Chapter 6 - Behind the Heavy Brass Doors
The blood vanished from Arthur Bennett's face so rapidly it looked as though someone had pulled a plug at the base of his neck.
His mouth opened, hung slightly slack, and then snapped shut into a tight, trembling line of absolute fury.
His eyes traveled down the front of my white wool uniform, catching the blinding glare of the four silver stars on my shoulder epaulets.
They drifted over the eight rows of combat ribbons, the gold buttons bearing the eagle and anchor, and the gold-embroidered brim of the cap resting beneath my arm.
"What in God’s name are you doing?" he hissed, taking two violent steps toward me, completely forgetting Melanie who stood clutching her bouquet.
"I told you not to wear that costume!"
"Arthur," I said, my voice as calm and level as a frozen lake.
"Lower your voice."
"Do not tell me to lower my voice in my own church!" he spit, his veins bulging against the starch of his tuxedo collar.
"Look at you! You look like a circus clown!"
"You're doing this on purpose to humiliate me!"
"You've always hated this family!"
"You've always hated Melanie because she had the grace and beauty you could never possess!"
Melanie stepped forward, her eyes wide with dramatic horror as she looked at my dress whites.
"Claire!" she whined, tears of genuine vanity welling in her eyes.
"You promised you wouldn't do this!"
"Everyone is going to look at you!"
"They’re going to think I have some kind of freak in my family!"
"Why do you have to ruin everything I touch?"
Jack Hayes stood completely motionless behind me, his hands still resting in parade rest, his face an impenetrable mask of granite.
I looked at my sister, whose thirty-two years of life had never once been touched by cold, hunger, or genuine grief.
She was a child wrapped in thousands of dollars of French lace, screaming because someone else had entered the room with a story of their own.
"Melanie," I said softly, looking directly into her mascara-rimmed eyes.
"Today is your wedding day."
"You are marrying a good man."
"A man who has seen things that would make you weep for a month."
"I am here to honor you and to honor the man you are marrying."
"I do not come to this church as an embarrassment."
"I come as the person who ensured your groom had a home to come back to."
Melanie blinked, confused and angry, unable to comprehend words that did not center around floral arrangements or seating charts.
"What are you talking about?" she snapped.
"Julian doesn't know you!"
"Julian’s family is above people like you!"
Arthur grabbed my left forearm, his fingers digging into the white wool of my jacket with desperate, frantic strength.
"You will take that jacket off," he commanded through clenched teeth.
"You will leave it in the cloakroom, or by God, Claire, I will have the security guards drag you out onto the street like a stray dog!"
"I will not let you destroy this day for Melanie!"
I did not pull away.
I simply turned my head and looked down at his hand gripping my sleeve.
The look in my eyes was one I had reserved for hostile foreign commanders across gray negotiating tables in neutral waters.
It was the look of absolute, unmitigated authority backed by the kinetic power of thousands of armed men.
"Arthur," I whispered, the words carrying the chill of deep-ocean ice.
"If you do not remove your hand from an Admiral’s uniform in the next three seconds, Master Chief Hayes is going to break your wrist in three places."
Arthur’s eyes darted from my face to Jack Hayes.
Jack did not move an inch.
He simply let his dark eyes settle on Arthur’s hand with the terrifying, predatory calm of a sniper zeroing a reticle.
Arthur’s fingers trembled.
Slowly, as if overcoming a physical paralysis, he released his grip and stumbled backward a half-step.
"You're insane," Arthur whispered, his voice cracking with humiliated rage.
"Both of you are completely insane."
"You are dead to me, Claire."
"After today, you do not exist in this family."
"I haven't existed in your family since I was seventeen, Arthur," I replied without a trace of sorrow.
"You just finally noticed."
The organ inside the sanctuary reached the soaring, triumphant crescendos of the bridal march.
The wedding coordinator, who looked like she was about to faint from the sheer psychological terror vibrating through the foyer, grabbed the brass door handles.
"It's time!" she squeaked, terrified to look at any of us.
"Father of the bride, you have to walk!"
Arthur adjusted his tuxedo with jerky, trembling hands, trying desperately to regain his veneer of aristocratic composure.
"Walk behind us," he ordered me, refusing to look me in the eye.
"Stay ten paces back."
"Don't you dare step into the light until we reach the altar."
He took Melanie’s arm, forced a wide, blinding smile onto his pale face, and waited for the doors to part.
I placed my naval cap firmly beneath my left arm, squared my shoulders, and lifted my chin.
Jack Hayes stepped to the side, his voice dropping into the deep, ceremonial baritone that had echoed across parade decks and command centers for forty years.
"Give 'em hell, Admiral," he whispered.
The heavy brass handles clicked.
The massive oak doors swung wide open.
The brilliant light of the church sanctuary flooded the foyer, illuminating the long red carpet that stretched all the way to the altar.
May you like
Arthur took his first proud, theatrical step forward with Melanie on his arm.
And then, the universe shifted on its axis.
