by AnonYMous
HE LEFT ME CRYING IN THE CHAPEL!
Now I get my revenge. . . .
“Jilted? Adam jilted you?”
I handed my mother the note that’d just arrived by messenger and felt the anger well up inside of me. The very least Adam could’ve done was tell me himself.
And tell me before that day.
That coward. I would’ve cheerfully strangled him if he were close by—not only for jilting me, but also for forcing me to put up with my mother, who I thought would surely go into one of her fainting spells.
I looked at my waif-thin mother standing there in her royal-blue sheath dress—the one she had to lose twenty pounds to fit into—and thought about how she looked like she’d just come off of chemo. Her hair had fallen out in thick chunks during her dieting and was now thin and plastered to her head.
Mother’s hands trembled when she read Adam’s words. Then she let loose with a string of words I didn’t know she even knew. “I thought Adam liked me! How could he say that he doesn’t want to marry someone who’ll surely turn out to be as neurotic as her mother?” My mother paced the floor as she read the rest of the note. “Why, that rat! You just wait until I see him! I may just punch him in the nose! I’ll sue him for all the money we’ve spent—every last dime! And for the embarrassment he’s caused me!”
I stood there in my white, satin, size-twelve dress that cost me a month’s pay and glanced at my maid of honor and four attendants, all of whom were just staring at me. I felt tears stinging my eyes, but I refused to cry.
“Well, Inga, go out and tell everyone that you’ve been jilted!” my mother shrilled.
“Aunt Juditha, you should be the one to tell them,” Greta, my closest cousin and maid of honor said.
“Humph! Not me! I’ve been married five times and not once have I been jilted! I’m certainly not going out there and admit that my own daughter has been jilted!”
“Of course not, Mother. Why should you?” I watched as she put her hand to her heart.
“Oh, my heart! I think someone needs to call 911! I may be having a heart attack!”
“Oh, brother. Liza, will you find my stepfather, please, and tell him to come take care of his wife? Greta, will you find my dad, please?”
Mother cheered a bit. “Oh, yes—your father can be the one to tell them!” She patted her blond, flat hair.
When I glared at her, she once more feigned faintness and rushed to sit down on a sofa.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Mother! For once in your life can’t you think of someone beside yourself? Adam’s right—you are neurotic!” I sniffled and dabbed at my eyes, thinking, no wonder my father divorced my mother. And husbands number two, three, and four did, too, even though husband number five seems to think she’s perfect. And Mother thinks his money is perfect.
My father rushed in through the door followed by Mother’s fifth husband, Web. “Well? What’s this I hear about my little girl being jilted?” My father puffed out his chest, looking ready for the kill.
“You need to go and tell the guests, Karl,” my mother ordered, sniffling.
“Oh, of course, Juditha. Lord knows you can’t do anything in your delicate condition! What’s happened to you, anyway? Inga, you didn’t tell me your mother’s sick.”
My mother glared at my father and I heard one of the bridesmaids try to cover her laugh with a cough.
“Sick? Just because I’m not a fat cow like you are doesn’t mean that I’m sick! You’re a raving lunatic, Karl! Thank God I divorced you years ago!” Mother roared.
“No, my dear—you’re the raving lunatic. How do you tolerate living with the woman, Web?”
Before Web could answer Mother leapt off the couch and approached my father with her finger pointing in his face. “Karl, out of all my husbands, you are the worst ever, let me tell you!”
“Don’t you tell me anything, Juditha, dear! Thank God Inga isn’t like you, that’s all I have to say!”
“Aunt Juditha and Uncle Karl, don’t you think you two can stop fighting long enough to see to your daughter’s guests?” Greta timidly asked.
Everyone started talking at once and that’s when I walked out. Picking up the long train on my wedding gown, I rushed out the door and opened the passenger door to my car and then just sat there behind the wheel, staring at the church.
Now what should I do? I wondered dismally. All that food, the flowers . . . what should I do with all of it?
Almost immediately I realized I’d forgotten my purse in the church, but I had no intention of going back in for it; Greta would take care of things. I’d closed my eyes for a minute when I heard someone clear their throat beside my car.
“Go away,” I muttered. “I don’t want to talk to anyone right now.”
“Lady, what are you doing in my car?”
I opened my eyes and, to my surprise, a tall guy with black hair, blue eyes, and a movie-star face stared back at me. At his feet, a small, fluffy dog wagged its tail and made a whining noise.
“Your car? This is my car.” I glanced at the dashboard and that’s when I saw the St. Christopher medallion hanging from the rearview mirror. I thought: I don’t have one of those in my car. I looked around and realized that the car I was sitting in was a black Mustang, just like mine. Then I remembered that my black Mustang was parked in my garage at home.
“Are you supposed to be getting married or what?”
“Was. I’ve just been jilted.”
“Gee. Gosh. Wow. I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do? Can I take you home or something?”
I glanced into his eyes and saw concern. All of a sudden he looked familiar; I wondered for a moment if he was some TV star or something. But then I thought, of course not; after all, what would he be doing in this small Florida town?
I closed my eyes for a moment and then looked back up at him. I realized he was probably wondering what he should do with the crazy woman in the wedding dress.
“I don’t know what to do. I can’t go back into the church and face everyone.”
He nodded and smiled sympathetically. “I can understand that. Sometimes life hands us a tough row to hoe.”
“What? You were jilted, too?”
“No; actually, I was just visiting the cemetery behind the church.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Did you just lose someone?”
“A year ago today. Harry still misses Molly as much as I do.”
“Was Molly your girlfriend?” I was so caught up in my humiliation that I didn’t notice the sadness in his eyes until right then.
“My wife. A drunk driver killed her last year. Now, can I take you somewhere? I promise you—I’m not some deranged lunatic. You can trust me to give you a ride home, no strings attached.”
He picked up his dog, Harry, and Harry wiggled in his arms and finally got free and jumped right into my lap, leaping up to lick my tears away. I hugged that shaggy, little dog and my tears only fell faster.
I finally glanced at the guy and said, somewhat gruffly to cover my heartbreak, “Well? Don’t just stand there, staring at me. Get in and drive.” I figured a man with a small dog and a friendly face could be trusted to escort a jilted bride back to spinsterhood.
He got into the car, reached into the glove compartment, and handed me some tissues so I could wipe my face and nose.
“Thanks,” I said between hiccups.
The top was down and my veil blew behind me as we drove off. Harry sat contently in my lap and drivers honked their horns and waved at us as we drove along and I just sat there, drying my eyes.
“They must think I’m the saddest bride they’ve ever seen,” I remarked after awhile, waving at the honkers and wiping my tears.
“Do you need more tissues?”
I nodded glumly.
He handed me some napkins he had tucked underneath his seat and then turned down a side street and parked. “My name’s Charlie. What’s yours?”
“Inga. I’m sorry for getting into your car,” I s
aid, sniffing back sobs. “Honestly—I have the exact same car. Only, I forgot—it’s at home today, parked in my garage.”
“Where do you want me to take you?”
“I want to see my nana. Take me to see Nana.”
“Where does she live?”
“At Shady Pines Nursing Home. Do you mind?”
“Well. . . .”
The sobs came again and he handed me more napkins.
“Okay; I’ll take you to see your nana. But please don’t cry. I hate seeing a woman cry.”
Through my tears I gave him directions to the home. Within ten minutes we were there. I got out with the dog and he just sat there behind the wheel, staring at us.
“Well? Aren’t you coming in to see her with me?”
“Is it okay to take Harry in? I can’t leave him alone in the car.”
I nodded and carried the dog with Charlie tagging along behind.
“Oh, looky! There’s the bride!” one older lady exclaimed from her seat on a bench in the shade just outside the home’s front entrance.
“Ain’t she a pretty little thing!” another one remarked.
“Yes, but will you look at the groom? Wouldn’t you think he could’ve dressed up for the occasion?” a little white-haired lady said. “These kids nowadays—humph!”
I turned around and saw a red-faced Charlie nodding politely at all of the blue-haired ladies lined up in their rockers on the front porch.
Inside, I found Nana in her room, sitting in her rocking chair and watching her “shows” on TV.
“Why, looky who’s here! It’s the blushing bride!” Nana cried happily. “And dis musta be de groom!”
“Hi, Nana.” I leaned down and kissed her velvet-soft cheek.
“My, oh, my! You looking just like Grace Kelly, precious! Those beautiful eyes and that pretty, pretty, blond hair! You’re lucky I can’t snatch it offa your head!”
My grandmother tells every woman she meets that they look like Rita Hayworth, Marilyn Monroe, Grace Kelly, or Elizabeth Taylor. She tells men they look like Clark Gable or John Wayne.
“How’d da wedding go?” She kept staring at Charlie and he gave her smiles. The dog jumped up into Nana’s lap and she petted him lovingly.
I immediately sat down in the chair beside her rocker and leaned on her shoulder and burst into tears. “Oh, Nana! It was awful! I was jilted at the church and my parents and everyone was fighting and I just left! I can’t believe I was so stupid as to put that down payment on the house Adam and I bought, and now he’s stuck me with it all!”
Nana patted my head and nodded.
“And this dress cost me a fortune and I even paid for the flowers! Oh, I’m so stupid!” I smacked myself in the forehead with the palm of my hand—the hand with the large, diamond engagement ring on it that sparkled in the sunshine.
Nana got out of her chair and dumped the dog on the floor. She promptly took her cane and started whacking Charlie with it.
“Ouch! What are you doing? Ouch! Inga, call your nana off, will you?”
Harry started barking and jumping around and I just sat there for a moment, not believing my eyes, before I jumped up to restrain my nana.
“Take that, you no-good son-of-a-biscuit, you! You break my Inga’s heart—I keel you!”
I managed to grab the cane from her hands right before she hit Charlie in the head. “Nana! What are you doing?”
“This no-good, he breaks my little girl’s heart! I’m gonna rip his heart out and see how he like it!”
“Nana! This isn’t the groom; Adam was my groom.” I plopped down in the chair and covered my eyes and started crying again. “Oh, I can’t believe this! This day just gets worse and worse!”
“This not your groom?”
“No, Nana.”
She sat down in her rocker and looked at Charlie, who stood a ways back from her. “I sorry, young man. I no rip your heart out.” She glanced at me and then at Charlie and then back at me. “Don’t tell me you gonna be like your mutter and trade grooms before you even out of your wedding dress!” she exclaimed.
“No, Nana; in fact, I’m never getting married.” Then I started crying again and Nana tried to console me. Harry licked my face and Charlie shifted and fidgeted uncomfortably in the doorway.
Nana glared at him. “So? Why you just stand dere, young man? Sit down and talk!”
“Ma’am, it’s nice to meet you,” a flustered Charlie said.
Nana squinted her eyes and stared at him closely. “Well, if you ain’t da groom, who da heck are you?”
“Oh, Nana, he’s just a really nice guy who gave me a ride. I don’t even know him, actually.”
Nana kept staring at Charlie. “He’s a handsome, Inga!” she finally determined, smiling with satisfaction at her assessment. “Maybe he marry you!”
I felt my face heat up. “Oh, Nana! Listen, we have to leave now. I’ll see you later.” I kissed her cheek and we went back out to Charlie’s car.
“So? Where to now?” Charlie asked, buckling his seatbelt and shifting gears.
I shrugged bleakly. “Home, I guess.”
“Where’s that?” I gave him my address and he stared at me. “Really? I live three houses down from you; I thought you looked familiar.”
He drove slowly down the roads that lead to my house. I stared at him and smiled. “That must be why you look so familiar, too. We moved in three months ago.”
He laughed. “Guess I might’ve recognized you if you weren’t in your wedding dress. Regardless, nice to meet you, neighbor.”
“You’ve been very, very kind; I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused you.”
He smiled. “It’s been an interesting afternoon; I’ll give you that. Do you want me to come in and sit with you for a while?”
“Thanks, but I think I need to be alone. I’d just be miserable company for anyone right now, but thank you for the ride—and for putting up with me.”
“No problem.”
When we arrived at my house he got out and came around to my side of the car and opened my door for me and helped me out.
So chivalry isn’t dead, after all, I thought, with the slightest bit of hope lifting my heart.
I was thankful that I’d remembered to hide an extra key and was able to get into my house as I waved good-bye to Charlie. Letting myself in, I called for Murray, my German shepherd, who usually greeted me at the door.
“Murray! Murray? Where are you?”
I searched everywhere. Then I saw the note:
I took Murray. After all, he is my dog.
I simply could not believe it. Adam never walked Murray or fed him. I did everything for Murray. And Murray, I knew, would hate living with Adam all alone.
And I didn’t even know where to reach Adam that day.
Our supposed wedding day.
I got out of my wedding dress and put on jeans and a T-shirt. The telephone rang repeatedly, but I refused to answer it. I roamed the house that Adam and I had purchased together. Checking the closets, I noticed that Adam had already packed up his clothes. His TV and TV stand were missing from the den, as was his favorite chair and my gallon jar of change that he’d never contributed to.
How could he? I thought, aghast with mounting, mingled disbelief, hurt, and rage. Why didn’t I notice before that he’s such a complete and total louse? Did my friends and family see all of this and not tell me?
I checked the answering machine and there was a message on it from Adam: “Listen, Inga—I’ve decided to go on the honeymoon cruise, after all, so I’ll stop by later and pick up the tickets. No sense in letting them go to waste, right—considering the fact that they’re nonrefundable? But I wonder—would you mind watching Murray for me? Call me on my cell.”
Cell phone? I thought. I didn’t even know he has a cell phone. But no way is he going to use those tickets! My father paid for the trip as a wedding present to us! The nerve of him! Still, he does have a point; the trip shouldn’t be wasted. . . .
Then I remembered that the tickets were in my purse . . . which was at the church. I heard the door open just then and turned to see Greta walk in.
My cousin, Greta, came from Ohio to be my bridesmaid and I asked her if she minded staying at the house to watch my German shepherd while I went on my honeymoon. Since it was cold in Ohio and we had a swimming pool at our house in Florida, she jumped at the chance to spend the week.
“Hi. Are you okay?” she asked.
“I’m fine—well—as fine as a jilted bride can be.”
“I brought your purse and other things. Thought you could use them.”
Greta’s a year older than I am. Two years ago she was engaged to be married, but her fiancé was killed in a car accident. She hadn’t found anyone since that time.
And then it hit me.
“Greta, why don’t we go on the cruise—you and I? I’ll call and book us a cabin with twin beds; we might as well enjoy the vacation, right? After all, Dad paid for it and the tickets are nonrefundable.”
She chuckled. “Funny, but your dad just suggested that, too. Your mom thinks it’s a dumb idea, though; they were still arguing about it when I left the church.”
I groaned. “What happened to the food?”
“Your mother decided it should be eaten, so everyone in the church was invited to dinner. Your dad took the rest of it to a soup kitchen.”
“Good for dad. So? What do you say, shipmate?”
She grinned and threw up her hands with abandon. “Heck, why not? After all, I have the whole week off from work! But what about Murray?”
“Adam took him. I figure the very least he can do is watch him for the week while you and I sun our buns and sip piña coladas.”
The phone rang and that time I answered it. “Yeah, Adam . . . No, you can’t have the tickets. I’m going on the cruise . . . It’s none of your business who I’m taking!”
In the background I could hear a woman saying, “Adam! Get this dog away from me! Oh, he’s slobbering on my slacks now! He’s got to go, Adam!”
“What about Murray?” Adam asked me anxiously.
I had to decide then: Do I make the dog suffer because of Adam, or should I bring him home and hire a dog sitter? I knew it was too late by then to find a sitter, but I figured my dad would surely watch him.
