Jericho Point

by Meg Gardiner

  With a flurry of noise, the bridal herd came through the entrance. Their girlish voices bounced off the atrium ceiling. Caroline led the pack, hair in curlers, bridal gown in a bag over her shoulder. She was surrounded by her mother and Patsy Blackburn and the other bridesmaids, who were giggling at a pitch that suggested they’d already been drinking mimosas.

  Patsy wore stilettos and her ice-pink suit. She raised an eyebrow at me. ‘‘You’re here, and without handcuffs. Wonders never cease.’’

  Caroline’s eyes widened. ‘‘Huh, the dress looks good on you. It isn’t too young at all.’’

  I had the receipt from the bridal boutique in my purse. But Jesse was holding my hand, which kept me from stuffing it down her throat.

  Then the swarm descended, dousing me with X chromosomes and perfume and champagne giggles. Had I been this fizzy straight out of college?

  Patsy turned her gaze on Jesse. Her mouth contracted to a crimson marble, as if her girdle had suddenly shrunk. ‘‘I see I have no sway over you.’’

  She thumbed his earring, tut-tutted, and clipped away. I gave him a what’s-with-that? glance. He leaned one hand on a push-rim, looking fatigued.

  ‘‘The earring isn’t the accessory she’s tweaked about. Forget it,’’ he said.

  Caroline looked at Marc and broke off the giggles. ‘‘Excuse me, we haven’t met.’’

  Jesse said, ‘‘This is Evan’s Secret Service agent.’’

  It was going to be a long day.

  ‘‘Back, back, no, behind Kristi, come on, we’re doing this by height. Jesus, Caitlin, did you comb your hair with a Weedwacker? It’s too tall for this.’’

  Did I call Caroline an espresso bean? I meant machine gun, set on autofire.

  She snapped her fingers at me. ‘‘Evan, you’re between Lou-Lou and Kelli. Come on, ladies.’’

  Her gown was cinched around her with Elizabethan severity. Stick a pin in her, she would have popped and flown around the hallway like a deflating balloon. We were lined up outside the Pavilion Room at the Cold Springs clubhouse, waiting to go in. I could hear music inside, something baroque played on piano and violin.

  The girl behind me, Lou-Lou, an ample blonde with a thick New York accent, leaned in and murmured, ‘‘He’s gorgeous.’’

  ‘‘Who?’’

  ‘‘Your Secret Service agent.’’

  My headache was returning.

  ‘‘Do you work at the White House?’’ she said.

  Caroline stalked around us. ‘‘Kelli, chin up. Up.’’

  She was biting her nails. Either that or she was eating the bouquet. Her father milled nearby. We were at T-MINUS two minutes and counting.

  ‘‘Hey, there. Don’t start without me.’’

  P.J. came sauntering toward us, smiling brilliantly, waving to Caroline. He wore a well-cut charcoal suit, and my first thought was, All grown up. Sinsa Jimson was on his arm.

  The bridesmaids, the bride, and her father did a double take. The slinkiness factor had jumped by a significant digit. Sinsa wore an iridescent dress that swirled as she walked. The fabric must have been a nanotechnology experiment, because it was submicroscopic. I’m talking uncertainty-principle small. But bare skin was the point of the outfit, and hers was bronzed and smooth, a perfect playing field for her jewelry. An ornate ruby cross hung between her breasts. Her Egyptian hair streamed across her shoulders. The father of the bride, I thought, was about to step on his tongue.

  P.J. smiled with such goofball happiness that I almost felt touched. He squeezed Caroline’s arm.

  Sinsa passed by, greeting me with those sleepy eyes. ‘‘Hello, Deadly.’’

  ‘‘Hello, Inside Job.’’

  P.J. pulled her along into the Pavilion Room, but her gaze lingered on me.

  Caroline leaned toward us. ‘‘Do you know who that was? That’s Ricky Jimson’s daughter. From Jimsonweed.’’

  The replies came as a crème de menthe chorus. ‘‘Oh, my God.’’

  ‘‘At my wedding.’’ She beamed. ‘‘That’s going to be in the newspaper.’’

  She stopped, and her eyes went round. She was staring at my dress. ‘‘Holy shit, what’s that stain?’’

  With that, the music inside paused and the pianist struck up a new tune. Caroline glared at me. Her father said, ‘‘This is it, sweetheart,’’ and urged us forward.

  We processed through the door. The Pavilion Room gushed with gardenias and pink roses. From the corner of my eye I saw Marc standing at parade rest by the back wall. I clutched my little bridesmaid’s bouquet as if it were a grenade. Mention the stain again, the bride’s side gets it. I’ll pull the pin, I swear.

  I paced, paced, at an even tempo, up the aisle. The other bridesmaids were doing a cagey two-step. Damn Toby Price for making me miss the rehearsal. The bridesmaids’ shimmy had a sort of Motown groove, and now that I listened, the tune the violinist was playing sounded like ‘‘Chain of Fools.’’ Chai-chai-chain . . . Over the heads of the girls ahead of me, I saw the judge, dignified in his black robe. And David, bedazzled and terrified. Chai-chai-chain . . .

  Jesse was down the line from him. Well, the groomsmen weren’t going by height, because Jesse was taller than all of them. You just couldn’t tell because he was sitting down. I lost the Motown beat. This explained Patsy’s tiff. Jesse was standing up for his cousin—without standing up. She thought he looked out of place. Sheesh. It didn’t bother him a bit, or David, but was driving her bananas. Was she embarrassed by him? Embarrassed for him? Chai-chai-chai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ain . . . I listened for the beat, and braked to keep from running into Kelli. Kristi. Bambi?

  Jesse gave me a bemused smile.

  At the end of the aisle we fanned out and took our places. Jesse tossed his head, chasing his hair from his eyes. People forgot his height, how physically imposing he was. And there were times, I knew, when he missed being tall. But walking with the crutches took all his focus and energy. It tied up his hands and kept him from going very far. The paradox of his life was that the crutches could put him back on his feet, but the wheelchair gave him freedom.

  The music paused. The pianist broke into ‘‘The Ride of the Valkyries.’’ I mean, ‘‘Here Comes the Bride.’’ Caroline launched down the aisle. Three hundred guests stood up. Women dabbed their eyes. Caroline approached, and her father kissed her cheek, and David smiled. Funny, he looked happy about being fitted with the nose ring.

  The judge gave them a sentimental smile and began. I gazed at Jesse. He took his time gazing back, giving me a wry look. He was good at that look. It was shorthand for, What about us, Delaney?

  The judge was efficient. For better or worse? Check. Richer or poorer? Check. Till death, cellulite, monster truck rallies, the pool boy, or Internet porn do you part? Check. He pronounced them, and Caroline lifted her veil to seal the deal.

  I had tears in my eyes.

  I wiped them away, trying not to smear my makeup. It’s a terrible secret of mine. I always cry at weddings. And when they play ‘‘The Star-Spangled Banner.’’ And at the end of Armageddon, when Bruce Willis nukes the comet. The guests were applauding. Jesse was staring at me, baffled.

  The ballroom faced gardens and the swimming pool, with the mountains forest green beyond. Light gleamed through the windows. It illuminated the beads on Caroline’s wedding dress and the adoration on David’s face. They stood with their parents on the dance floor, greeting guests coming through the receiving line. I caught up with Jesse at the buffet table, where a cornucopia poured out around an ice sculpture of two leaping dolphins.

  ‘‘Coming down with a cold?’’ he said. ‘‘You looked sniffly back there.’’

  ‘‘Recessive gene. It causes nuptial dementia.’’ I hesitated, and decided to bring it up. ‘‘Your mom wanted you to park your ride and walk to the ceremony, didn’t she?’’

  ‘‘The photos would have looked so much more . . . well. Like she wishes things were. Ah, never mind, they can doctor them, like the Kremlin used to do. Beside
s, Mom and Dad were already fuming at me.’’

  ‘‘Over P.J.’s bail?’’

  ‘‘And that I didn’t leap to defend him.’’

  My cheeks felt warm. But you’re defending Evan, his parents would have said.

  ‘‘Did you get a load of his date?’’ I looked around the room but didn’t see him; just Keith and Patsy at the bar.

  ‘‘Sinsa. He’s begging for trouble.’’ He made a face. ‘‘I’ll talk to him.’’

  His hair was falling in his eyes again. He tossed his head but it did no good. I brushed it clear with my fingertips. A crazy thought rushed toward my lips. I’m going to catch the bouquet. Period. If I have to lob grenades at every other woman here.

  ‘‘Evan.’’

  Marc’s bass voice rolled over us. He strode up, his face alert, eyes scanning the room. ‘‘What’s the schedule like from this point? Food, cake, dancing . . . figure we need to be out of here by two, and it’s noon now.’’

  ‘‘I’m just going with the flow. Jess, is there a schedule?’’

  ‘‘You didn’t get the Eyes Only briefing papers?’’ he said.

  ‘‘Missed that,’’ Marc said. ‘‘But seriously.’’

  ‘‘Limbo competition at four, bridesmaids falling into the pool at five. Sorry you’ll be gone.’’

  Someone called Jesse’s name. Across the room, David and the other groomsmen were gathering with the photographer, waving him over.

  ‘‘Excuse me,’’ Jesse said. ‘‘The politburo’s assembling for photos.’’

  He headed off. I watched him, saying nothing. Marc put a hand on my back.

  ‘‘Everything all right?’’ he said.

  ‘‘Dandy. I need a drink.’’

  The room was filling with guests, the conversational temperature rising. The rest of the bridesmaids were huddling in a pack that giggled and lurched its way around the room. I headed to the bar.

  ‘‘Champagne,’’ I told the bartender.

  P.J. and Sinsa strolled up next to me. Their eyes were bright for each other, their hands loose and familiar. She whispered in his ear and he flushed.

  ‘‘Two vodka tonics,’’ he said, and smiled at me. ‘‘Having fun?’’

  If Sinsa had a cold drink wearing that dress, she’d get hypothermia. She leaned on the bar and tilted her head toward me.

  ‘‘Your date’s hot.’’

  I took the champagne from the bartender. ‘‘Marc’s not my date.’’

  ‘‘Then why is he scaring off every man who comes within ten feet of you?’’

  From a bowl on the bar she took a green olive on a toothpick. She put it to her lips and sucked the pimiento out. P.J.’s trousers were about to spontaneously combust. She turned away from him.

  She acted as though nothing could touch her. She was showing me, right now, that P.J. was her tool. Flip on, flip off. Did she think she had that much power and protection? She undoubtedly knew that I was onto her record production scam. And she was beyond cool. Which put me beyond uneasy.

  But challenging her right now would serve no purpose. I was going to be good.

  Well, halfway good. ‘‘Marc’s a strike fighter pilot with half a dozen kills to his credit. I’d stay out of his way.’’

  ‘‘If you say so.’’

  Their drinks came. They clinked glasses.

  I nodded at P.J. ‘‘Jesse wants to talk to you.’’

  ‘‘I’m not hiding from him.’’ He shook his glass, rattling ice cubes. ‘‘Evan, I shouldn’t really be talking to you. My lawyer says.’’

  Sinsa was giving me a sleepy look and sucking another olive through scarlet lips. P.J. scanned my face. He looked pained.

  ‘‘I’m sorry. Really,’’ he said.

  One of the other bridesmaids, Weedwacker Hair, came up, gushing at Sinsa. ‘‘Your dress is so gorgeous. Is it Versace?’’

  ‘‘Kasja Benko,’’ Sinsa said.

  From Weedwacker’s gasp, I guessed that meant it contained remnants of the True Cross. I turned away. Marc was going through the buffet line, but keeping an eye on me. Jesse finished the photo shoot. I asked the bartender for another glass of champagne and headed his way.

  I held the glass out to him. ‘‘Cheers.’’

  He just looked at me. ‘‘Is this an approved departure from your schedule?’’

  ‘‘I have two hours of wedding hilarity left. I’d like to enjoy it with you.’’

  He turned to face me. ‘‘You know, I’m going with you to talk to the sheriffs at three. And I’m going to ride along when you meet Toby Price. Did you think I wouldn’t?’’

  I hadn’t thought at all, I realized.

  ‘‘So let’s reset the radar to stop painting me as a hostile blip.’’ He looked past me. ‘‘Yup, bandits at twelve o’clock, here comes your wingman.’’

  Marc strolled up with two heaped plates. He held one out to me. ‘‘This is some spread. Jesse, your family’s generous to let me barge in on the day like this.’’

  ‘‘Not a problem.’’

  P.J. walked by.

  ‘‘Wait up,’’ Jesse said.

  P.J. lifted his chin in greeting but kept going. Jesse exhaled, annoyed. I shrugged.

  For a moment it looked as if Jesse was going to let it go. Then he frowned. ‘‘No, I should do this now, while he’s not attached to Sinsa like a tick.’’ He nodded at the plates Marc held. ‘‘Don’t eat all the hot wings.’’

  He pushed toward the buffet table, where P.J. was munching on tiger prawns. Marc handed me a plate. His face was neutral. I pointed at him with a carrot stick.

  ‘‘I didn’t say a thing,’’ he said.

  ‘‘Good policy.’’

  ‘‘I’m no fool.’’

  Spinning, I headed for empty seats at a table where an elderly couple was chatting with David’s friends. I sat and Marc sat next to me, being solicitously silent. I stabbed at crab claws with a salad fork.

  The chair next to me scraped backward and the dress from beyond the laws of physics sat down. From the corner of my eye I saw Sinsa’s crow hair swing down off her shoulders.

  She had an asparagus spear in her fingers. ‘‘They couldn’t be more different, could they?’’

  My eyes bugged.

  She nodded at the buffet table. ‘‘P.J. and Jesse.’’

  They were talking. Sunlight refracted through the dolphin ice sculpture, shining on their faces.

  ‘‘Brothers often are different,’’ I said.

  ‘‘It’s funny. They look so much alike, have the same mannerisms. You must wish their situations were reversed.’’

  I put down my fork. ‘‘No, I don’t. Not ever. Are you baiting me?’’

  Marc shifted in his seat.

  Sinsa reached past me, offering him her hand. ‘‘Hi. Sin Jimson.’’

  My head was humming. Be good, I told myself. I lowered my voice so that David’s friends and the elderly couple across the table wouldn’t hear.

  ‘‘Are you picking a fight with me?’’

  ‘‘Tell me you don’t think about it. Taking P.J. for one night, just to remember what it was like,’’ she said.

  My glue was loosening. ‘‘Fine, you want to do this here? Now? Go ahead, I’m up for it.’’

  ‘‘Meow. Did you miss your kitty treats this morning?’’

  ‘‘You took fifteen K from Toby Price, for payola. He wants me to pay it back to him with interest and penalties. And I’m not going to let you get away with it.’’

  She flipped her hair again. She didn’t keep her voice down. ‘‘P.J. goes all night long, like a cordless drill. Tell me that’s not what you’re missing.’’

  The entire table shut up and stared at her.

  She bit into the asparagus. ‘‘Jesus, I’m teasing. He’s my handyman.’’

  Somewhere behind me, the dance band started tuning their instruments. But even the New York Philharmonic couldn’t have overcome the dazed silence that hung across the table. Which was why I heard, suddenly and
clearly, Jesse and P.J. arguing.

  ‘‘You didn’t back me. That’s the bottom line,’’ P.J. said.

  ‘‘This has nothing to do with whether I believed you or not,’’ Jesse said.

  ‘‘It has everything to do with that. Mom and Dad had to take out a loan to cover my bail. You could have done it out of the cash in your pocket, man.’’ P.J. put his plate down on the table. ‘‘But that’s no surprise. You care more about Evan than your own family.’’

  I was on my feet.

  Jesse pointed at him. ‘‘Don’t talk about Evan. She went to bat for you from the moment you turned up wasted in a bathtub, and what does she get for thanks? She gets thrown in jail. She gets Skip Hinkel jamming her up.’’

  P.J. raised his hands. ‘‘You aren’t laying this on me. I have to do what my lawyer tells me.’’

  He took a step away. Jesse swung out and blocked his path. I was heading toward them.

  ‘‘Get out of my way,’’ P.J. said.

  ‘‘Don’t be an asshole.’’

  ‘‘No, you don’t be an asshole.’’

  P.J. turned away. Jesse grabbed his arm. I walked faster, but it unfolded in front of me with excruciating clarity.

  P.J. tried to pull free. Jesse held on. P.J. seized Jesse’s tie. Jesse grabbed P.J.’s lapel. P.J. pulled Jesse’s hair.

  Across the room, Patsy yelled, ‘‘Stop it.’’

  Too late. Neither one of them would let go. Jesse chucked P.J. off his feet, and went flying along with him.

  They hit the buffet table. Plates broke, a waitress shrieked, the table shuddered. The band stopped tuning up. The ice dolphins dove from their pedestal and shattered on the floor.

  Patsy waded through the crowd, shouting, ‘‘Stop it. Stop it.’’

  I stood six feet away. They lay tangled on the ground. P.J. was shouting and flailing. Jesse had him in a headlock.

  Marc pushed past me. He hauled P.J. to his feet with a skill that told me he’d broken up fights before. He bear-hugged him away from Jesse, saying, ‘‘It’s over, man. It’s finished.’’

  Caroline and David pushed through the edge of the crowd. She gasped at the crushed ice sculpture. P.J. thrashed in Marc’s arms.

  His face was mottled. ‘‘He started it. He grabbed me.’’