My Best Man Andy Schell (top rated ebook readers .TXT) 📖

I throw her arm off. “How could you do this?” I hiss, keeping my voice low. I’m fighting to keep the tears in my eyes.

“Harry, you don’t understand,” she pleads. “This was the only way for all of us to be happy.”

“I’m not happy anymore,” I tell her, one tear falling.

“You will be,” she swears as we round the corner to the chapel. Mr. Stubbs is waiting with an exasperated look on his face, and I turn to the left, to exit the church, but Amity shoves me with the strength of a defensive lineman and I fall splat on my face, Amity on top of me. The whole church turns and gasps to see us on the floor.

Amity stands, shrugs at the crowd, and nervously laughs. “I didn’t have a shotgun.” A few nervous chuckles arise.

As Mr. Stubbs comes walking toward us, I see my mother’s horrified expression. Donald is holding her up. Mr. Stubbs pulls me up and sets me in the aisle. Amity takes my arm and pulls me in, then grabs her father’s ann, and suddenly all three of us are linked to walk up the aisle together, Amity with a long-strapped white purse over her shoulder. I’m supposed to be waiting at the altar as he brings her to me, and he’s thrown by the unorthodox style of this improvised trio. I dig my heels into the carpet. “Come on!” Come own! Amity implores, coaxing me forward.

I flash back to the first time we entered Suicide Express together. She spurred me on, swearing it wouldn’t kill us although I was not

so sure. The narrow road ahead dared us to enter its clutches, challenged us to hang on as we hurled forward into the world together. She pushes me again, and I step on the carpet, entering on the treacherous road with my heart in pieces. “What are you doing?” I whisper to her desperately.

We walk slowly, but it feels as if I’m moving seventy miles an hour, like on the expressway. People turn, smile at us, nod in recognition, whisper to each other, and I have to concentrate not to hit the side walls of the pews as I lurch recklessly forward. She’s between her father and me, pulling us on, smiling like an angel who’s earned her wings. The ringing in my ears is deafening now, and my legs are barely holding me up. I look for an off ramp, a chance to dash down a row and slide away. “Keep walking, Harry,” she whispers.

As we reach the front of the church, I look to see my mother, finally relaxing and radiating with happiness and light, giving shine to all the beautiful hues of stained glass within the windows of the chapel. My grammie stands beside her, braced on a cane. Unlike my mother, she sees the panic and discomfort in my face, and she raises her eyebrows, then squints her eyes to ask me what is the matter. I can’t answer. Winston has not returned to my grandmother’s side, and I look behind us and see him standing at the back of the church in the shadows, like a vampire waiting to swoop down on his victim. Amity tugs on me, forcing me to look ahead and make the final steps to the priest, Father Warner.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to unite this man, Harry Ford, and this woman, Amity Stone, in holy matrimony. The union of a man and woman is a sacred covenant and shall not be taken lightly. If there is anyone present who has knowledge of any reason that Harry and Amity may not be joined in holy matrimony, let him speak now or forever hold his peace.”

Amity inhales a huge breath, as do I. What is happening? Is she

taking his money and mine? She’s got the check. It’s as good as cash. Is she outfoxing Winston and simply marrying me anyway? No one speaks, not even Winston. I start to open my mouth …. “Who gives this woman to this man?” Father Warner asks. Amity and I release the air from our lungs.

“I do,” her father answers proudly. He separates from Amity and steps directly into the pew with Mrs. Stubbs. Amity and I are left alone in front of God and everyone. My ears are ringing so hard and blood is flushing through my head so fast that I can’t hear anything Father Warner is saying. I think he’s educating us about the sanctity of marriage and telling us to be good to each other, or at least not to kill each other, but he’s woefully late. It’s all too late.

“Do you, Harry Ford, take this woman, to have and to hold,

for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health,

so long as you both shall live?”

I stare ahead, my vision tunneling, my face on fire. Amity pulls me to her and whispers, “Say yes, Harry.” I turn, look at her. Search her eyes for any meaning. “Trust me,” she whispers, her clear eyes promising me faith. I hesitate. She squeezes my hand, and at that moment, it’s as if God squeezed it and the halls of the church open in my mind and God speaks to me loud and clear.

“I do.”

As if held under water, then finally allowed to rise to the surface,

my mother exhales with great force. Several of my relatives giggle at her relief.

“Good boy, Bubba,” Amity whispers, her eyes filling with tears. The priest starts again with Amity, requesting her pledge, her faith, her promise. “For richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, so long as you both shall live?”

I glance at my mother, who’s now crying. She’s trembling with an upside-down smile and wiping the tears from her cheek. Donald holds her free hand, and with his other gives me the thumbs-up.

My grammie, her head cocked, her wise eyes waiting, is now the one who holds her breath. I look into Amity’s