Till Arrest Do Us Part

“I object!” A redhead leaps to his feet, hand raised as if he expects to be called on by the priest who, for reasons I’ll never understand, customarily asks for objections.

So do I, though I’m sure for different reasons.

This was supposed to be my stained-glass cathedral. My twenty-thousand-dollar hand-sewn crystal dress. The one I paid for because his money was “tied up.”

The woman in an enormous floral hat, whom I positioned myself to hide behind, whispers, “I knew this would happen. How did he even get in?”

The same way I did, probably, which is the problem with bloated guest lists. There are at least 300 people gathered, most of whom are strangers. I only know the groom. At least, I know him now.

“Sit down, Craig!” The bride’s shriek keys the microphone.

Fingers plug into ears; guests wince.

I angle for a better view of the altar through all these damn peonies and lace.

Bradley, the groom, glances between the crowd and his wife-to-be, like he isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do, but he knows he ought to do something. He’s handsome, but useless in a crisis.

“I love you, Tina! I have always loved you!” Craig’s face blanches, then floods to the scarlet shade of extreme bottled-up emotion; a human pressure cooker.

“I hate you,” Tina shouts back. “I have always hated you! Dad! Do something.”

A sixty-something who doesn’t look the least bit menacing but can probably take Craig in a slap fight, shoulders his way to the aisle. “You need to leave!”

Craig darts to the other side of the pews, fighting for love, unlike Bradley, who doesn’t fight for anything. “Not until you hear me out!”

The ambulance has only just left. In it, a four-year-old ring bearer with a platinum band lodged deep inside his nose, and his helicopter mother, whose panic delayed the ceremony for thirty minutes before someone called the paramedics.

“Remember the sleigh ride?” Craig asks between panting. “You always wanted to take a horse-drawn ride through fresh snow. I brought wine and your favorite orchids and covered you in that wool blanket?”

“That blanket was full of fleas! The bites itched for weeks!”

“What about the moonlight dinner cruise? You can’t tell me you didn’t love that. You raved about it for weeks.”

“Of course, I liked it. Do you remember how rough the water was? With that incoming storm? You spent the entire time chumming the water over the back deck railing, which is how I met Brad.”

Bradley smirks. “Best night of my life.”

Craig stands gob-smacked, long enough for Dad to nearly catch up.

“Should we call the police or something?” muses Hat Lady.

No need, I want to tell her. They’re already coming.

The guy next to her just shrugs.

Craig darts toward a reed-thin blond in a red satin bridesmaid gown staged to perform a post-ring exchange reading. She leans into the lectern to keep from being tackled. An athletic brunette breaks rank in the line of groomsmen—muscular, handsome, better looking than Bradley. A real knight type.

“Get away from my wife!”

Craig and Dad circle the bridesmaid the way Bradley used to while playing tag with my eight-year-old niece. I blame myself for bringing him into all of our lives. Of all the people Bradley hurt, she’s the one I can’t forgive him for. She loved that liar even more than I did.

Knight joins the fray.

“Stop! Okay?” Craig scans the sanctuary space, hands on his knees and gasping for breath.

I don’t know whether it’s the trapped animal vibe or Dad’s fear of giving this man a heart attack on his daughter’s wedding day, but chase becomes negotiation. “I’m giving you the count of three to get out of my church!”

Knight gathers his tiny bird of a wife, who is reassuring him she is okay with universal hand gestures.

“Tina, please?” Craig pleads. “We can be happy together.”

“Happy?” Tina scoffs. “You ruined my wedding.”

“One …” Dad begins the countdown.

Bradley rolls his eyes.

A guy two pews back is taking bets.

“Damn it, Craig!” Tina shrieks.

“What kind of husband doesn’t protect his wife?” Craig asks. “All he’s done, this entire time, is watch!”

I doubt it’s all he’s done. New charges may be landing on cards he opened in Tina’s name while we wait.

“Two …”

A fifty-something man in a bespoke tuxedo plants himself in the center aisle. Two younger men flank him, blocking all three paths to the exit.

Wax trails down the holders on either side of the altar, all but burnt out from a ceremony already an hour and a half into overtime.

Hat Lady points to the third groomsman. Someone’s brother, or nephew, maybe. A teenager drawing attention by digging a little too deeply in his pants pocket, like he’s not in a church, in front of hundreds of people, with a gold front tooth.

I pass a crisply-folded twenty back to the man taking bets. “I’ve got twenty on him.”

“THREE!”

Craig flails, arms splayed and struggling for traction in patent leather dress shoes.

Dad charges.

I edge toward the aisle, waiting for Craig to make a mistake. The aisles are blocked. There’s a door behind the altar, but what if it’s locked?

He sees it.

Considers.

Maybe goes for it, but—oh. Oh no!

“Craig, stop!” Tina stomps her feet.

There’s a special place in hell for men who, during the course of ruining an expensive wedding, attempt to take out the priest. Craig growls, arms wide as he beelines toward a man who looks and moves like someone in their eighties.

A bridesmaid kicks out a heel.

Craig’s feet go out from under him, and he sails right into a candlestand. Metal clangs. The congregation gasps.

Finally, Bradley steps in to protect the priest, of all people.

Buddy, that won’t get you into Heaven.

Tina screams, waving her arms as though being swarmed by killer bees.

Craig stares, dazed from impact.

Dad wrestles with the feet-long veil that it took two people to carry down the aisle, smoldering and about to catch fire. Any woman with an updo knows: this is how you die. The veil erupts, igniting the runner beneath it.

Guests launch out of their seats, screaming.

Smoke gathers, the air ripe with the bitter scent of scorched tulle.

The priest grabs an extinguisher off the wall near the prayer candles, takes aim, and blasts white foam everywhere. The flames are out, but the veil is ruined.

Bradley holds a sob-wracked Tina.

Of course, someone is live-streaming.

It is almost worth every dollar I lost to see this disaster unfold in person. Almost.

Dad has the bewildered look of a man calculating the deductible.

The priest reassures a pair of nuns that he is fine and that the church is, too, when the doors burst open.

Radios squawk.

At least a dozen federal agents in blue-and-gold jackets join an armed SWAT team with their guns trained on Bradley.

I stand up. “About time!”

“Jessica?” says Bradley.

I wave.

“What did you do?!?”

Tina collapses to her knees. Dad rushes to her side, comforting her with soothing platitudes that broadcast through her mic. An officer reads Bradley his rights, but his name isn’t Bradley. It isn’t Jeff, either, which is what I called him during the year he opened nineteen lines of credit in my name. Thirteen other women; nine states.

“Dewey Stephens, you’re under arrest.”

I wouldn’t have pegged him as a “Dewey.”

Which is when Craig, who has no reason to do so, scrambles to his feet and makes a run for it. All I can do is shake my head. I don’t know Craig, but fleeing a church full of law enforcement feels like a bad plan.

“We’ve got a runner,” a uniformed officer says into her walkie-talkie. “Repeat, we have a runner.”

He races down the center aisle, kicking up bits of ash and burnt carpet.

“We’re going to need to ask you all a few questions,” the woman announces. “Please take your seats,” right as the fire engines arrive.

Craig’s is an exhausted-looking sprint. Gold Tooth blocks the exit. One punch sends Craig backwards. His hand flies to his bloody mouth. Sunlight glints off a pair of brass knuckles.

Officers descend.

I collect my winnings. Because I’m not a monster, I split the three-hundred-dollar windfall with the kid responsible.

A pair of burly men in tactical gear haul a pleading Bradley down from the altar.

Craig, now missing both of his front teeth, is secured with flex cuffs.

Tina stares a hole through me. I don’t blame her, but I gave her a gift better than anything on her registry. She just hasn’t realized it yet.