Chapter 38: Chapter 38

Bree walked into the chapel and noted her guitar was already in place. She didn’t wait for an usher. Her spot was reserved, so she walked right to it, ignoring all of the other guests. There were several there already, and she heard her name shouted in a familiar voice that was probably Christy, but she didn’t look. She was in performance mode, robot mode, and she didn’t want to lift her eyes to look at anyone or even make small talk and pretend smile. She’d have to talk to Christy later and explain that she just hadn’t heard her, which wasn’t true, but Christy didn’t need to know that.

The guests came in and were seated. Bree kept her face pointed straight ahead. Even when the pastor came out, followed closely by the groom and the groomsmen, she didn’t waiver her focus from a spot on the wall near the pastor’s head.

The music changed, and everyone stood. It took Bree a moment to realize the bridesmaids were all headed up the aisle, the flower girl had thrown her flowers, and Monica was coming in.

Now, Bree turned her head. She couldn’t help it. Never had she seen a lovelier vision than the bride coming down the aisle in a gorgeous white gown that made her look like she’d fluttered down from the sky on gossamer wings.

Immediately, Bree looked at Trent. She didn’t mean to do that either, but she had to. Surprisingly, he didn’t seem as enamored with Monica as everyone else. Trent looked… pained, as if he wasn’t sure what he was doing there. Bree swallowed hard. Was he still contemplating whether or not marrying Monica was the wrong thing to do?

Surely not. He wouldn’t still be standing there if that was the case, would he?

Monica’s father placed her hand on Trent’s arm and did the obligatory giving her away and then took a seat in the front row, next to her mother who was wiping at her eyes already. Monica’s smile was as bright as the sun. Trent’s was the one he wore when he knew he was supposed to look happy but didn’t.

Bree went back to her spot on the wall, but she was tuned in enough so that when the pastor said it was time for her song, she automatically got up and went to the stage. She caught Trent’s eyes as she was walking, though she didn’t mean to, and she shook her head slightly, again, not on purpose. He looked away.

Picking up her guitar, Bree made sure it was in tune with a strum and then, she sat on the provided stool and began to sing.

Her intentions were to look out at the crowd, perhaps at Christy and Abby, or over their heads. But as he began to sing, she couldn’t help but look at the couple, to look at Monica, standing there with that satisfied smile on her face, and Trent, not meeting her eyes. But then he looked up, and she was singing to him and no one else.

“You’re mine, you just don’t know it.

You love me, you just can’t show it.

Maybe someday soon, you’re gonna see

Baby, you were meant to marry me.”

Bree finished, stood, put her guitar back on the stand and then walked down the stairs without even looking at anyone, she headed down the aisle, but she didn't stop at the second row. She kept walking--all the way down the aisle--and out the door.

The sun was still shining; the waves continued to roll across the shoreline, wetting the sand, and tumbling back out to sea. The seagulls danced and played above her, and the blue sky was vivid and bright, refusing to hide itself in clouds.

Bree sunk down in the sand, leaning back against the rocks she’d used as shelter many times that week--a week that had taken on a life of its own, stretching beyond five days into a millennium.

But now, it was all over. So was the last decade of wishing, wanting, and waiting. He was actually going through with it. In fact, considering how long it had taken her to walk here from the chapel, he’d probably already done it. He was probably already married. The pastor would’ve said, “Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Trent Walker.” There would’ve been applause, and then the gorgeous couple would’ve gone to greet everyone, to relish in their congratulations. They’d be doing pictures now, soon to be headed to the reception where they’d cut the cake. Bree had no doubt Monica would do something to embarrass Trent--like smear it all over his face. Yeah, he was a married man now, married to that woman who didn’t appreciate him. And here she was, sitting in the sand broken and miserable.

Her thoughts flickered to Hank for a moment. How his heart must also be breaking as he watched them kiss for the first time as man and wife. He’d likely stick around for the whole reception since that’s what the best man was supposed to do. People would probably be whispering about Bree at the reception, asking what was the matter with her, why she’d left, what kind of a professional musician just left a wedding like that? But she couldn’t care at the moment.

Her phone would likely ring soon. It would be Hank or Christy or Abby, wanting to know if she was all right. Telling her how sorry they were for her, that it would be okay, that she could do better, that Trent was getting what was coming to him for choosing Monica over her. She’d thank them, hang up, and keep sitting there until she finally had the strength to go to her room, gather her belongings and head to the airport, looking for an alternate flight on the way.

Yes, that’s how it would all play out. She should’ve seen it unfolding from the moment she realized it was Trent who was getting married. Why she’d ever thought she was strong enough to do this, she had no idea. How she’d ever convinced herself that Trent would choose her over Monica, or even that he would be so angry at her for cheating on him that he’d tell her off and walk away, she couldn’t say, but it was all over now--all of it but the crying.

Despite her best attempts not to cry, to tell herself she’d done enough of that for him over the years, the tears were coming. She let them fall. It wasn’t an ugly, desperate, exhausting cry, just a gentle rain. It would take longer this way to let the emotions out, but it was better than that soul purging cry that would leave her aching and shuddering for hours. Bree tipped her head back, stared up at the birds, listened to the ocean, and cried.