The Fortune Quilt (2 page)

“I hopped up out of my seat, having no idea what I intended to do—grab you or knock out the bruiser. But your mother put her hand on my arm and say, ‘Don’t worry about it, Declan. It’s Ella. She’ll get back up. She always does.’”

I feel a tightness in my shoulders, which happens whenever Dad mentions Mom. I learned a long time ago that it’s best to swallow my annoyance and let him remember her fondly if he wants to, so I look down at the sage green toes of my Maid of Honor shoes and concentrate on the way the satin shimmers.

“She was right,” he says after a moment. “You got back up. And you played the rest of that game with all your heart, even though your team was losing. You put everything you had into every swing, every pitch, no matter how hopeless the situation seemed.”

“Did her team win?” Five asks, her voice tremulous.

Dad smiles. “They got whomped. And that bruiser kid went home with a trophy, but Ella was the one who stole the show, because she got back up.”

He and Ella exchange smiles, and I see a tear stroll down her cheek. Dad goes on.

“That’s why I know you’re going to be great at marriage, Ella, because marriage requires a lot of getting back up. Not that it won’t be wonderful, because it will. But it will also be hard, and you’re each probably going to get hit by a lot of bum pitches.”

He pauses, watching Ella, his eyes beaming with pride and just a touch of the Jameson’s he’d downed before we left for the church. He releases my hand and Five’s, and moves forward, holding both hands out to Ella. He leans over, kisses her on each cheek, and then puts one hand on her face.

“Ella, honey, if anyone can keep getting up, no matter what, it’s you. You have a beautiful future ahead of you, and I know you’ll meet it with courage and faith. I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.”

Both Five and Ella crack on that one, sniffling and weeping. Ella swipes at her face and kisses Dad on the cheek with trembling lips. “Thanks, Daddy.”

Five ducks around Ella and bends over to check herself in the mirror.

“Goddamn it, Dad, couldn’t you have saved that until after the wedding?” she sniffs, running her fingers under her eyes. “I don’t have a heart of stone like Carly. You’ve totally ruined my makeup.”

“I don’t have a heart of stone. I just have some self control. And don’t say ‘goddamn it’ in church.” I walk over to Dad and put my arm around his shoulders, stuffing another ten into his hand.

“Definitely David,” I whisper. He kisses me on the cheek and swipes his fingers over his eyes as the church organ starts playing.

“That’s our cue, girls,” he says. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

***

For the most part, Ella’s wedding goes off without a hitch. Five and I exchange a smile as Father Lucey asks if there are any objections. Of course, there aren’t. None of us really thought there would be, and the kitty has already been tucked away into Ella’s bags, to be found later on her honeymoon in Maui. By the time Father Lucey has gotten to, “you may kiss the bride,” my most pressing concern is getting out of my misogynistic shoes before I sustain permanent nerve damage, so when the doors fly open at the back of the church, I am as surprised as anyone.

“I object!”

Heads swish to face the back of the church. I glance at Five, who laughs in shock and then covers her mouth.

“I object!” the voice says again, and I look up, trying to figure out which one of the exes it is. I glance through the crowd and do a mental count; they are all in their seats. I blink, unsure of what’s going on, until I feel Five nudge me.

“Oh my God. Is that… Seth?” she whispers.

My heart booms in my chest. I squint.

Oh, shit.

It’s Seth. My Seth. I look at Ella, who is staring at me, wide-eyed. Greg leans toward her, his face grave.

“Ella?” he says tentatively, looking worried, which is a big deal for him. As a plastic surgeon, Greg tries to avoid creasing his brow, as he doesn’t ever want to be in need of his own services.

Yes, he actually said that once. Hand to God.

I hold up one hand, like a kindergartener pleading guilty to breaking the last red crayon. “Never mind. It’s for me.” I step away from the altar, my face blazing. My pinched feet stumble on the first of the altar steps, and two pairs of McKay-sister hands are on me, steadying me as a soft shuffle of suppressed snickers rumble through a section of teenage kids on the groom’s side. Brats. I smooth my dress and walk carefully down the aisle with two hundred and seventeen sets of eyes following my every step.

“Seth,” I hiss as I reach him at the back of the church, “what are you doing here?”

He blinks at me and cocks his head to the side, his dark brown eyes looking slightly bewildered and not a little bloodshot. I can smell the single-malt on him and my heart plummets as I realize what has happened.

“Carly,” he whispers, almost to himself, as if he’s trying to wrap his mind around the fact that I’m not wearing a wedding dress. His focus trails up the aisle to Ella, then slowly hones back on me. “But…”

“It was a misprint, Seth. I gave the newspaper the information, and they must have gotten confused. A correction ran the following Sunday. The picture was of Ella.” I clear my throat as the panic closes in. “Couldn’t you tell?”

He shakes his head. “But…”

“It was a
misprint
,” I repeat. I am speaking quietly, but the silence is so thick that it carries my voice to every corner of the church.

“Oh, God.” Seth’s face goes white as he looks at Ella. “Oh, man. Ella, and… Guy Who’s Marrying Ella—I’m so sorry. I thought…
whew
…” He lets out a whiskey-laced exhale and gestures toward me. “I thought…”

He turns to me and puts his hands on either side of my face, squeezing my cheeks until I have to work to keep my lips from puckering out. “Oh, hell, baby. I thought it was you.”

I pull his hands away from my face. “Can we talk about this later, maybe?”

He starts to nod, but then his eyes darken, and my lungs tighten.

“No,” he says. I close my eyes. When he speaks again, I can feel the anger in his voice. “How are we supposed to talk when you won’t return my phone calls?”

“I’ll call you, I swear.” I open my eyes wide and give him my most earnest look. “Just go. Please”

He shakes his head. “No. I’m not afraid to talk in front of these people. I have nothing to hide.”

“Fine, I’ll talk to you now, but can we at least take it outside, please?” I whisper harshly. “This is my sister’s wedding.”

“Yeah, and what do you think is going to happen once you shuffle me out of here?” His voice is so loud there’s an echo. “You’re gonna promise to call me, and then I’ll never hear from you again. No, if it takes humiliating myself in front of all these people to get you to talk to me, then let’s do it. Right here.”

I freeze as it occurs to me that there will be no getting out of this gracefully. My drunk ex-fiancé is ruining my sister’s wedding and I am powerless to stop it. Panic clutches at my abdomen and my nausea begins to intensify.

I feel a hand brush the small of my back as someone sidles up beside me. Gratitude rushes through me and I turn, expecting Dad who will fix everything, the way he always does.

But it isn’t Dad. It’s Will. He steps closer to Seth and locks eyes with him.

“Hey, man.” Will’s voice soft and sandpapery and kind, and I feel a lump of affection forming in my throat. “You look like you could use a drink.”

The affection wanes.
What?

Seth runs his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, no shit.”

Will smiles, keeping his eyes on Seth. “I’ve got some Jim Beam in my car. Why don’t we all go out and get it and then maybe you two can talk?”

I blink, staring at Will. What the hell does he think he’s doing, offering Seth a drink? Can’t he see the man is already drunk? Is he
crazy
? But before I can tell him to mind his own damn business, he’s escorting Seth peaceably out the door. I shoot Ella a helpless look, and she blows me a kiss and waves me on. I blow one back, mouth an “I’m sorry,” and stumble again as I turn and stalk out of the church, my focus on my feet and my mind on murder.

“I can’t believe you did that,” I say to Seth when I catch up to them outside.

“I’m sorry, Car,” he says, although he doesn’t sound sorry. He sounds angry. “I thought you were getting married.”

I shake my head and sigh. “And how is that an excuse? Interrupting weddings is what crazy people do. Sane people make a phone call.”

We stare at each other in icy silence.

“Hey, you two talk,” Will says, stepping back away from us. “I’ll just…”

He ducks off toward the parking lot, disappearing behind the church. Seth turns to me, his face cold with anger. I clench and unclench my fists, trying to control the shaking in my hands.

“Seth…” I begin, but I don’t know where to go with the conversation, a conversation I’ve been trying to finish for eight months, with limited success.

Seth holds up his hands and lets them fall. “Forget it, Carly. Just forget it. Tell Ella I’m sorry and just forget it, okay?”

I sigh. “Seth, you have to get past this—”

“You know what your problem is, Carly?” he says, his voice harsh.

“I have an idea,” I say, staring him down.

He leans forward, his eyes flitting over mine. “You have no faith.”

I’m thrown for a moment. Where the hell did that come from?

“Okay, Seth,” I say. “Well, gee, it’s been great to see you—”

“You had no faith in me,” he says. “You had no faith in us. We hit a rough spot. Lots of couples do. That’s what marriage is, seeing through the rough spots.”

My stomach is heaving like a ship at sea. I don’t know what to say, but I have to say something. “Isn’t it better to know now that I can’t do that? That I’m not ready?”

“Ready has nothing to do with it,” he says. “No one’s ever ready. You either love someone enough, or you don’t. So, you don’t. Maybe you never did. Maybe I’m just an idiot to have ever believed you.”

A sharp pain stabs through my stomach. “No. Seth—”

“I don’t understand, Car,” he says. “I never lied to you. I never cheated. I didn’t even used to drink—”

He lets out a huff of ironic laughter. I take a deep breath to fight the stabbing sensation which has moved into my chest.

“Seth, I said I’m sorry, a thousand times. I can’t say it anymore. You just have to accept it and move on.”

Seth glances up at the church, and I can see the hurt on his face, as fresh as it was eight months ago, on the night I moved my stuff out of his house and back into my old room at home.

“That should have been us in there today,” he says. “We were happy. Weren’t we happy?”

“Yeah,” I say weakly. “Sure.”
I thought we were. Maybe. I don’t know.
God, I’m so bad at this. Answers keep running through my head, and yet none of them seem quite right, and obviously none of them will be good enough for Seth. I don’t know what he wants from me, but I’m pretty damn sure that whatever it is, I don’t have it. Guilt, anger, and frustration all circle around me, tightening and intensifying, making it hard to breathe.

“I don’t know what else to say, Seth,” I say flatly. I force myself to look him in the eye, but I can’t hold the contact, so I stare at the church. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” he says, his eyes squinty, red and cold. “I know.”

He throws his arm out in frustration and I flinch away instinctively, even though I know Seth would never hit me. I hear soft footsteps to my left and I turn to see Will moving silently into position beside me. Either he was watching us from the side of the church or he has the best timing in the world. I don’t really care; I’m just relieved to have him there.

“Who the hell
are
you, anyway?” Seth asks as Will situates himself slightly in front of me, his stance protective yet not aggressive.

“I’m a friend,” Will says, his voice calm and even. “You’re obviously having a bad day, man. Maybe it’s time to go home and sleep it off.”

Seth’s eyes narrow and he steps back. He looks from me to Will and then back at me. I can tell he’s adding up two and two in his mind, and I’m not the least bit inclined to correct the wrong impression he’s getting.

“A friend, huh?” He lets out a bitter laugh, and anger flashes over his face. “Best of luck to you, man. You’re gonna need it.”

Will steps directly between us then, which is brave. He’s a bit taller than Seth, but Seth easily has twenty pounds on Will. And Will doesn’t look like much of a fighter. But still, he stands firmly there between us, and if I were Seth, I wouldn’t try to move him.

“I can call you a cab.” Will’s tone is kind, but there’s an edge in his words that says he means business. Seth stares at him, and for a moment I’m horrified by the idea that they might actually start fighting right there in front of St. Michael’s. Finally, Seth takes a step back, and I start to breathe again.

“Whatever,” Seth says, glancing away toward the road. “She’s all yours, man. I’m done.”