I was halfway to the truck when she hollered, “Family photo! Everyone, line up!”
We shuffled together in a row—Quiad and me in the middle, Bodean draping himself over both our shoulders, Harlow looming behind like a linebacker, Dan at his side, Ma and Pa flanking us in their best clothes. Ransom took the first picture, then swapped with Floyd so he could stand next to Knox aand Newt, arms crossed and scowling for the camera like it owed him money.
Even Gramps and Grandma Minnie got in on the action, Minnie smoothing the flyaways in my hair and then declaring, “Now there’s a wedding picture I’ll keep above the mantle.”
The camera flash was so bright it took a second to get my vision back. I blinked, and the world came back with extra saturation—blue sky, yellowing grass, the red of Bodean’s belt buckle, the shimmer of my ring in the sun. I could feel every arm, every shoulder, the weight and heat of the whole clan pressed around me. I was a stone dropped in the river, and the water wrapped tight.
* * * *
Ma and Pa drove the whole crew to the fanciest restaurant in McKenzie River: River’s Edge. It was technically a diner, but today it was “an event venue” because Ma had called ahead and reserved the entire back room, which meant we got the good plates and the servers didn’t bother to hide their tattoos.
The owner, a guy who went to high school with all the McKenzies, came out to shake our hands and congratulate us, then winked at me and said, “You must be the reason Quiad’s been showing up with actual combed hair lately.”
“I’m a bad influence,” I said, and got a laugh from everyone.
They brought out trays of food—real food, nothing you had to stir out of a can. Steak and eggs and salmon that flaked under your fork, salads with stuff I couldn’t pronounce, pies that looked like something from a cooking show. I tried a little of everything, then gave up and just ate the bread and the pie, because it was my wedding day and there were no rules.
Someone ordered champagne, which was probably illegal in a diner, but nobody cared. The first toast was by Bodean, who stood on his chair and said, “To the only couple I know with matching tattoos and matching haircuts!”
The next toast was by Ma, who got choked up, dabbed her eyes with a napkin, and said, “I always wanted a big family. Thank you for making it happen.”
After that, the toasts got progressively worse. Ransom’s involved a story about getting banned from a bowling alley; Harlow’s was just, “I love you guys” and a full-body hug that nearly broke my ribs. Newt managed two sentences before crying, and Floyd said, “Don’t ever call me for bail money, I’ll be the one arresting you.” That got a round of applause.
Quiad barely spoke the whole time—just sat next to me, hand on my knee, grinning every time I looked his way. He didn’t even flinch when Ma made us pose for more photos, this time with a glass of champagne and a giant slice of chocolate cake between us.
When the food was gone, and everyone had switched to coffee or beer, I leaned back in my chair and let the noise of the room wash over me. I watched the way the light caught the sweat on Pa’s brow, the way Ma laughed with her whole body, the wayKnox and Newt passed secret smiles across the table. For once, I wasn’t on the outside looking in. I was right where I belonged.
I think I knew something was off the moment we stepped outside. The sky was bright and empty, but there was a chill in the air, the kind that prickled up the back of your neck before a thunderstorm.
We were halfway to the truck when I spotted her: Gloria, leaning against a silver sedan, sunglasses perched high on her nose. She wore a new jacket—pink, shiny, so fake it hurt to look at—and next to her stood a man in a suit, one of those suits you rent for a funeral or a plea deal. He was tall, taller than even Knox, with a face like a hatchet and eyes that never left me.
My feet stopped moving. My hands curled into fists before I even thought about it.
“Levi,” she called, voice sweet as poison. “Can I get just a minute of your time?”
My blood went hot—lava, napalm, something beyond rage. All the happiness of the last few hours curdled into something sharp. I saw red, and nothing else.
Quiad felt it. He went rigid beside me, his arm tightening around my waist, but he didn’t say a word.
Behind us, the rest of the clan slowed, the group splitting down the middle, a natural barrier between me and her. Knox was on my left, eyes fixed on the man with her. Bodean was already stepping forward, jaw tight, but Pa caught his arm and shook his head.
“Just a word, Levi,” Gloria purred, tilting her head, “for old times’ sake?”
I didn’t answer. I walked straight for the truck, cutting across the lot so I had to pass her. The man in the suit moved to block me, but Knox shouldered in between, all six foot four of him, and the guy suddenly had somewhere else to look.
I kept my head down, tunnel vision, every nerve ending raw.
“Levi,” Gloria said again, louder this time, “don’t you want to hear what I have to say?”
I brushed right past her, shoulder clipping hers on purpose.
She grabbed my arm. Time slowed. Her nails dug in, hard and desperate. “Levi, please, I just want to—”
I yanked my arm away, spun around, and hissed, “Don’t you EVER touch me.” My voice was low, but it carried. Everyone heard it. The whole family, the couple of restaurant workers on a smoke break, even the hatchet-faced guy. I stepped in, nose to nose, and let the rage do the talking. “You don’t get to ruin this day. You don’t get to ruin ANYTHING for me ever again.”
Gloria recoiled like I’d slapped her. For a second, she looked her age—every crack and failure laid bare, nothing left but the old need to take, to wreck, to consume.
She tried again, softer this time. “Levi, honey, I just—”
