Chapter 2
Aelanna
Aleanna headed for one of the straps to hang from on the New York subway to Kew Gardens–Union Turnpike station, her destination. She cast a critical eye over her surroundings; over the grungy benches, over the scuzzy floors. The stale warm air smelled faintly of metal brakes and dust mingled with body odor. She didn’t want to sit down for fear of picking up dirt on her mint green dress, though her feet in new shoes were killing her. Thankfully, the car was almost empty, and she didn’t have to push through people.
Her dress was new, though it was only from Target. It was cheap and synthetic, but it was all she could afford. The girl was genuine, and that mattered most of all. In her free hand she hung onto the small bouquet of red carnations and white baby’s breath for dear life as the car sped along, concentrating on keeping her balance in the sway of the carriage. An old wives’ tale said it was unlucky to have white with red on your wedding day, but she had no time for downers.
“Getting married, dear?” an old lady sitting nearby asked. Aelanna nodded. She was too excited to do anything else. Her feet weren’t killing her; she was floating on air.
“You look lovely. He’s a lucky man.”
“Thank you.”
She was the lucky one, in love with Brad. He was the sweetest, kindest, handsomest man on earth and he loved her. He had chosen a poor woman who worked in a diner for his wife, but he was going places, a rising star in baseball.Why her?She couldn’t for the life of her work out what he saw in her. Her friends told her she was pretty, and they envied her signature red hair, but she couldn’t quite believe them.
Brad and she had been dating for just over a year when he proposed, and he knew all about her. That she was poor, had no parents and grew up with a succession of foster parents, some only wanted to earn the money. Those years had been hard, and she had struggled to get her high school diploma, but at least she’d gotten it. She didn’t have to do it again. She could only think it was that Brad was attracted to her looks and her qualities. He loved her for herself, which was the best reason ever to marry someone.
The car pulled to a stop at her destination. Aelanna let go of the strap, wobbled on her heels, shifted the chain of her clutch purse on her shoulder and set off to exit the car. She smiled goodbye at the old woman as she passed, and the old woman grinned back.
“Good luck, dear. I wish you every happiness.”
Aelanna cursed as she emerged at street level into a thin drizzle. She shivered as she stood on a busy crossroads lined with government buildings and discount shops, whether it was from cold or excitement, she wasn’t sure; both, possibly.
Traffic whizzed past on Queens Boulevard, tires slicing through wet asphalt and splashing her. The fabric of her Target dress soaked in the rain and she had no umbrella. Her shoes were the worst part. They were drenched but they were pretty, and they had looked sensational when she bought them, sashaying in front of the store mirror, but the soles were thin and the heels rocked on the lumpy sidewalk. She wore trainers at her job in the diner; she wasn't used to four-inch heels, and she marched forward as fast as she dared on the unsuitable shoes. Every few steps she adjusted her balance, but she wouldn’t let shoes stop her on the way to her destiny.
She was getting married!
From the station, it was a five-minute walk to the government complex that included Queens Borough Hall and thecourthouse. The buildings were bureaucratic rather than stylish. They had been built for purpose rather than beauty, but she didn’t mind; her wedding to Brad meant everything.
The rain was stronger now. She hurried on, trying to keep the wet off her face by holding her purse above her head.
Pushing through the glass doors of Queens Borough Hall, she marched into the marriage bureau with rain still clinging to her hair, her dress damp at the front and sticking to her thighs, her bouquet already wilting at the edges. The fluorescent lights were too bright, too cold, causing her to blink; the smell of old linoleum and disinfectant hit her nostrils, a sharp contrast to outside, damp fresh air mixed with traffic fumes.
The waiting room was wide and bureaucratic. Brown plastic chairs stood in neat lines, excited or nervous couples scattered among them, but she barely paid attention to them. No one looked up when she entered.
Where was he?He said he’d meet her here, in the waiting room.
A digital number boardglowed red on the wall:
NOW SERVING: B59
She opened her purse and pulled out a tiny notebook. Their number was B70.
He’ll be here; they’ve got time.Don’t panic, Aelanna.
She looked around. Beyond the front row of chairs and behind a long counter, clerks in cardigans and sensible shoes shuffled papers and stamped documents in an office space where the business of people’s lives were recorded. Faded posters were displayed on the walls on the public side: about marriage licenses, and the importance of bringing proper ID.
She sat down. Her Target dress, which had looked sensational in the mirror this morning, now looked bedraggled and too thin for the weather. The damp made the fabric cling in places she wished it wouldn’t. She wished she had bought a tailored jacket with it, she would have looked classier. Though it was early May, the weather in New York was unpredictable, even more so in spring and fall.
Cold and wet, she shivered in the warm room. Or was it from nerves?
The numbers ticked upward with a soft electronic beep every few minutes. She kept glancing toward the door.
NOW SERVING: B70
Their number.
He was just late. The trains could be unpredictable. Maybe he had gotten turned around. He would have taken a cab. He would have called, right?
