'Til Death Do Us Part

Slender fingers traced the delicate lace and foamy chiffon of the wedding gown, peeking out of the folds like hot chocolate beneath whipped cream.  She sat cross-legged on a heap of clothes that covered the closet floor—clothes that she had ripped off their hangers and tossed out of drawers in their last argument. 

His jeans mingled curiously with her snakeskin peeptoes and his crisp dress shirts swallowed up her crumpled cotton tops.  The shimmering wedding dress was the only thing still hanging in that closet, casting golden shadows as the light danced a waltz on its luxurious silk.

A sample invitation floated its way down from the top shelf like a black jet and settled itself perfectly on the textile mound.   She picked it up and mindlessly traced their names in the embossed gold ink. 

It was presently three o’clock in the afternoon on Saturday, August 4^th in the year of our Lord two-thousand twelve, as announced in the invitation.  But she was not gliding down the aisle to “Here Comes the Bride.”  Instead, “Amazing Grace” was wafting through the speaker system in the newly purchased house where they had planned to build a home together. 

The closet was as far as they got, plus a few sparse odds and ends and two bowls and spoons that had been dug out for an initial bowl of ice cream.  Oddly enough, that half-full carton of ice cream bothered her more than the unworn wedding gown.  She would have those simple quiet memories more deeply engraved in her heart than any bustle of the wedding celebration that should have taken place.

She picked up a simple white undershirt that was peeping out of the mess and wrapped it around her wrists and through her fingers and nuzzled it next to her face, breathing in his scent.  Uncontrollable tears flooded her eyes.  As much as she tried not to blame herself, she couldn’t seem to make her heart believe what her mind told her. 

I’m sorry, ma’am.  There is nothing more I can do, the doctor apologized as she stood trembling before him in disbelief.  I’m sorry, miss. It was a crazy coincidence.  He was at the wrong place at the wrong time, the officer said as she knelt before the twisted metal that had once been his motorcycle.  I’m so sorry, sweetie, her mom said as she drove her home from the hospital.  But through it all, her own mind was drowning them out: I’m sorry too. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

A tear trickled down her cheek and off her chin and splashed onto the platinum band housing a single small black diamond.  She sniffled and lovingly grasped the ring that hung around her neck—the ring she should have been making her promise with right now. 

She gave a faint smile as she remembered that she had it engraved with the date of their wedding. Because now we have an anniversary, babe, and one of us has to remember, she told him, eyes twinkling. 

He laughed at her and teased her about her choice of jeweler.  Baby, you better make sure the diamond in my ring is the same one.  She could still hear Jeremy's voice emanating from behind glittering perfectly white teeth, imitating the jeweler: You gonna be bery bery happy you get message done here. I do it real nice for you.  Bery special ‘cause you beautiful couple.  

Yes, there was something strange about the old man with his black mustache and pale skin.  His yellow-rimmed eyes glinted at them as they walked out the door and he murmured something under his breath.

She wiped the tear off of the inscription with her finger and felt an indescribable burn.  She let out a faint cry right before everything went black. 

The smell of burnt flesh woke her up and made her want to vomit.  She raised her arm to her nose to shield herself from the smell and her eyes fluttered open.  She was lying on the floor of the closet, and all the clothes were in their proper places.  She reached for her cell phone and looked at the time.  5:00 p.m., August 1^st.  “Jeremy’s accident!” she breathed.

Urgency socked her in the stomach like a pro-pitched baseball and she leapt off the floor and tore down the stairs screaming at the top of her lungs. I’m sorry, I’m sorry she belted.  She threw open the door and tackled him in a hug just as he was picking up his helmet.  “Marry me on Saturday, love,” she said.  “The cake doesn’t matter.”