by Cat Bruno
After walking down a hallway outfitted with the same carpet, we came upon a large living room.
“Look at those floors,” Teddy said as he pointed to wide, faded hardwood planks. “It’s original and only needs to be refinished and waxed.”
The walls in that room were a pale yellow that had once been white. Dust and smoke had aged them, much like the statues I love so dearly. Cronus has never been remembered for his kindness; time withers and weakens. Across the hall was another room, nearly identical in size.
“Ah, the parlor. A lot of these homes had rooms set aside for public viewings and interactions, where the men would do business while the women played cards or music in the drawing room.”
Like a lot of older men, Teddy loved explaining things to me that he thought I might be too young or too poor or too female to understand.
“Dandelion, there is something I need you to sign.”
Before I could consider what he meant, Teddy pulled a stack of papers from his briefcase.
“William has no idea that I’m doing this,” he began with more contrition.
Yes he did. William, that dashing and extraordinary man, knew exactly what his father did. How was I so certain? The damn idiot had already signed the papers that his father spread out across the floor. Crisply, nearly straight across the line and in black ink. How stupid did they think I was?
But my mask did not slip. My eyes, even though they bled with anger, dropped no tears. My hands, longing for the sword of justice, gently reached for the silver pen instead.
Across the top of the first page, in capital letters, the words PRENUPTIAL AGREEMENT, warned me of their duplicity.
Below that, “This agreement is made effective on this 14th day of September of the year 2017. The parties, William Theodore Hamilton, hereafter referred to as husband, and Dandelion Mae Jackman, hereafter referred to as wife, enter into this agreement on the day they intend to marry, September 16, 2017, in Columbus, Ohio.”
“Please take some time to look it over.”
We had never discussed a prenuptial agreement. Ever. Yet, I knew that I must sign it. I read over it mostly to appease Teddy and to make certain that he did not draw any conclusions from my disinterest. There were sections on assets and gifts, clauses about death and divorce, explanations of non-probate properties and liabilities. There were certain waivers built in based on the condition that William and I would have children, and, when I reached that page, I did speak up.
“Teddy, this is not a custody agreement, right?”
Theodore Hamilton, like his son, practiced law, yet he never once advised me to seek my own council.
After clearing his throat of the shame that caused his voice to waver, he answered, “This is only regarding financial assets, properties, investments, and the like. If you have children, there will be clauses added and amendments attached so that they will not be bound under this same agreement. It is quite standard, Dandelion.”
You should never kill for money.
When I read stories or watch news reports or investigative shows about people whose motive for murder was an insurance policy or access to cash or holdings, I think how foolish they are. And criminal. The only thing that should be gained by such an act is a balancing of the scales. Any crime must be a just one. Every crime must be a just one.
Now, Dandelion, you will say, what if he has stolen money from me or used me for years to support him while having another woman on the side?
Admittedly, that is where the waters of morality become murky and gray. First, you must ask yourself if there is any way to reclaim the money. Will he sign a contract and agree to pay you each month? Will he sell his car or his furniture and give you the cash? Can his friends or family loan him the money to make things right with you? What about his job prospects? Is he due a promotion or bonus or job change? The length of time you give him to square things away is entirely your choice, and I cannot offer any advice. Just be certain that you have made all attempts to right what he has wronged before you go any further.
You, too, will have to face the scales of judgment, my friends. Just as I have. Do not think that I was given a pass because I am the one who carries them.
“Should I speak to William?” I asked once I had read the entire agreement.
“If you wish,” Teddy sighed.
I watched his father’s uneasiness grow.
Maybe you wonder how I was able to give Lyra and Lizzie’s daughters money if I relinquished all rights to William’s and to his family’s. Theodore Hamilton did not harbor that same thought since he knew nothing of the life insurance policies that both William and I had opened many months before, in the weeks after our engagement. He had suggested doing so after meeting with his financial advisor, and I thought the idea sound. His policy was for four times the amount of mine, and, with that thought in mind, I signed the contract.
“I just want to be married. I care nothing for money or property or anything else.”
With that parting sentence, I allowed Teddy to show me the rest of the house, knowing that I would never live in it. Later, when I saw William, I told him how proud I was, but mentioned nothing else. Why arouse suspicion when my plans were nearly complete?
My wrath, however, was unforgotten.
1 Day until I Do
Did you know that an airbag can be disabled? It’s not legal in most instances, so that information must stay between us, my friends. The risk, however, is that if an automobile insurance company finds out that this has occurred, then any policy or payout is voided. And, most likely, criminal charges will follow. Airbags, like much of a car’s operating system, are dependent on fuses, those tiny little pieces of plastic and wiring. If a fuse no longer functions, an interior light might no longer illuminate or a heated seat might no longer get warm. Both are easy fixes and can be done in a matter of minutes. An airbag fuse that no longer works properly will result in a dashboard warning on most cars. Which means that timing is a very critical thing. What am I suggesting?
Nothing. I am only thinking out loud and typing those thoughts here.
“Can you freaking believe it, Dandelion? Look at this place! It is gorgeous. Just breathtaking and stunning and one of a kind. And I can’t stop walking around in awe. Your guests are going to be blown away when they walk in here tomorrow.”
It would be a shame if I did not describe how the reception hall had been decorated. Toby had created the most beautiful setting, one that rivaled Olympus and would serve as a fine home to any with god-blood. How many times had we talked about what look I wanted? A few, for sure, but what he had delivered surpassed my inadequate description and vague suggestions. What he had designed was from memory – one that he had forgotten he had – and the most spectacular room I had ever entered.
At the entrance, just outside the reception room, gold-clothed tables stood in a single line. Across the top, small black cards with the names of our guests written in swirling, silver calligraphy welcomed all who came. A four-tiered fountain, gold-plated and shining with newness, sprung from the middle table. Streams of chocolate spilled from the fountain on the day of the wedding. Just beside the fountain, trays of fruit chunks, small cookies, and pretzels – all waited to be dipped and baptized by the river of milk chocolate.
Large double doors, flanked on either side by three-foot tall vases filled with white myrtle blossoms offered a warm, soft whisper of a greeting. The tiny, curvy flowers crowded against one another with barely a hint of green leaf or stem to be seen.
When I asked Toby about them, his reply left me stunned.
“I first heard of myrtle when I watched the royal wedding. So I looked into it more and discovered that it has been carried in the bouquets of British queens and princesses for hundreds of years. But its history is even longer than that. It was beloved by Aphrodite and is the flower dedicated to brides. I doubted you would wear a garland of myrtle, as many in ancient Greece did, so I compromised and had these made. It was not easy feat
to find myrtle in Ohio, Dandelion.”
One of the many reasons why Toby is Ohio’s best wedding planner and my dearest friend is his unquestioning loyalty and unmatched devotion. By the time the wedding came, he loved the theme as much as I did. I could gush about him for hours, but it will be better if I try to get you to see the majesty he created.
After going through the doors, the room’s large size comes as a surprise. I’ve talked about it before, but, for the evening, the room had been transformed and the pieces placed together. Dozens of circular tables had been arranged to either side of the aisle, and each covered with cream and gold tablecloths dyed to resemble marble. The centerpieces had been finished and sprouted from the tables like Aphrodite rising from the sea. Clear vases were filled with stones and jewels, all painted gold. Small strings of fairy lights weaved among the stones and climbed high before disappearing into gold-tipped blossoms and reeds.
Ten chairs, which had been covered in cream fabric and tied with a sheer bronze sash, rimmed the tables. The plates, white and round, would be used during the cocktail hour and added visual depth to the table. Gold silverware had been wrapped in matching cloth napkins and laid across the larger plate. Champagne glasses, clear except for a gold etching that read, “William and Dandelion, 9/16/2017,” completed each place setting. Votive candles, tiny compared to all the other table’s accents, glowed against marble in their scattered pattern. In the shadow of the centerpieces, a metallic salt and pepper shaker set reflected the twinkling candlelight.
On the right side of the room was the head table, as Toby called it. Unlike the others, this one was rectangular and covered with a gilded and gold cloth. There was no centerpiece; instead, strings of myrtle garland lined the front of the table; the blooms were just as delicate as the ones in the entryway. Here, the chairs, too, were different. They had not been covered in fabric and had been painted to resemble thrones: gold and shining. Even the cushions were metallic. Reading that again, I feel as if I have given the wrong impression of the wedding party’s table. While it did glitter, it was not in a showy or gaudy way. Rather, it was elegant and regal although it did appear as divinely inspired and blessed.
Or maybe that is how I like to remember it.
As your gaze scanned the room, you can’t help but notice the wedding arch. I would have preferred to wait to tell you about Toby’s masterstroke, but it just can’t be ignored. At the end of the aisle, which had been lined with golden urns brimming with gold-dusted flowers and golden lanterns, Toby’s artwork radiated, as if Selene and Helios had blessed it in rare unison.
Have you ever been to Greece? If not, have you seen images of the temples that have survived and now serve as tourist destinations? There is one feature that most of these temples have, and Toby used that fact as his inspiration. Two, ten-foot tall marble columns stood on either side of the altar. Long, draping, and transparent fabric connected the columns and hung in soft folds to the floor. Behind the archway, Toby had strung tiny lights, which caused the fabric to glow as if starlit. In front of the mantle of cloth, golden jewelry chains hung in mismatched lines; some long and some short. Toby had attached all sorts of petite ornaments to the chains, from floral blossoms to stars and suns. Later, he told me that he had scoured thrift shops, flea markets, and yard sales to collect as many gold charms as he could find. Nearly fifty glimmered and waved, spanning across decades and miles and from people I never knew.
From a distance, many would not notice the small touch and think the charms to be sequins or gems. When the light hit these amulets, they twinkled sweetly. If only you could have seen them, my friends. Maybe you will design a similar look for your next wedding.
It was as if you looked up at the stars from the gates of Olympus.
There was a table for the cake, a table for the wedding favors, and a table for gifts – with a card box that Toby had constructed of paper and covered with more myrtle flower buds. Both shared the same golden tablecloth as the head table and the same votive candles that glistened across the room. All paled next to the wedding arch.
From the first time I had examined it, I could not wait to stand next to its heavenly shimmer. For the first time in years, I would feel as if I was home, I knew.
“We should check over the dressing room, Dandelion,” Toby called from across the hall.
Half floating behind him as he led me to a small room that once was a storage area, I told him how pleased I was with the archway.
“There has never been anything so perfect,” I purred as if I dreamed.
“Oh, girl, come on. It is fantastic, but I’m no Botticelli or Michelangelo. But keep praising me. I need it after this week.”
“How did you manage to keep it from me?” I asked almost without breath.
Opening the door to the dressing room, he answered, “To be honest, I wasn’t certain how it would look until I was finished. And I didn’t know how to tell you that I was using other people’s jewelry to create your altar. Most brides would have been horrified by that thought.”
“You must have the photographer get pictures of everything for your website, Toby,” I told him with a serious tone.
He glanced at me with some concern, hearing what I did not say perhaps.
“There will be time for all of that.”
Grabbing his hand, I insisted he listen.
“Do not let this opportunity pass you by, Toby. Have business cards on hand tomorrow. There will be brides to be and mothers with daughters in attendance. I will take it as no slight if you make this your chance to finally grow your business. You deserve it.”
“Ok,” he said slowly, drawing out the word as he rolled his eyes. “So you’ll hang your dress and veil on that bar, and your makeup and everything can go on the little vanity thing. I’m afraid that your bridesmaids won’t fit in here, too, but there is another room just down the hall. I’ll bounce back and forth between both.”
“Why can’t I just get ready with them?”
“There are like three mirrors in that room, Dandelion. You shouldn’t be competing for space on your wedding day. Once the other girls are ready, they’ll come here, or you can walk over there if the hallway is clear. But, remember, you don’t want William or anyone else to see you until you start your walk down the aisle.”
He was right, of course, so I nodded and continued to trail after him as he walked me through the next day’s schedule.
“Are you getting your hair done here or at the salon?”
“The salon. But I should be at the Inn by noon.”
Months before, we had decided that an evening ceremony would be best. The wedding would take place around 7:00 pm, with the cocktail hour before it and dinner around 8:30 pm. Dancing and drinking and all the better things would follow immediately after, and, I assumed, would last all night.
“Whatever happened to your honeymoon plans?”
“We leave for California on Sunday night.”
“So everything is still good for the trip? Don’t forget to pack those clothes we picked out.”
“You picked out,” I laughed as we headed toward the Inn’s kitchen.
Some time later, Toby and I finally left. The staff had tired of us, but Toby offered no apologies. A strange ennui had come over me by then, and I only smiled as we exited, as if I had run out of fabricated words for the day. I do not expect pity or sympathy or for you to defend me. When I tell you that lying had become exhausting, the admission is not to gather support. These pages are meant to be a truthful and accurate retelling of what I have done. If I can help any of you, then it will have been worth the risk.
Yes, the risk. How long have you been wondering if I fear that these words will, as the adage goes, come back to haunt me? They might; the possibility is quite real. But I have planned for that. And, for this time only, I must keep those plans from you. For now. Once I am safe, or dead, you will know everything.
“Be at the restaurant no later than six,” I told Toby as I climbed into my car.
As I pulled away, I stared at the red-orange lights of my dashboard. The clock read 3:48. A radio announcer dully recited a commercial for a window cleaning business, as if he did not care whether his listeners had dirty windows or not. My own car windshield was covered in a coat of yellow dust, and I flipped on my wipers to clear it. When I entered the highway, I stayed in the right lane and drove more slowly than I should have been. I was so tired, my friends. I didn’t sleep much in those days.
Let me stop whining; you did not come for that.
I continued, on and on, past my exit and the two that came after it. Twice, I woke up when a loud rumbling reminded me of my surroundings and how I neared the edge of the road. After the second time, I pulled onto the next exit ramp and rounded a circular road before finding myself next to a strip mall. When I parked, the clock said 4:38.
Why had I come?
Across the cracked pavement was a superstore. I hurriedly searched my purse for cash, counting out every bill I could find and lining them up on the passenger seat cushion.
$57.00.
Grabbing the money, I raced inside the store. It was arranged like the other ones that I had been to, and I made my way to the back, where I knew I’d find the electronics section. No one was behind the desk so I quickly walked around until I found a man wearing a navy work vest.
“I’d like to purchase a phone,” I told him.
“Uh, yeah, I can help you with that.”
Do not act as rashly as I did, my friends. I had done nothing to change my appearance. No hat, no wig, no make up. No oversized clothing. Nothing. There, on the surveillance cameras that had been mounted every ten feet, my identity was recorded.
I am not so wise as to be infallible. None of the gods are, despite the stories and books that proclaim us perfect.
The phone I purchased was one meant for an older generation; it had no internet capabilities and a terrible camera. But it was $40, and I only needed it for a few minutes.
