Jacob plays the bagpipes?
I slow down as I walk in front of him, staring at him in confusion.
I guess we never did talk about his job, but I hadn’t realized that “bagpiper” was even an option.
“This is what you do for work?” I ask.
He doesn’t respond, his mouth occupied as he continues to play, but his gaze narrows, and I remember all the things he said last night. How the easy camaraderie between the two of us has disappeared. How, for some reason, he can’t stand me anymore.
He looks at me meaningfully, then shifts his focus to the church doors a few feet to the right.
“Yeah,” I say. “Fine. I’m going.”
I slip into the pew at the back. I’m definitely late per the time listed on the invitation, but it appears I haven’t missed anything yet.
“Is everything okay?” I hear someone a few rows in front of me say.
“Maggie’s just running late,” another person replies. “She’s taking a little longer to get ready.”
I shift in my seat. I drank more than I should have last night, but I didn’t reach the point of memory loss. I recall everything I said to Maggie with perfect clarity. I didn’t lie. I only spoke the truth, but it was a truth I’d never planned on sharing. I hadn’t come here with any intention of making Maggie or my father uncomfortable. I’d come for…myself, I suppose. To make sure I wouldn’t have any regrets about missing this one day.
But somehow, everything’s gone sideways.
Outside, the bagpiping comes to a stop, one long, droning note before it ends. A few straggling guests make their way inside, and then a lone violinist starts to play a familiar wedding processional.
My father enters first, walking down the aisle and stopping at the altar.
Then Jacob. He walks at a stately pace, his bagpipe put awaysomewhere, his kilt swinging around his legs. He shakes my father’s hand, then takes a seat at the front, on the bride’s side of the room.
The music switches, the tempo changing until it swells. We all stand as the doors open to reveal Maggie. A consummate bride, wearing a simple dress with lace cap sleeves, holding a bouquet in her hands, but…she’s moving a bit slowly. She’s placing one foot in front of the other, but she’s off, not moving in time to the music.
And then she stops moving entirely. Time stands still, then doubles in speed as Maggie turns and runs back the way she came.
The violinist stops her bow, the note coming to a screeching halt, and the whole room is silent for a second.
And then there’s noise.
People in the pews gasp, turning to one another, asking what’s going on.
And my father calls out Maggie’s name as he runs after her up the aisle. His suit jacket flaps around him, and there’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead.
He shouldn’t be exerting himself like this,I think.That can’t be good for his health.
But then I lose track of him. I’m jostled by the crowd, everyone twisting around, trying to watch the action. For a second, I can’t see anything, but then the crowd parts and through a gap I spy Jacob, close on my father’s heels.
When he rushes past the last row, his head swings, his eyes meeting mine. It’s a fleeting connection, and I’m not sure whether it was intentional or instinctive. But there’s a multitude of things his gaze conveys in this short amount of time.
Confusion. Concern. And above all, there’s accusation.
Guilt rises within me, and I’m not quite sure if he says the next words out loud, if he telepathically communicates them, or if I’m just hearing my own voice echoing in my head.
“This is your fault!”
I freeze, the guilt spreading, my limbs locking in place.
Then I rush into action. I push my way through the bystanders and follow him.
“Maggie!” Jacob cries at the same time as my father. “Wait!”
