End Times (24 page)

“Five minutes to the ceremony.” She quickly surveyed the room. “So bridesmaids, start lining up. Oh, and put some powder on the bride.” She turned to Daphne and handed her a compact. “We don’t want her to be shiny in the pictures, do we now?”

“Five minutes!” Janie’s smile quavered as the bridesmaids bustled around her, collecting their bouquets and fixing their lipstick. “It’s so soon.”

“Come here.” Daphne fumbled with the compact. As she patted powder onto Janie’s face, she noticed that her cousin had gone pale.

“Are you nervous?” she asked.

“No!” Janie said. “I mean—maybe?”

“It’s okay to have some jitters.” Daphne swiped the powder over her cheeks. “It’s a big day.”

“Yeah.” Janie’s eyes were far away. Her hand shot out suddenly as a pinball and gripped Daphne’s, the skin around her fingernails white.

“Daphne?” she whispered. Her blue eyes were huge, her lashes trembling.

“What?” Daphne was caught off guard. She’d been looking for a place to put the compact, and wishing for the millionth time that the bridesmaids’ dresses had pockets. How did girlie girls manage to carry all their stuff?

“I’m doing the right thing, right?” Janie whispered. Her eyes, so full of laughter and excitement ever since she’d come home from Cheyenne wearing Doug’s engagement ring, looked like the aftermath of a storm at sea, dark and turbulent.

In the space of ten seconds, Daphne thought of a dozen possible answers, none of which she could have said out loud. Of course she didn’t think Janie should marry Doug—seventeen seemed too young to marry anyone, let alone a verified slimeball. But it would be wrong to say that just minutes before Janie walked down the aisle. At that moment, her cousin needed her support more than anything else.

“Of course you are.” She hoped she sounded convincing, that her face didn’t reveal the way she really felt. “You’re doing the right thing for your baby, and that’s what matters.”

“I guess.” Janie let go of Daphne’s wrist, but she still looked troubled. “But what if Doug doesn’t get better? What if he hurts me . . . or the baby?”

The skin on the back of Daphne’s neck prickled. “Has he threatened to?” she asked.

“No.” Janie’s eyes were dark. “Well . . . not really. But he’s been drinking so much since Trey died, and he raised his arm once like he was going to hit me. Sometimes I just don’t know.”

Daphne took Janie’s hand in hers, holding it tight. “It’s not too late to back out, you know,” she said. She couldn’t help picturing Jim’s tomato-dark face as he pummeled her mother, Myra cowering and sobbing against the kitchen cabinets. Just the thought of Doug’s abuse turning Janie into a sniveling shell of a person like her mother made her quake with rage. “If you really think he’s going to hurt you, you shouldn’t marry him.”

Janie’s lip trembled as she looked out at the assembled crowd. It seemed like most of Carbon County had turned out for the wedding, their festive clothes bright as lollipops under the cerulean sky.

She turned back to Daphne. “I can’t,” she said. “They’re all here. It’s about to start.”

“You
can
,” Daphne insisted.

But the storm in Janie’s eyes had already turned to steel. She took a great, heaving breath and collected herself, fixing Daphne with a determined smile.

“Don’t even listen to me,” she said as the first strains of Pachelbel’s Canon filled the air. “You were right—it’s just wedding-day jitters.”

She leaned in and gave Daphne a hug that smelled like powder and hair spray and flowery perfume.

“Thanks,” she whispered in her ear. “And please—forget everything I just said.”

“If you insist.” Daphne squeezed her back, then knelt to arrange her train. She knew she could never forget what Janie had just told her. She was still shaking at the confession, the thought of Doug threatening her cousin sending livid rivers of rage through her veins. She wanted to grab Janie’s ankles and force her to stay, to run out in front of the crowd and tell them all that the wedding was off. But the first bridesmaids had already begun their journey down the aisle, stepping in careful time to the music as the sea of heads in the audience bowed and murmured.

Daphne took her place behind them, her palms slippery around her bouquet as she counted slowly to ten just like the coordinator had instructed at the rehearsal dinner the night before.

Right before she took the first step, she turned and snuck one last glace at her cousin. Janie’s head was high, and the smile shellacked onto her face belied any evidence that there had ever been a storm in her eyes.

• • •

“WE are gathered here today to witness the fruits of young love in bloom.” Pastor Ted’s smooth cheeks were pink against his blue suit, so that he almost looked like one of the birds of paradise himself. “The couple before me, Douglas James Varley and Janice Patience Peyton, may appear at first glance like any other young couple in love—perhaps
too
in love.”

He nodded at Janie’s belly, and the crowd tittered. A droplet of sweat trickled down Daphne’s back—in addition to everything else she hated about the bridesmaids’ dresses, the stiff fabric was about as breathable as being mummified in saran wrap.

She watched her cousin’s face closely, but every sign of the indecision that had ravaged her just moments before was gone. Janie looked rapturous: The color was high in her cheeks, and her smile, as much as she tried to contain it, kept leaking out as she gazed into Doug’s eyes.

Even though Daphne hated him more than ever before, she had to admit that Doug cut a handsome figure in his tuxedo. He towered over Janie and the rest of the wedding party, his shoulders wide and square, a well-placed bowtie making his oversize head look less like it had been slammed haphazardly onto his shoulders. With the entire town’s eyes on him, he looked down at Janie with such loving, tender affection that it seemed hard to believe he’d spent the past several months calling her a cow and hitting on her cousin. The magic of the crystal and flowers, the magnificent view, and the birds of paradise gliding overhead had wiped the past clean, so that Trey’s death, Doug’s dark moodiness, and Janie’s growing fear of him seemed nothing more than the dim memory of a dream.

“But this is no ordinary couple!” Pastor Ted was clearly in his element, the tails of his new suit flapping in the breeze. “And the child growing in Janie’s womb is no ordinary child.”

A stillness blanketed the crowd. They leaned forward, barely daring to breathe. Even the birds of paradise stopped singing in the trees.

“I’ve had a feeling there was something special about this baby since the moment Janie walked into my church and confessed her pregnancy.” Pastor Ted lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Something more than special—something
holy.
Do you believe?”

“I believe,” the crowd murmured.

“And there have been signs. Since the child was conceived, God has sent us trumpets from the heavens and oil from the earth. And now, He has sent these beautiful birds to grace our skies.”

Sweat flew from Pastor Ted’s forehead, and his eyes blazed as bright as butane.

“They are a gift, a sign from the Lord our God who resides in Paradise. My friends, when I look at these birds, I don’t just see birds of paradise. I see a stork: a stork come to deliver a very special child. Do you believe?”

“I believe!” The words burst from the crowd like a bunch of balloons released to the sky. Even Daphne, caught up in the moment, felt herself mouthing along. Janie and Doug had torn their eyes away from each other to give Pastor Ted their full attention, Janie’s mouth hanging slightly open, her teeth pearly behind layers of rose-colored lip gloss.

“For this will be no ordinary baby,” Pastor Ted said firmly. “I believe with all of my soul that this child will be a prophet.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Perhaps even the next messiah.”

Janie gasped. Her hands went instinctively to her belly.

“Yes, Janie.” Pastor Ted touched her gently on the shoulder. “And Doug.” He raised his other hand to rest on his arm. “Together, you have a great responsibility—far greater than the bond of marriage, or even the sacred duty of parenthood. Together, you will be parents to a holy child.”

Daphne snuck a glance at the first row of chairs, where the Peytons and Varleys sat side by side. Her aunt Karen was weeping openly, fat tears of joy rolling down her face and splattering the blue crepe front of her dress. Floyd had one arm around her shaking shoulders and was staring at his daughter and future son-in-law with a look of pure pride in his eyes. The Varleys merely looked shell-shocked.

“Janice Patience Peyton.” Pastor Ted’s voice was grave. “Are you ready to accept not only the great responsibility of marriage and motherhood, but also serve as the Lord’s servant as a vessel for the messiah who may one day lead us through the Great Change and into Eternal Heaven?”

Janie blinked slowly, her false lashes sweeping dramatically. “I am,” she said somberly.

“And Douglas James Varley, are you ready to love and cherish this young woman, and to raise your son in the spirit of humility and piety befitting the next Son of God?”

Doug stood taller. “I am,” he said.

“Then may I please have the rings?” Pastor Ted held out his hand as Bryce, Doug’s best man, stepped forward.

Daphne watched Janie’s face closely as the couple exchanged rings and vows. In a matter of moments, Pastor Ted’s speech had transformed her from a girl playing at staging her dream wedding to something deeper and more mature. Where before her glow had been that of a princess in a fairy tale, it now reminded Daphne of the medieval paintings she’d seen once on a class trip to the museum, as if a light had been turned on inside of her that poured from the thin membrane of her skin and surrounded her head like a halo.

When Doug slipped the ring on her finger, instead of squealing or jumping up and down like the old Janie would have done, she simply smiled beatifically, as if their bond was a foregone conclusion ordained by the Lord.

“I now pronounce you man and wife.” Pastor Ted’s words drifted triumphantly to the sky. “You may kiss the bride.”

Doug and Janie embraced in a flurry of feathers and sequins as the crowd rose to their feet, roaring their approval and sending the birds of paradise rising from the trees in a mosaic of color, flapping their wings and chirping joyously.

The band launched into an ecstatic march, and the couple disentangled themselves and practically skipped down the aisle, clutching hands and grinning with amazement. Daphne automatically fell in step after the bridesmaids, doing her best to smile at the blur of flushed faces and candy-colored finery as she passed.

As the crowd pressed in to congratulate the couple, a cool hand landed on her arm. She turned, startled, and found herself staring straight into a pair of deep green eyes.

“Owen!” she gasped. “What are you doing here?”

He flashed a mischievous grin. “I didn’t want you to be the only bridesmaid without a date.”

“What if
I
wanted to be the only bridesmaid without a date?” Her indignant tone sounded fake even to her. In truth, Owen’s face was a welcome surprise among the sea of Carbon County locals, friends and family of the Varleys and Peytons who had all known one another since birth. He looked strong and lean in his slim black suit, his once-pale skin bronzed from a summer on the rig.

“The thought never crossed my mind,” Owen said mildly.

She gaped. “So you just crashed the wedding?”

“I prefer to think of it as paying a surprise visit.”

She sucked in air sharply. “Doug’ll kill you if he sees you.”

“I’ll lay low—but don’t kick me out yet.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “I brought you a present.”

He held out a brown paper bag, a red ribbon tied clumsily around its handles.

She narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t.” She peeked inside the bag, and a laugh boiled up from deep inside her, bubbling forth so fast she had to clap a hand over her mouth.

“This is
exactly
what I wanted,” she admitted, pulling out the pair of beat-up black Chuck Taylors she kept in her cubby at work. “My feet are killing me. How did you know?”

“Hmmm . . . maybe because you’ve been complaining about your wedding shoes all week?”

“That’s not true!” she protested. But she was already fumbling with the buckle on her strappy heels, nearly losing her balance as she tried to perch on one precarious stiletto.

“How about you hold on to me,” Owen suggested.

“No, I got it,” she said, almost toppling onto a table piled high with cheese puffs and miniature hot dogs.

“Whoa, careful!” Owen caught her, his hands gentle but firm on her upper arms. The heat from his palms seeped into her bare skin, sending her pulse skittering. “Now, what were you saying about your perfect balance?”

“Okay, fine,” she grumbled. He held her for a moment longer, making sure she was steady before he let go. Resting a hand on his shoulder, she slipped off the dreaded stilettos and quickly laced her sneakers.

“That’s better,” she said, trying to wiggle the circulation back into her toes.

“You’re three inches shorter,” he observed. “But you still look amazing.”

“I look like a flamingo,” she corrected.

“Hottest
flamingo I’ve ever seen.” Owen grabbed a pair of champagne flutes from a passing waiter and handed her one.

Her cheeks burned from the compliment. She turned away, hoping he wouldn’t notice, and watched the sun start to set over the valley, trailing veins of rose-tinged gold through the sky. The reception was in full swing: The band, dressed in matching pink-and-teal western shirts and cowboy boots, played country renditions of Janie’s favorite pop songs as dozens of waitstaff circulated with silver trays of miniature tacos and Doritos nachos that the caterer had whipped up in Janie’s honor.

“So can I get a
cheers
, or what?” Owen’s voice was soft and playful behind her. She turned back to find him holding out his champagne flute.

“I don’t know.” Daphne watched the tiny bubbles rise to the surface. “What if Janie needs me for something?”