Thad smelled like a brewery, and it was too soon to be drunk. "Hell, it's noon somewhere," was his customary defense, which she found lacking and not at all amusing. Chelsea had fled the church foyer to escape Nick's Frat pack along with the concerned intimates of the bride. Moreover, she was too hung over to listen to Kate's father, who had taken charge of the informal gathering and his booming voice sent her scurrying for shelter.

The organ music only intensified her headache, and she longed for this heinous conjugal hell to be done with once and for all. "I don't feel very joyous."

"Still headed off to California?"

"If I can ever get out of here."

Chelsea's car was strategically parked like a getaway car across the street from the church. After the ceremony, she planned to speed away fast and furious before she eventually collapsed in a cheap roadside motel. Purely for dramatic effect, it was her intention to drive as far as she could withstand in the bridesmaid dress. Due to the culminating events of the past twenty-four hours, she looked forward to the long solitary trek across the country. Chelsea realized there was no point inviting Thad to join her because his ship appeared permanently and miserably docked in Portnorth.

"Don't forget to write," he said, busy checking a camera-topped tripod. "You write the best letters of anyone I know."

Concerned, Chelsea blurted, "Thad, the sunglasses don't hide the fact you're drunk. Haven't you heard, fear of failure is a manifestation of narcissism?"

"Who's afraid?" Thad asked, and he laughed from behind his little round sunglasses. He retrieved a flask from his pocket and tilted it in her direction. "Unlike some people, Chels, failure is not exactly something I run from."

She rolled her eyes and said, "I better get back to the other crisis at hand. Promise me you won't hurl yourself over the balcony, or do anything else equally moronic?"

"Suicide is not my style," Thad said, and he captured her look of agitated boredom on film. "For posterity's sake."

Chelsea headed for the steps, and Thad called her name. He removed his necklace and tossed it to her. She studied the silvery blue rhinoceros at the end of the chain, and she remarked, "How odd, but thanks."

"It's always brought me luck," he explained.

"Think you have any to spare?" she asked pointedly, and she descended the staircase to find her mother waiting below.

Ginny Norris looked stunning as usual. She wore a vaguely oriental-looking tunic dress to accentuate her curves. The blue-green dress made her hair look even more golden blond than usual. She was fond of the bright colors most women eschewed in terror if ever confronted with the option at the dark end of their closet. Ginny flashed her daughter a warm smile, and suddenly it no longer mattered to Chelsea her mother was having an affair with an employee less than half her age. It was not as if Ginny was trying to recapture a misspent youth, for she had lived each and every day of her life to the fullest. She reveled in all her fifty-plus years, and she remained as tastefully attractive as she had always been.

Chelsea spontaneously hugged her mother and held onto her closely, as if she were trying to usurp Ginny of her languid carefree attitude.

"Oh, sweetie, what a nice surprise."

"I just needed a hug."

"You're not thinking of backing out of your California plan, or are you?" Ginny asked hopefully.

"No, mother," she replied exasperated. "I thought we discussed everything last night. Remember, we both agreed?"

"You'll only ever be satisfied pursuing what makes you truly happy, and I agreed to explain everything to your father," Ginny finished, and she smiled approvingly. She knew it was no use reprimanding her only child about her life choices because Chelsea had always been her own most unforgiving critic. "Whatever you choose to do in life, you have my blessings."

"Even if I become a Go-Go dancer in Hollywood?" she asked jokingly, but Ginny only nodded, as if to say, 'Why not?' Chelsea did not doubt her mother's sincere unconditional acceptance, and they embraced once more.

"All I ask," Ginny began, "is the next time you spend the night with some young man, you at least have the decency to invite him to stay for breakfast."

Speechless, Chelsea flushed mortified.

"After you leave, I'll see what I can do to encourage that boy to visit you in California," Ginny offered. With a wink, she nodded in the direction of Ben who stood uncharacteristically calm awaiting the arrival of more guests to seat. "Why don't you give him your aunt's address, and drop him a line once in a blue moon."

"Don't worry, those were my exact intentions," Chelsea said as she squeezed her mother's hand. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

Chelsea made her way to Ben, whose face lit up with a mix of joyous apprehension. He casually acknowledged Ginny with a friendly wave, and then he focused all his sole attention on her daughter.

"I have something for you," Chelsea said.

"What, another punch in the nose?"

"It can be arranged," she said, slightly startled when he grazed her cheek with a small peck. In return, she indiscreetly kissed him flush on the mouth, but was careful to avoid his sore nose. Ben laughed awkwardly and backed safely away. "You look like an Asian mobster," she said, and he posed toughly in his tuxedo with his hair greased back.

"Chinatown here I come."

"Your nose definitely looks broken."

"It doesn't hurt too bad."

"Nick really pasted you hard," Chelsea said, and she pulled a small slip of paper from the front of her fuchsia gown. "This is my aunt's address, where I'll be staying near San Francisco. I want you to pay me a visit this winter after you finish all the houses you're contracted to paint."

"Oh, okay."

"Seriously, Benjamin, it'd be good for you to take a vacation," she said, feeling his attention waning. "Expand your horizons."

"I'll think about it," he said, not disliking the idea.

She raised her thumb upwards toward the balcony. "Maybe you can even see what you can do about kidnapping our alcoholic friend upstairs."

"Sounds like a plan."

"It'd be awesome," she said excitedly. "You, Thad, and I could have a lot of fun."

"Maybe, you never know," he said, with a hint of distracted sadness. She slipped the address safely between the folds of his cummerbund, and two more guests materialized at the church threshold. In need of an usher to lead them down the aisle, they waited patiently for him to finish his conversation.

Forced to abandon her side, Ben smiled apologetically at Chelsea, and he tended to the latecomers. She watched him and felt something was amiss. In the course of their casual small talk, it was obvious whatever tension between them had dissipated. She wondered why he was being so polite. It was as if the intimacy they shared last night had dispersed with the dawn, and the light of the day had bleached out his feelings for her. Growing uncomfortable, she did not want to consider what might have transpired in the middle of the night after they said their goodbyes. She questioned whether she ever really held his full attention at all. Maybe last night's stirring of mutual feelings for one another were a product of her overactive imagination.

"Bride's side or groom's?" Ben automatically asked the latecomers.

Both Deputy Czerwinski and Nyda looked tired and corpse-like. It took Nyda a few uncomfortable seconds to issue the words, "Groom's side, please."

Chelsea felt hopeful as she watched Ben escort the guests down the aisle, but Nick interrupted her all too brief circumspect moment of optimism as he charged at her while rutting in distress. Close to despair, Nick was distraught. "I couldn't find Kate anywhere. A nurse from the hospital said Kate and Jack stuck around until around seven o'clock this morning, and no one has seen them since."

Struck by the direness of the situation, Chelsea searched the sea of guests as if Kate was lurking unnoticed between the church pews.

Not far from the entrance, Ed Hesse verbalized what horrible fate might have resulted in his daughter's delay. In ten more minutes, he vowed to load up his pickup with a posse of volunteers and start a search and rescue party for his missing daughter. Shayla was linked to his arm, and a tortured smile was etched across her bruised, swollen face. She wore a spaghetti strap purple dress with nude nylons and shiny red stilettos. Her tarnished hair was piled beehive high, and frosty eye shadow encircled her baby blues like a space-aged raccoon.

Mumbling under her breath she had bigger concerns than her stepdaughter's whereabouts, Shayla left her husband's side and gave up any pretense of caring about the fate of the doomed wedding. She tenderly wrapped a bare, saggy arm around Ben and informed him she was as ready as she ever to be accompanied one more time down the aisle.

Obligingly, he guided Shayla to her rightful position in the wedding-seat hierarchy. Having heard he preferred older women, Shayla shamelessly flirted as they made their way to the front of the church. She held her head high and assumed an air of dignity; after all, she was the wife of Edward G. Hesse, who was the father of the bride and chief engineer of a freighter.

"You know, Benji," Shayla whispered in his year. "It's a shame Vangie isn't well enough to be here – she always loved a good party."

He nodded sadly and thought it strange she should pick this inopportune time to bring up her daughter. Shayla reeked not only of stale cigarette smoke but also a hardened boozy complacency. Before she entered her designated pew, she turned to him tearfully.

"You're her best friend, Benny. Maybe her only friend." Then she added fiercely, "As little as my daughter talks to me, I know at least that damn much. I think she may even love you a little bit. Does it surprise you?"

Ben shook his head and uncomfortably turned away, but Shayla grabbed hold of his arm and steadied herself as she genuflected. Looking ahead at the hanging crucifix, she made the sign of the cross and said, "You're a good guy, Benji. My Vangie is real lucky to have a friend like you. And maybe one day, we'll be celebrating your wedding to her."

Ben did not have the heart to inform Shayla her daughter was dead. It was Dr. Paull's idea to keep the details confined to the few people who were actually in the room when Evangelica passed away as the news would ruin the wedding. As illogical as it sounded Kate readily agreed to it, and she made Ben and Jack promise not to say a word to anyone because she did not want to appear tasteless and tacky, getting married the same day her stepsister died.

Once the music stopped the crowd breathed a sigh of relief because no one felt especially joyous, despite Ode to Joy was the only song the organist seemed to know. As Ben shot a look upwards toward the balcony, Mrs. Paull caught his attention, and he gladly abandoned Shayla for Nick's mother. As usual, Anne Paull was a picture of pragmatism, and she was surreptitiously put together in her mother of the groom formalwear. She resembled a hearty New Englander too caught up with the rigors of everyday existence to indulge in the wasteful pastime of artfully dolling oneself up.

Ben leaned close, and Nick's mother asked, "Has she arrived yet?"

Ben shook his head no.

"I don't understand, this isn't at all like her," Anne Paull said concerned. "Doesn't Jack know where she is?"

"He's not here either."

"Perhaps we should intervene," suggested Anne to Dr. Paull, "before Kate's father makes an ass of himself?"

But her secret ex-husband gripped her wrist and in his take-charge fashion he reassured, "There's no cause for alarm. I spoke with her early this morning before she left the hospital." He looked exhausted and assumed a tone of voice that implied he knew what they did not. "She'll be here, there's no doubt about it. Just give her a few more minutes."

The doctor followed Ben to the side, and he whispered, "If she's not here in 5 minutes, I'll go find her. Where's she keeping the wedding dress?"

"Chelsea's mother's house, I believe." Ben said, and he nodded in agreement. He thought it should be written down somewhere in an instruction manual that a silent nod was the universal usher response. Walking back to the vestibule, Ben observed Ed Hesse with his hands outstretched.

Ed bellowed, "Two more minutes we'll give her, and then I'll unleash the hounds."

Chief Engineer Hesse wore his wrinkled tuxedo well, and he even looked dignified, which was a far cry from the cartoon he resembled in his everyday cowboy boots, ten-gallon hat, and silver belt buckle the size of Texas. Shayla was fond of young pop country music, southwestern decor, line dancing, and cowboy living. She dressed her husband to fit the part because it made her feel closer of realizing her dream of living on a Ponderosa of goats and chickens.

Hiding behind Jackie O-sized sunglasses and wearing a trench coat, Tristana stumbled through the front entrance of the church. Weary but undaunted, she sighed with relief after realizing the ceremony had not yet started. Her long blown out, Eighties hair was cut to mere inches from her scalp. She had taken the shears to her gothic curls before going to bed.

Tristana gave her brother a mechanical squeeze and said casually, "Hey, baby bro."

"Your hair?!"

"Like it?" Tristana asked, messing it up with her blood red fingernails. "I did it myself."

Nick shook his head annoyed, but he was largely unfazed. The short hair actually looked good, and with the exception of her augmented breasts, she looked pixie-ish.

"Surely, I can't be the sole reason for the delay," said Tristana presumptuously. "You're too kind."

"No, it's Kate."

"Kate?"

"She hasn't arrived yet," Chelsea explained, who wondered if she should try lopping off her own hair for dramatic effect.

"Hasn't arrived yet?" Tristana repeated. "Well, shouldn't we call her?"

"We don't know where she is," Ben piped in.

"Don't know where she is?"

"Oh, for chrissakes," Nick spewed. Anger unbridled, he demanded, "Ben, escort the echo to her rightful pew." Then Nick turned to his sister and commanded, "Take off those glasses and that coat. You look like a ridiculous 1940s gumshoe detective."

"Anything for you, baby brother," Tristana said. She returned her DynaTAC cellular phone to her handbag, and slung her jacket over his shoulder as if he were her own personal coat rack. "You do what you must, but if I were you, I'd spend these last few stolen moments thinking about whether or not I was really up for making the biggest mistake of my entire life," she said severely and flashed him a smile. "But thankfully, I'm not you."

"I-I never knew you felt that way," Nick stammered.

"Well, you never asked," she answered, from behind her sunglasses. Without unveiling her bloodshot eyes, she made her way through the vestibule and loitered idly smoking outside the church. Tristana was pleasantly surprised when Alexa crashed into her. The younger girl backed nervously away due to her drastic new hairstyle, and Tristana shot Alexa a look of lingering longing as she trailed after her back into the church.

Alexa loudly announced Kate's arrival to everyone who had gathered in the church foyer, "They're parking the Jeep right now!"

Rather than join her parents, Tristana curiously waited for the bride alongside Ben, Chelsea, Nick, and the rest of the bridal party. After a few tense moments, Jack finally burst inside. Resembling a battered footman in his tuxedo, he held open the heavy church door.

"What happened to you?" Alexa asked, eyeing his extensive cuts and abrasions. "You look like hell, Jack."

"This is taking self-mutilation to a whole new level," Tristana added.

"I ran into some old friends."

"Were they driving a monster truck?" Alexa asked.

"Some friends," Tristana said concerned, and she reached out to adjust his crooked bow tie.

Looking serenely beautiful, Kate emerged with her bridal gown strewn over her arm. Her dark hair was pulled back severely into a ballerina bun, which was pierced into place with a metal pin. She swiftly dodged the quizzical inquiries of her attendants. Without uttering a word, she ducked into the vacant children's cry room and assembled her wedding attire in private.

Her eyes reflected the sad traces of pained finality, and her curt manner drove Ben from the church. Grateful he was only an usher, he intended to spend the duration of the ceremony outside decorating the horse and carriage that was to carry the newlyweds across town to the reception.

Once outside the claustrophobic church entryway, he found himself crouched alone on the front steps next to a paper bag overflowing with tissue flowers. Fortunately, he was not the only one designated to do the job. Unable to move, he hung his head paralyzed as if recovering from a pulverizing blow, and his aching gut heightened his sense of crushing emptiness. His dark almond eyes focused on the cracks in the cement between his tuxedo shoes, and he blocked out Jack and Tristana as they debated the best way to decorate the horse and buggy.

The still humid air was nearly as suffocating as the blanket of gray, cloudy indifference that suffocated the afternoon sun. Ben felt so overwhelmed it felt as if he would never again move from this spot. His eyes followed the meandering cracks in the pavement winding into a sea of dandelions, anthills and weeds, and he did not hear the footsteps behind him. Standing unnoticed at Ben's side, Thad snapped pictured of the odd couple holding onto streamers and tissue flowers. As he clicked away with his camera, Thad rambled unaware his one sided conversation failed to register with his one-man audience.

"So, there'll be a wedding after all, but it looks more like funeral weather if there is such a thing," Thad began. "Hopefully, the rain will hold out till after the bride and groom take their horse drawn carriage ride through town. What a weird custom. Hey, there might actually still be a chance for you to collect on that bet. It was a hundred dollars, wasn't it? Seems a little steep, if you ask me, but I hope they go through with it because I was really counting on jamming to Polka tunes. What do you think?" Thad asked. With his knee, he nudged Ben's shoulder to discover he felt stiff as a rock.

"Yikes, are you breathing? What's wrong with you?"

Not taking his eyes off of the cracked pavement, Ben mumbled, "She's gone."

"I know."

"Who told you?"

"Some things, you don't have to be told."

"She's really gone."

"Will you be all right?"

Looking far from anything resembling all right, Ben nodded slowly. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply in order to suppress what emotions threatened to projectile vomit from the inside.

Thad watched Tristana turn up her nose at the sorry looking horse standing sadly regal in front of the beat up carriage. Staring down at Tristana, the elfin buggy operator sat high on his perch gripping the reins, and he only added to the freak show below. Thad thought no amount of retouching the photos could transform Jack's face into anything resembling normal, nor would any amount of airbrushing minimize Tristana's snarky cynicism.

Tristana handed Jack flowers to paste around the carriage wheel. Dressed in black from head to toe, she looked like a character from an Anne Rice vampire novel. Her frightfully short messy hair separated into wavy spikes. Bruised and bandaged in his tuxedo, Jack could pass for her impish ghoul of a sidekick.

"You're awfully quiet," she observed.

"Don't have much to say," he said blankly, dabbing a tissue carnation with Karo syrup.

"That shit is nasty," Tristana said of the sticky substance. "Who the hell beat you to a bloody pulp? Was it your dead prom date's brothers?"

He nodded and cast Ben a concerned look from the corner of his blackened eye.

"Well, I for one can't believe Nicky and Kate are actually going through with this wedding. This entire debacle has been cursed from the start."

"She looks nice, don't you think?" he asked.

"Yeah, well, she must've swallowed an extra Valium this morning," Tristana said sarcastically. She backed away from the mangy white horse, which gave only the slightest indication of being alive, and she noticed the elfin driver staring lecherously at her. She snapped, "What're you looking at? They're called breasts, mama, and every woman has them!"

Jack laughed amused at her Stephen King reference, and she continued to hand him Kleenex flowers, which he adhered to the carriage. Occasionally, Jack glanced over at Ben, who looked positively haunted. Thad gave Ben's shoulder a comforting squeeze, but Ben failed to respond or notice the old friends at his side. By then Nick had joined them on the front steps of the church, and he tilted Ben's head up to inspect his swollen nose.

"You're lucky I didn't do more damage," Nick said regretfully, and he shrugged sheepishly, "I'm sorry for hitting you, Benny."

Not looking up from the pavement cracks, Ben responded with barely a shrug. When Nick smacked him on the back, he merely slumped forward.

"You'll get over it," Nick said. He took Ben's melancholic disposition personally and slowly made his way back inside the church vestibule accompanied by Thad.

"So, are you pissed at me too?"

"No, not at all."

"Good to hear," Nick said. "I'd hate to have a bunch of messed up wedding pictures over a stupid grudge."

Thad assured Nick the pictures would be as specified, pure photojournalism and no staged shots. Nick awkwardly smacked Thad on the back as if it was his only means of expressing affection.

"You're one helluva guy with one helluva name, Thaddeus Feldpausch, so get the hell to work."

Thad laughed and opted to change his film roll before snapping any more wedding pictures, and Nick entered the church alone. When he spotted Chelsea hiding out in a corner far away from the rest of the bridal procession, he requested she check and see if Kate needed any assistance getting ready.

The organ music resumed, and Chelsea retreated to the cry room just in time to watch Kate step into her plain, medieval-looking wedding gown. The empire waisted dress looked vaguely medieval, and the intricate flowing veil threatened to turn her into an anonymous virgin. Kate hardly ever wore any make up, but today was an exception for she had inexpertly applied a bare minimum with only the help of a compact mirror.

"Well," Chelsea began awkwardly. "Do you have something borrowed, old and new? Is that the order?"

"You forgot blue," Kate said as she fumbled with the compact mirror. "The dress is borrowed, and my mom wore the pearls on her wedding day. So, I guess they're old."

"What about new and blue?"

"My earrings are new," Kate laughed slightly. "I picked them up on the clearance rack at Hudson's. But no, I don't have anything remotely blue."

"This is kind of blue," Chelsea said, fishing for Thad's necklace. "Bluish-silver anyhow."

Kate took the necklace into her cupped hand and made a face suggesting the rhinoceros did not exactly compliment her pearls, but Chelsea ingeniously transformed the chain into a bracelet for Kate's wrist which was covered with long beaded sleeves that came to a V-shape over the back of her hand.

"There," Chelsea said, satisfied with her spontaneous ingenuity. "Something blue."

Chelsea finished buttoning up the back of the bride's dress, and she secured the never-ending veil. Kate gazed nervously out the cry room window at the multitude of wedding guests.

"Looks like a full house," Chelsea said unnecessarily.

"For sure," Kate replied. "It's the only reason I'm here at all."

"You were going to skip out on your own wedding day?" Chelsea asked, mildly impressed that Kate would even suggest such an intrepid idea.

"It was either showing up here, or wheel in the corpse and conducting a funeral instead," Kate said. She struggled with the clasp on her strand of pearls, and avoided registering her bridesmaid's response.

Wide-eyed, Chelsea backed away from Kate and said simply, "No."

"It happened early this morning," Kate informed as she administered Visine drops into her swollen dark eyes. "They did everything to save her until finally I just begged them to stop and to leave her alone. Ben was there."

"Oh, God. Kate," Chelsea gasped, her eyes misty with tears. "This is so awful. I'm so sorry."

"Don't apologize to me," Kate insisted. "I'm not the one who's gone. Lucky me, I'm about to marry the man of my dreams. Save your sympathy for Vange."

Lost for words, Chelsea raised her arms to give her friend a hug, but Kate turned away and faced the restless, inanimate crowd. For lack of anything else to say, Chelsea asked, "Who all knows?"

"Nick's dad and Jack," Kate said, struggling to maintain her composure. "And Ben, of course. As unbelievable as it sounds, I swear I heard her whisper his name at one point."

"Makes sense. I don't think we realize how close they were."

"Dr. Paull said it'd be a good idea to wait until after the ceremony to tell everyone," Kate said, and she added without emotion. "Why spoil the party, huh?"

"Haven't you told Nick?"

"The customary tradition is he can't see me in my dress, right?" Kate reminded her. "So, I guess the news will have to wait until I reach him at the altar. You'd better let everyone know to get in their places so we can get this over with."

"Katie, you don't have to go through with this if you don't want to."

The bride was silent. One of her unspoken thoughts was if she did not become Mrs. Nicholas Paull then Evangelica would have died in vain. Not marrying Nick seemed to her as ridiculous a notion as taking Ben up on his Vange's deathbed marriage proposal.

"Are you serious? Why wouldn't I marry him?"

"Kate," Chelsea broke off, striving to find the least offensive words to express her feelings.

"Because he and Vange had a few one night stands?" Kate asked flatly. "Because he's only human, and he's made mistakes along the way? He doesn't pretend to be perfect, unlike some people. Besides, this has been my fantasy ever since junior high, right? All m-my dreams are finally coming true."

"I guess whatever works for you," Chelsea said, almost apologetically. Then she left Kate as alone as she had found her.

Waiting for her cue, Kate remained inside the dry-eyed cry room and leaned all her weight against the door. It felt like the enormous brick structure was toppling down around her, and she was trapped within a mountain of wreckage. Her hands trembled uncontrollably as she flattened her palms against the door. She closed her eyes and said a Hail Mary or two because that is what she always did whenever she was about to enter unchartered waters.

Thad entered the church with his sunglasses dangling from his ears and his camera strapped around his neck. He grabbed a little wooden wedge and propped open the heavy church door.

"Good God, this place feels like the inside of a pressure cooker," he said to Chelsea, and he tested the door to see if it would remain open. "It must be eighty friggin' degrees in here."

Trying to remain calm, Chelsea asked casually, "Where were you?"

"Taking pictures of the ushers decorating cars," Thad replied, anxious to escape the bridal party hovering around in emotionally wrought patches. "And I had a smoke."

Unable to stop herself, she clutched his arm and asked, "Did you hear, about Vange?"

"Not now, Chels," Thad said. He glanced longingly through the second set of doors opening into the hot sticky church, and he tore himself away. "I've got to keep focused, this isn't a dress rehearsal. These pictures have to be perfect."

"To hell with the damned pictures. What's wrong with you? Have you drunk yourself numb?"

"I wish," he said. In disbelief, Chelsea watched him apathetically move away and migrate to one of his many strategically placed tripods. She backed out the front door and caught her breath. She made her way hastily to the end of the long sidewalk, where Ben sat on the steps watching them adorn the wedding vehicles. Eyeing the white horse suspiciously, Chelsea failed to notice the elfin carriage driver leering down at them.

When Jack and Tristana completed their decorating task, they piled into her Saab. Jack reclined with his feet resting out the window on the side mirror. Tristana switched off the radio and asked, "Is there anything else we can deface before going back in that sweatbox of a church?

"Beats me," Jack said.

"Looks like someone already beat you to the punch."

"I like your new haircut," he said, trying not to laugh because it hurt too much. He looked up to the gray sky, which was the same washed out color as concrete. "It's kind of crazy."

"Thanks, I was aiming for the look of a mental patient escapee," she said sincerely. "Are you in much pain?"

"Not too much," Jack said, inspecting his various wounds. "The doctor gave me some pain pills."

"Oh, fun. We could take a ride," she suggested.

He remembered Carey Derry's advice to lay low or leave town for a while, and he asked "Where to?"

"A cousin of mine lives in Brooklyn," Tristana said offhandedly. "She and I have a lot in common."

"Like what?"

"Well, we're both survivors," Tristana said bemused. "Let's go visit her, or do you have anything keeping you here?"

"No, I'm game. No reason to stick around here."

Tristana nodded in agreement and turned the key in the ignition. "Then let's go take a bite outta the Big Apple."

"Should we wait for Alexa?"

"Nah, I'll send her a plane ticket once we get there," Tristana said, and she tossed her clove cigarette out the car window.

"Should we at least stay for the ceremony?"

"I don't think we'll be missed," Tristana said as she pulled away from the church and cranked up the radio.

Chelsea watched them drive off in the direction of the horizon. It was one of those overcast days where the hazy shade of dawn lingers until at last succumbing to an equally morose dusk. Chelsea reached out to Ben with a hand in need of a comforting squeeze. She longed for a gale force wind to extinguish the sweaty tension festering between them.

With the shrug of his slumped shoulder, she found herself backing away from him. Surrounded by empty stillness, she said his name, but any attempt to make a connection was futile. He was lost and searching inside of himself for a time past when he did not seem so completely alone. It did not matter that she was standing next to him. It appeared Ben would remain forever lost, a piece of him had broken away and become unmoored, altogether irretrievable.

"So, this is how it goes?" Chelsea asked. Consummate longing saturated her entire being. She was unable to fathom that each and every last one of them intended to grieve in his or her own personal, isolated hell. "Is this how it is?"

"Don't you have somewhere to be? A wedding to stand up in?" Ben asked as if he was nowhere at all.

"Oh, as a matter of fact yes, I do," Chelsea said, eyeing her Chevy Malibu. She was packed and more than ready to hit the road.

Ben had not intended it to sound so callous, but he did not have the energy to explain. He had merely wondered aloud if the wedding had started. Looking downwards, he was unable to remain focused on anything but the cracked cement between his shoes. He wiped his nose and bring himself to look up from the blurred pavement.

"She-she was too great for this," Chelsea stuttered. "She deserves more. She deserved better than you, better than any of us."

Chelsea ran away from him as fast as her fuchsia confines would allow, and when she discovered Nick waiting in the back of the church, she suddenly felt a pang of sympathy for him for the first time she could remember. With as much calm as she could muster, she informed everything was all set, and she gave him a spontaneous hug, which he returned appreciatively. It was time to begin the long awaited connubial proceedings.

Nick assumed responsibility for corralling his groomsmen, and he took charge in his easy personable fashion. The bridesmaids lined up and were paired off with their respective partners. It was all they could do to suppress their natural state of obnoxiousness, but Nick's mere presence commanded it. Rather than issue orders, he climbed the balcony steps to summon Alexa who was pounding out what had to be her eighteenth rendition of Joyful, Joyful We Adore Thee.

Alexa followed Nick, who made his way to the front of the church once she assumed Evangelica's position in the bridal procession. Joining the others, Alexa picked up the atmosphere of suppressed mourning. For the first time that day, her mind was preoccupied with something other than the kiss she had shared with Tristana last night and her encounter with Nick. Now Alexa could only think about her missing mentor. She shut her eyes, and a subconscious dam blocked out any other thoughts whatsoever. She bit her lower lip, and the stagnant heat caused tiny beads of perspiration to run down her scrunched forehead. Sniffling, she clenched onto her bouquet of day lilies and pink roses, which trembled slightly.

Standing beside her pint-sized partner, Chelsea placed her hand on Alexa's shoulder and massaged gently. Chelsea breathed the stuffy air that filled the oppressive church, and she longed to be outdoors even though there was not a trace of the slightest breeze blowing anywhere. Again her attention trailed out the church to Ben, who sat alone and lost at the end of the sidewalk.

Chelsea struggled to keep her feet planted alongside her wedding party groomsman. All she really wanted was to flee the scene and whisk Ben away in order to liberate him from his sorrow. She wanted to feel herself pressed against him on the shore of a distant beach. She watched as he lay back against the pavement and he seemed to drift away. She wished it were possible to reel him in from his sea grief.

With two cameras now hanging from his neck, Thad whizzed past Chelsea and the bridal party as made his way to the bride and her father. Ominously veiled, Kate clutched tightly to her bouquet. Buried under teeming antique white, she let Ray Hesse wrap his arm proudly around her for the sake of Thad's camera. Father and daughter waited in silence behind the wedding attendants, and then Thad retreated to the balcony. With all eyes focused on Nick and the priest at the front of the church, Kate stepped away from her father and awaited her cue to march forward.

After an eternity of silence, the wedding Mass began. Evangelica's pre-recorded vocals flooded each crevice of the mammoth cathedral with her song, and the overly ornate, resplendent church came alive. Finally, the attendants made their way in pairs toward the altar, and their steps coincided with the subdued vital beat of Vange's vocals.

The sweet breaths of her exhilarating song breathed its life force into everyone present. Each perfect note was reassurance that life was more than a chaotic series of sounds and visuals; it was a running subtext, and there was no choice except grapple with the hope of making sense of it all. The unfaltering waves of her vibrant voice lifted them out from under the depths of time, and her heavenly music elevated them to a place where the perfect eulogy was a song.

Evangelica's presence permeated the church and nudged them along with a subtle impact, not unlike a gentle breeze sweeping the smothering humidity aside. Her very essence rippled infinitely and indefinitely, suggesting her absence was a momentary pause, a skipped beat which insinuated there was no such thing as good-byes. She was part of them, and yet apart from them.

Kate robotically fell into synchronized unison with others, and she came alive only at the sound of the haunting voice, which prodded her forward. In the distance, the continuous distraction of cameras flashing prevented her from losing herself in the moment.

When it came time for Nick and Kate to issue their vows, Nick lifted the veil above her head, and the bride's attention focused on the crucifix hanging above, anything but her groom's eyes. She studied his cufflinks along with the floral arrangements on the altar. The sensation of her own shifting aching feet seemed more relevant than his immediate attention. Nick was taken aback by the stoic expression on her face, and he looked with resignation at his own hands.

As Nick glanced back at the front entrance, Kate abruptly divorced herself of any emotional investment in the wedding ceremony. Her body became rigid as her thoughts abandoned the scene unfolding before them. Kindly Father Tim perceptively realized there was something seriously wrong, and he softly repeated Kate's name to no avail. So, he turned to Nick for assistance, but his gaze was fixated on the matte gold crucifix. A Lake Huron-sized sea of indifference had accumulated between the bride and groom.

Not quite sure what was expected of him, Nick studied Kate searching for an answer or sign. When Kate finally turned to face him she was devoid of emotion, and it appeared a porcelain figurine had replaced the woman he knew and loved. Nick repeated her name to no avail. By now it had become apparent to everyone something was catastrophically awry at the altar, and the ceremony sputtered to a standstill. As the crowd struggled to make sense of the situation unfolding before them, the priest continued to feign normalcy as he waxed prophetic about ties that bind.

Nick placed his hand on Kate's elbow, and he repeated her name, "Kate – Katie – Kate."

Without warning, she burst louder than intended, "What? What do you want from me?"

"Kate," he whispered, mining the exact words to express his remorse.

"What?" Kate demanded, clutching her bouquet. She asked softly, "What do you want from me? What? What is it?"

"Not like this, Kate," he said gently, looking into her bloodshot eyes.

She remained unmoving and expressionless.

"This isn't how it's supposed to be," he said.

The confused priest looked back and forth at the questioning groom and the stalwart bride. The silence echoing between them was earsplitting. The situation was beyond Father Tim's control, and he waited patiently for the bride and groom to resolve whatever it was that acted as a barrier separating them from a lifetime of matrimonial bliss.

Nick asked, "Where's the love, Kate?"

Kate hung back, silent for a long moment until she managed, "She took it with her. It died with her."

"You can't mean that."

Kate said solemnly, "When she left, she took everything."

She stared emptily and was transfixed emotionlessly on the altar. Her eyes had become unforgiving as glass, and no matter how deep Nick peered into the recesses of her being, nothingness reflected back at him. His mind raced with thoughts of how to make things right, but the more he thought the less anything mattered. There was nothing he could do now, except perhaps unshackle them both from a future plagued with guilt and regret.

Nick realized now why she had met him here at the altar, and it was not for the obvious reason to become man and wife. Rather than to embark on the customary new beginning, she had come to settle the score once and for all. He could not bear to look at her any longer, and he turned away to escape her locked, stony expression. Consciously, he deliberately turned away from his bride. He would fall on the proverbial sword and provide the ultimate sacrifice. As he forged his way casually down the center aisle, he made his way past the shocked gasps and mortified expressions of the bewildered crowd. Their flustered intakes of breath and judgmental eyes followed him as he kept walking, confident and surefooted.

"Bastard," Chelsea cursed under her breath, and she rushed to the side of the dry-eyed, stranded woman in white. Chelsea wrapped her arm around her shoulder, but the unresponsive bride failed to acknowledge any display of condolence. Kate remained expressionlessly transfixed on Nick's backside as he made his way down the long barren aisle out of her life.

Camera flashes reflected in Kate's serene eyes, and each glowing burst was like a heavenly good-bye, fleeting and indefinite. High above in the balcony, Thad watched as a determinedly calm Nick grew larger in the window frame of his camera, and he could not help but feel a hundred dollars richer.

the end

About the Author

Todd Erickson is a school librarian living in the Detroit suburb of Ferndale with his partner. He was born in Rogers City, Michigan near Lake Huron. He grew up on a steady diet of gardening, ice cream and Knots Landing – all of which he still enjoys to this day in some form or other.

Thank you for reading. If you have made it this far, congratulations, but you might be wondering what is up with the book cover as it's not exactly representative of any situation from the book. I conceived the image as an epilogue. I have my suspicions of what it represents, but feel free to email me your thoughts at: erickson.toddw@gmail.com

This story is dedicated to the memories of my Grandmother Barbara Jean Shea Smith, and also to my father Michael John Erickson. Each died of familial ALS. It's also dedicated to my family, along with every family living with the reality of this disease.

A lot of friends encouraged me in the initial stages of this story, which incidentally began 20 years ago. Some read all of it, or pieces of it, and encouraged me, and some listened patiently to ideas that were a work in progress. To them, I say thank you from the bottom of my heart.

