Chapter 5 - What the Priest Saw
I didn't see my father leave the suite. I heard his shoes on the hard floor outside and then nothing. My aunt's hand stayed on my shoulder.
She had taken me to a small side room off the main hallway. It wasn't part of the wedding. It was where they kept extra chairs and a tall mirror covered with a sheet. There was a window high on the wall and the sound of the air conditioner. My aunt, my dad's sister, sat me on a folding chair and knelt so we were eye level. She didn't ask me to explain. She just smoothed my dress and said we would wait.
"He'll be right back, honey," she said. "You did good telling him."
I kept staring at the door. I could hear voices in the hall but I couldn't make out words. My white bow had slipped. My aunt fixed it.
My father didn't go far. He went to find Father Michael. I learned that later, how he walked the short hallway to where the priest was waiting near the wooden double doors.
Father Michael was standing with his hands folded, looking out toward the aisle where the white arches were lined up. My father came up beside him and I imagine he tried to keep his voice low. Even from the side room, I could hear my dad's voice get tight when he was trying not to sound angry.
The priest didn't hedge. He told my father what had happened ten minutes before we were supposed to walk.
"She asked me to hold the processional," he said. His voice carried a little through the hallway. My aunt glanced at the door. "She said we needed to remove the distraction before we started. Her exact words were remove the distraction. I told her the children were part of the ceremony."
My father asked who she meant. The priest said he didn't know at the time, but she had looked toward where I was waiting with the flower petals.
That was the first piece. My dad wrote it down in his phone, the time and the words. Father Michael said he had checked his watch because the organist was waiting. It was 2:17.
After the priest, my father found the photographer. She had set up a preview station on a table near the hallway, her laptop open, photos clicking through. She was supposed to be taking detail shots of the aisle and the roses. She hadn't been asked to stop.
She told my father she had been near the second arch adjusting her lens when she saw the bride's mother. The woman was in a taupe dress with pearls. She had taken me by the hand, not hard, but firm, and led me behind the big floral arch at the side of the aisle. My father asked what time. She said just after two, minutes before the priest was told to delay.
"I thought it was a bathroom trip or a last minute fix," she said. "Then I saw her hand you something."
My father asked if she had photos. She hesitated, then turned her laptop. She clicked through three frames she hadn't meant to keep. In the first, the mother was bent toward me, her hand on my back. In the second, her hand was extended, holding a small white square. In the third, I was standing alone holding it, my head down, and she was already walking away toward the double doors. The paper in the photos was white and folded and small, the same size as what I'd held out to my dad. The photographer's camera had stamped each one. 2:14, 2:15.
My father asked her to send them to him. He stood there while she airdropped them to his phone. He didn't look at them long. He thanked her and asked her not to delete anything.
When he came back to the side room, I was still on the folding chair. My aunt stood and stepped back to give us space. My father's tuxedo jacket was unbuttoned now. His boutonniere was a little crooked. He knelt in front of me the way my aunt had, so his knees were on the hard floor.
I had been holding it together, but when I saw his face I felt my throat get tight again.
"Did I ruin the wedding?" I asked him. My voice was small. I had been trying not to say it out loud.
He didn't answer right away. He reached out and put his hand on my cheek. His hand was warm.
"No," he said. His voice was low and firm, the same way he'd said no on the aisle. "You didn't ruin anything."
I looked down at my hands. They were empty now. He still had the note in his pocket. I kept thinking he would be mad that I'd made a scene in front of everyone.
"Is she mad at me?" I asked.
He shook his head. "You don't need to worry about that right now."
My aunt stayed by the door, watching the hallway so no one would come in. My father stayed kneeling. He showed me his phone for just a second, not the photos, just the lock screen with our picture from the apartment, so I would look at him and not at the door.
May you like
"You told me the truth," he said. "That was brave. I'm going to take care of this, okay? You stay with Aunt Sarah."
I nodded. I wanted to believe him. Outside, I could hear the low murmur of guests still in their seats and the organ playing softly, holding, waiting for someone to tell it to start or stop.
