Faith drifted over to the mirror and stared at her reflection. Her mascara was smudged under her reddened eyes, and her lipstick was gone. Face utterly white. But her hair had come out really great.
You know what else? She’d dieted for two months to get to this weight, even though Jeremy assured her he loved her just the way she was. Jeremy, who was g*y. Gay men liked curvy women. There you go. Shoulda known.
This morning, Faith had been the luckiest girl in New York State, if not the universe. Everyone thought that, especially her. Now, at 12:44, she was the woman who didn’t know her fiancé was g*y.
How could she not have known? They slept together. A lot! Okay, well, maybe not a lot, not as much as she would’ve liked or as much as her friends seemed to sleep with their boyfriends, but they’d been in college, hello? In separate states! And then in grad school, also in separate states! And then, this past year...well, still not so much.
Justin Timberlake.
Holy futtocks.
All this time, she thought they were happy. All this time, Jeremy, her wonderful, sweet, thoughtful Jeremy, had carried this secret alone.
Well. Levi knew. She guessed he’d told Levi.
She stood up and started to take off her wedding dress. It was impossible. All those damn little covered buttons and loops...Jeremy was supposed to have unbuttoned them, slowly, lovingly, and you know, yeah, she’d thought that once they were married and getting pregnant would be a joy and not an oops, their sex life would take off. It had always been fine. It’d been fine! But marriage, she’d just known, would only improve it.
Here she’d been lying na**d with Jeremy Lyon, totally in love, believing him when he said she was beautiful and perfect, when he’d been thinking of Justin Timberlake dancing around in a hoodie. And while that was an entirely appealing image, the man she loved shouldn’t have been cramming it into his head to block out her. You know what? Justin Timberlake wasn’t even that good. Totally average. How dare he occupy Jeremy’s mind during sex?
Faith’s phone buzzed. Goggy, said the screen, featuring a photo of her scowling grandmother. Faith let it go to voice mail. A minute later, the phone chirped with a text. She looked. Pick up the damn phone. A second later, Goggy’s face scowled at her again.
It’d be easier to talk to her grandmother than dodge the calls. Goggy was a slab of granite when she wanted to be. “Hi,” Faith said.
“Go on your honeymoon,” Goggy said firmly. “Get out of here for a while.”
Faith was silent. At the moment, she couldn’t imagine standing up, let alone getting on an airplane and flying across the country.
“Do it, Faith,” Goggy said, her voice more gentle. “Spend a little time away from home, see the world.”
The words were horribly familiar, cutting right into the middle of Faith’s heart.
“You have the tickets, right? Use them. Go to San Francisco, honey, and just be away from all of this.”
If that wasn’t a rope, Faith didn’t know what was. “Okay,” she whispered.
“I’ll drive you.” Goggy sounded triumphant, but she was the type who never quite managed to hit forty mph on the highway.
“That’s okay. You stay here. I’ll get someone else. And, Goggy...” Faith’s voice broke. “Thank you.”
“I’ll call you tonight, sweetheart.”
Goggy was right. She couldn’t stay here. Jeremy couldn’t leave, and she couldn’t stay. Jeremy was her next-door neighbor, albeit a mile down the road. She’d see him everywhere.
And at this moment, that thought was unbearable.
Add to that, Manningsport had 715 people in it. Everyone now knew that Faith Holland was too stupid to realize her fiancé was g*y. Nope, I didn’t suspect, they’d say. Not the way that kid threw the ball...but I didn’t sleep with him, either! Heh heh heh!
Her zombielike state shattered abruptly. She grabbed her suitcase and yanked open the door, flew down the stairs, her dress rustling against the family photos, knocking them askew.
Justin Timberlake. She hated Justin Timberlake.
Just as she got to the bottom, a quiet knock came at the front door. She jerked it open, out of breath.
Ah. The other man she hated. Levi Cooper, Wedding Destroyer. “You,” she hissed.
He was still in his dress uniform, his chest full of ribbons and medals. Mr. Hero. “Jeremy sent me to check on you.”
“Take me to the airport,” she ordered.
His eyebrows rose, crinkling his forehead a little. “I don’t know about that.”
“Do what I say, Levi,” she said.
“Listen, you’re probably not—”
“Shush. Just take me there.”
Her father came up on the porch. “Faith, sweetpea, I was just coming to check on you. How are you, honey? This is such a shock, I don’t know what to—”
“Daddy, I’m going to San Francisco. Okay? I’ll call you when I land.”
“Wait a second, sweetie, slow down,” he said, glancing at Levi. Why? Why glance at the guy who ruined her wedding and kept Jeremy’s secret, huh? “I think you should stay here, baby, with your family. This is a tough, tough day, but we’ll get you through it.”
“I’m going to San Francisco. I have tickets,” Faith said.
“Faith—”
“I—I—I—I have to get out of here, Dad,” she stammered, the hyperventilating starting up again. “I’ll just go to San Fran. Remember Liza? My friend from college? She lives there, so I won’t be alone. I’ll call her. She’s really fun. Okay? Call you later.”
“Now, Faith, this doesn’t seem like a good idea.”
“Daddy, I need to get out of here. I’m going.”
“All right, all right. Settle down. Just...if you want to go, give me a minute, and I’ll pack some things and go with you. Okay?”
“No. I’m going alone. Right now. I have to get out of here or I’m going to lose my shit, Dad.”
Her father looked startled. That’s right, Daddy, she thought irrationally. Don’t mess with me right now.
“Well, I’ll drive you. Don’t be silly, baby.”
“No. He’ll take me. Won’t you?” She narrowed her eyes at Levi, wishing looks really could kill.
Levi cleared his throat. “Is that all right, Mr. Holland?” he asked.
“Don’t ask him,” Faith snapped. “I’m giving you an order, soldier. Get to it.”
“Watch it,” he muttered.
“Faith, it’s not his fault,” her father said. She turned her eyes on him, and he actually held his hands up in defense. “Sweetie, I really think you need to take a few days at least—”
“I’ll call you when I land.” She kissed her father’s cheek, and the horrible weight crushed down again. “I love you, Daddy,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry about all this. I’ll pay you back.” The tears threatened again. No, no. Not now. Bottle and cork. She could fall apart later.
Then she tromped down the porch, stepping on the hem of her dress and tearing it. So what? She should burn the damn thing, right along with her own white hoodie (which had been a gift from Jeremy, ack!).
There was Levi’s car, a cheap rental with Michigan plates. She got in, stuffed the stupid dress down and gave Blue a few pats on the head as he tried to climb in with her. She wished she could take him. Hang on. She could take him. Dr. Buckthal had told her that some dogs could sense an oncoming seizure, and she’d had Blue registered as a service dog, more because she wanted to be able to take him with her wherever she went than because she thought she might need him. But he was registered all the same.
“Wait a second,” she said and went inside the house. Her sisters were there, Coll and Mrs. J., too, murmuring, asking, talking, but it was all white noise. She rummaged in the file drawer where she kept Blue’s records, and voila. Grabbed the paper, turned to the rest of them. Everyone was talking, offering advice, pats, trying to hug her, but they were like birds, fluttering around her head, and she waved them off.
“Look,” she said, her voice wobbling. “I’m gonna go to California for a few days. Maybe take that honeymoon solo, I don’t know. But I love you all, and I’m so sorry about this...fiasco. I’ll call you, but right now, I have to get out of here.”
“Let me drive you, Faithie,” her brother said, his voice so kind that her eyes swam again.
“I’ll come with you,” Pru offered.
“Nope. All set. Thanks, though.” She grabbed Blue’s leash, figured he could eat hamburgers until she bought him dog food, then went back out to the car, where Levi was waiting. Blue leaped in the back, smiling and wagging, and thank God the dog couldn’t speak, because honestly, if someone else said something kind or nice to her, she was going to lose it.
Levi Cooper would not be nice to her. She could take that to the bank.
The rat bastard got in, started the car and gave her father a wave. She waved, too, her head fizzy with adrenaline.
She’d fly to San Francisco, stay at the Mark, where she and Jeremy had been booked for four nights, their wedding gift from his parents. Liza could come, and they’d drink the honeymoon champagne, and, hell, maybe they’d take that Napa wine country tour, too.
She didn’t look at Levi, and he didn’t talk. Too bad he hadn’t been stricken mute on the altar.
She stared out the window, cushioned in a bitter fog. Occasionally, people would see that she was wearing a big white dress or that Levi was in his dress blues, and they’d beep their horns and wave. Her face felt carved out of stone.
After an eternity or so, they got to the swooping Buffalo-Niagara Airport, so oddly beautiful, and went in. People congratulated them. She didn’t answer. For the first time since her mother died, she didn’t try to be nice to anyone. Just showed her ID and her ticket and passed through the gate, getting some odd looks from the screeners. Guess they hadn’t seen a jilted bride yet. “My fiancé turned out to be g*y,” she said to one. Blue woofed and wagged his tail.
“Oh, wow,” the woman said. “You didn’t know?”
“No. He did, though,” she said, jerking her chin at Levi. Then she put on her ridiculously pretty shoes, grabbed her carry-on—damn, it was heavy—and went to the waiting area at her gate, which was only about ten yards away, and sat down. Looked at the clock. Seven hours till her flight. Maybe she’d have a seizure to pass the time. Stress brought them on sometimes. It’d be better than sitting here, having to think about Jeremy. Just the thought of his name caused a sob to heave in her chest. Blue flopped down on the floor, wagging his tail as a toddler passed him.
Levi was talking to someone. You’re not a ticket-holder, ass**le, she thought. So, there. But, no. He was telling the screener all sorts of things, scraps of his words floating to her—wedding fell through, her friend, don’t want her waiting alone.
Her friend. What a crock that was. But Mr. Hero got through; who could turn down a guy in uniform, home on leave from the war on terror? He came toward her now, his eyes resigned, mouth in a straight line.
Before he got to her, Faith wrapped Blue’s leash around the chair leg and got up and went to the ladies’ room, dragging her suitcase with her. The handicapped stall was the only one big enough with this ridiculous dress. She reached back and yanked at the buttons, yanked harder, tearing a few loops, then wriggled free, hopping, banging her shoulder against the wall. Out of the white merry widow and stockings, out of the beautiful white shoes that peeped so endearingly from under her skirt. She’d packed all sorts of cute underwear, adorable bra and panty sets, silky short nighties. Pretty little outfits for daytime, lovely dresses for those romantic dinners she and Jeremy wouldn’t be having.
