End of the Innocence (25 page)

I did not react well.

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“D
id I miss something?” Becca barged through the doors of Noche with a ferocity that startled half the women in the spa’s lobby.

Olivia shot her a look of warning. “Stop yelling. This is the type of place where you whisper.”

“Ten, right? I checked my text messages. We were going to meet here at eleven. Look.” She thrust her cell out, forcing Olivia’s eyes to focus on it. “Hair and makeup appointment at eleven at Noche. From that scary ass assistant of Brad’s. Did you get one?”

“Lower your freaking voice,” Olivia hissed, sending an apologetic look to the woman to her right. “Yes, I got one. And I talked with Julia last night. She said she’d be here.”

“So where is she?” Becca didn’t wait for a response, she pressed a button and held the phone to her ear. “I’m calling her again. She hasn’t responded to my texts.”

Their names were called, and they stood, Becca taking a long look at the clock before following the uniformed attendant through the frosted doors. 10:19 a.m. Julia was late.

As they walked through the quiet hall, Becca’s phone buzzed, her eyes catching on the lit screen and reading the message quickly, then passing it to Olivia.

I won’t make it to Noche. I need time to think. I’ll call you later.

Their eyes met in the dim light, and Becca frowned.

♦♦♦

W
hite uniforms converged on Fleur De Lis like maggots, bits of white weaving with a rapid pace through the stone halls, placing gloved hands on every available surface. Flower arrangements were wheeled in, tablecloths ironed, place cards straightened, then straightened again by nervous fingers. Corsages were pinned, bobby pins placed in curled hair, and wedding programs were unwrapped and placed in the hands of eager ushers. The final moments were completed in an orderly and excited fashion, everything unfolding exactly as to plan. And, an hour before the ceremony was to begin, limos began the slow, precise journey through the front gates. The guests were starting to arrive.

The world ran on appearances, and that day was no exception. Brad disagreed with that mandate, but you had to play the game to win it, so he played along. And, as usual, he seemed predestined to win, the details handled perfectly by Rebecca and the two wedding planners’ capable and expensive hands. And, as he glanced through the open doorway off the lobby, everything seemed in place.
Just missing one thing
. He moved into the drawing room, set off to the side of the chapel and scowled, settling into one of the high stools. Lucas walked over with a smile, moving around behind the bar. He poured a shot of whiskey and held it out.

“Bottoms up.”

Brad shook his head, sliding his phone in his pocket.

“What’s wrong? Pre-wedding jitters?”

The comment earned Lucas a scornful look, and Brad stood and walked to the window. “Can’t get ahold of her.”

“Julia? She told you—you couldn’t see her today.”

“I want to talk to her. Hear her voice.”

“Brad. The ceremony’s in an hour. Then you’ll have the rest of your life to talk to her. Relax and take a damn shot.”

“I can’t just sit here. The waiting is driving me crazy. Let’s head outside, Stevie is down there.” He stood, shouldering into his tuxedo jacket.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were nervous.”

Brad met his eyes. “When it comes to Julia, I’m always nervous.”

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“I
t seems a little early to panic.” Olivia’s voice rang out in the lavender-tinted room, causing six updo’d heads to turn her way.

“Early?” one of the wedding planners said, her over-plucked eyebrows coming to a point in the middle of her lined forehead.

“It’s eleven-thirty,” the other planner said anxiously, as if everyone in the room wasn’t aware of the hour. “The ceremony starts in thirty minutes. And no one knows where she is. A bride, missing from the wedding ...” She started to breathe quickly, in terse gasps, on the verge of what appeared to be a nervous breakdown.

“She cancelled on us for hair and makeup,” Becca said flatly, shooting Olivia a look, their argument already hours in the making.

“Which would make sense if she ...” Olivia shrugged suggestively as the words dropped off.

“If she what?” Becca shot back.

“I’m just saying ...” Olivia said airily, “maybe she changed her mind. Decided she was making a mistake.”

“Making a mistake?” The female linebacker, who worked for Brad, stepped forward, her arms crossing in front of her ample chest. “Making a mistake by getting married? Have you
been
in the same room with them? Spoken to either one of them in the last year? They were made for each other; I’ve never seen two people more perfectly matched. Not to mention this is Brad-
Fucking
-De Luca. Women don’t ‘change their mind’ about Brad, they hunt him down like rabid animals.” She snarled the final words, now officially inside of Olivia’s bubble, her teeth bared and claws out.

Olivia wilted slightly, glancing away and studying her fresh manicure. “I’m
just
saying that we could give it a little more time. You already drove by her house. She’s not home so she’s probably on her way here.”

“I think we should tell Brad,” Martha spoke from her post at the window.

“No,” the two planners spoke in unison, panic crossing their faces. One stepped forward. “It’s common for brides to flake. It’s better that the groom doesn’t know. It can taint the ceremony for him, or cause a fight right before the wedding.”

The room was silent, her logic making sense. Rebecca nodded. “Brad will lose it if he knows.”

“So what do we do?” Julia’s mother spoke from her seat in the center of the room, her features tight, mouth pinched.

“We wait. We wait for her to show up. She’ll show up,” Becca spoke from the doorway, and it was the last words spoken for a while, no one having a better solution to offer.

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R
ebecca knew this was bad. This was beyond bad. She ground into nothing the soft napkin, the one with Brad & Julia perfectly printed, just as she’d wished. It seemed ridiculous that she’d ever cared. Why did napkins matter when a bride was missing? And it didn’t matter what the bimbo in the other room thought. Julia wasn’t flaking out. It was impossible. She wasn’t
that
kind of girl. And Brad wasn’t the kind of man who got left at the altar. Something was wrong, she could feel it in her gut. She looked at her cell and wondered, for the thirtieth time that day, if she should call Brad.

♦♦♦

D
ebra Campbell paced, her heels snagging on the carpet when her steps got too hurried.

“Please, dear. Sit.”

“I can’t sit. Something is wrong. I should have known it earlier. Her not returning our calls this morning?”

“She’s always hard to get ahold of by phone.” The man stood, stopping his wife’s journey with firm hands, pulling her over to a loveseat and pushing her down. “Your blood pressure has to be sky high. Please. Panic isn’t helping.”

His touch grounded her, as it always had. She took a trembling breath, reached out and gripped his hand. “She wouldn’t stand him up, would she?” There was hope in the last word. Hope that her daughter was abandoning this marriage. A humorous development, considering she had been thanking her lucky stars just one day prior. Julia had done well. Her new husband was successful. Adored the ground she walked on. Would do anything to make her happy. But now, there were only two possibilities. Something was terribly wrong, or Julia had cold feet. She prayed for the latter.

Her husband held her gaze steadily, more moisture in his eyes than she had seen in quite some time. “I don’t know, Debra. I really don’t know.”

Down the hall, there was the sound of shouting, and she wiped her eyes. “Let’s go back. See if anyone’s heard anything.”

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S
he was not responding. They had found her on the floor, still tied to the chair, a pool of blood around her head. One man had panicked, calling the man who shouldn’t have been called. And now they stood, in a circle around her body, repeatedly checking for a pulse and untying her limbs. They carried her to a bed, a bed that had already hosted its share of dead bodies, and prayed that hers wouldn’t join the ranks. If she was to die, it was only by his order. Now was not the time, and failure was unacceptable.

♦♦♦

I
n actuality, I never had a chance to walk down that aisle. It was never in the cards, plans made to remove me from the equation long before I ever tried on wedding dresses, long before invitations were sent. I don’t think dramatics was their intention. Perhaps they thought that snatching me the night before would be enough advance notice to hold the ceremony—to call guests and cancel the event. As it happened, my absence was not discovered in time, and even then, was suspected to be a case of pre-wedding cold feet.

♦♦♦

“C
an we panic now?” Rebecca screamed into Olivia’s face, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her roughly, the girl’s thin body shaking like wet spaghetti. “It is
time
, the guests are seated, and they are about to start the damn music!”

“Stop yelling at me! It’s not my fault she isn’t here!”

“Who called her cell last?” one of the wedding planners asked anxiously.

“I did,” Julia’s mother said, wrapping her sweater tightly around her shoulders. “Her voicemail is full.”

The strands of music almost missed their ears, drifting among the room casually, weaving easily between their strained words. The second planner looked up with a stricken look. “Oh my God. They’re starting.” She fumbled for her sleeve, pushing back the material to reveal a watch face. “Early.” She fled the room, her heels clattering down the hallway.

The room sat in silence, the chords of the song changing as it reached its crescendo.

Becca finally spoke. “So ... what do we do?”

The remaining wedding planner spoke. “We go. Just like we planned. It’ll take ten minutes to do the procession. We’ll just have to pray she shows up.”

♦♦♦

“S
he’s breathing,” the man spoke rapidly, and the doctor shot him an irritated look.

“I’m well aware of that; I did attend medical school. Please back up and let me examine her.”

“I’m just saying, she must have only been out for a few minutes. I think she’s just sleeping now. Might still be from the chloroform. If she’s breathing then she’s not dead, right? And we checked for a pulse—it seems ... present.”

The doctor bit back a sarcastic response and started his examination. “It means she’s not dead
yet
. That could all change quickly depending on what is going on with her brain. At the minimum, we’re talking a concussion. What are these?” He ran his fingers lightly over a bandage on her shoulder, blood staining its edges.

“We cut her. With a knife. When we found her on the floor. Some thought she was faking. But she didn’t flinch.” He chewed at the edge of his cuticle nervously.

The doctor raised his eyebrows but said nothing, moving to the front of her body and lifting her head slightly, his fingers gently probing the wound on the back of her head.

“Best I can tell: she was unconscious when you found her. You’re right in that she is sleeping—that can be from her concussion. Her pupils show that she was sedated recently, that she might have just gained consciousness recently before her head trauma. The drugs are still in her system, and could partially account for her state. But head trauma is a messy and unpredictable animal. Normally, I’d do a CT or MRI scan. But I’m assuming that this is a situation where you don’t want her to be moved?” He glanced at the men, one giving a silent nod. “Well, I don’t want to put any more drugs in her system. From the looks of the wound, and the fact that she is sleeping right now, the impact on her skull was pretty severe. All we can do is wait, and let me talk to her when she wakes up. A concussion can be deadly, but we’ll know in a few hours if you’ll have another body to deal with.” He pulled off his latex gloves and dropped them in the closest trashcan. “I’ve got to get back to the house. Call me if anything changes.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

Hands were shaken and the doctor left, leaving the two men alone with her, their eyes meeting above her body, silent communication passing between them.

“The boss is gonna be pissed.”

“Not if she pulls through. You still got her phone?”

“Yeah. Lots of calls and texts. Should I respond to any more of them?”

“No. Drive a few miles away and kill it. I’ll watch her. Talk to the boss while you’re gone. Feel out the situation.”

There was a silent power struggle, and then the man spoke, “Okay. I’ll be back soon. Call me if she wakes up.”  He glanced at the girl, then back at the man. “I’ll be back soon.”

“And I’ll be here.”

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B
rad exhaled, his hands clasped before him, the collar on his tux scratchy. Finally. Fourteen months after she had walked into his office. Thirteen months after she had broken in and stolen his heart. The year-long engagement had dragged on, punctuated by empty nights where she stayed at her house, nights he realized how much he wanted and needed her to be his wife. He felt lost without her—incomplete—like he was missing out on something incredible. She had become, in those twelve months, his best friend as well as soul mate, the power of their relationship terrifying in its perfection. And now, finally, he would have security. Would have the strength of their marriage. A message to his family and to the world that they were, and always would be, together. Musical chords began, the orchestra gradually joining in, bit by bit, until the entire ensemble was participating, their notes rising in a strong crescendo. His heart swelled along with the music, until he thought it would burst, and he smiled despite himself, a break in the dam that they had reached this day safely.

The doors opened and the wedding procession began, Julia’s mother entering to the tones of Bach.