Chapter 6: The Parking Lot Wait
The vestibule doors were propped open and I could hear the reception hall through the hallway. Chairs scraping. Someone had turned the music down. The air still smelled like the flowers from the steps.
The coordinator found me first. Her name was Lauren. She had a clipboard and a headset and the kind of calm that goes tight when things slip.
"Ethan," she said. She kept her voice low. "Your guests have been seated twenty minutes. The kitchen is holding the salads. If we don't start the entrance in the next ten, you lose the hot course window and half the deposit on catering. And your parents' table keeps asking where you are."
I still had the note folded in my palm. It was getting soft from sweat.
"I know," I said.
She glanced past me toward the parking lot doors where Diane was standing just outside, not quite on the steps anymore. "I don't know what's happening, but optics matter. People have phones out. If the groom doesn't walk in with his bride, that's the story they post."
That hit differently than the money. My mom and dad had paid for most of the reception. Half the tables were their friends from the foundation, their neighbors, their church group. An empty entrance would be something they had to explain for months.
Maya came up beside me. She'd taken her veil off and her hair was still pinned in that low updo, a few pieces coming loose. She didn't look at Lauren.
"Give us five minutes," Maya said to her.
Lauren nodded once and stepped back toward the ballroom, speaking quietly into her headset.
Maya looked at me, then out at the parking lot. The lot was half full, heat coming off the asphalt. Diane had moved to the edge of the stone steps, her worn coat hanging loose on her shoulders. She was holding her hands together like she was cold.
"You need to go in," I said.
Maya shook her head a little. "We need to go in."
"I can't," I said. "My parents said they're ten minutes out. If I leave her out here alone she'll be gone. And if she leaves I won't know what's true."
Maya breathed in and out slowly. I watched her eyes. She wasn't angry. She was doing that thing she did when she was trying to hold two things steady at once.
"Then I go in," she said. "You stay."
I didn't want her to have to do that alone. The whole day had been about us walking in together.
"You shouldn't have to explain for me," I said.
"Someone has to," she said. "If we both disappear, everyone fills in the blank. If one of us is in there smiling, it buys you time. That's the split, Ethan. Public and private. We handle both."
She squeezed my hand once, quick. Her palm was dry. Mine wasn't.
"Two songs," she said. "I'll thank everyone, say you had to step out with family, that you'll be right in. I'll get my dad to stand with me. Don't make me stall longer than that."
"Two songs," I said.
She headed for the ballroom entrance. I watched the back of her dress until the doors closed.
Outside, Diane had started walking toward the far end of the parking lot, toward the sidewalk that led to the bus stop on the highway. Her steps were short and uneven.
I jogged a few steps to catch her. The petals were still scattered on the stone behind us, red and white getting pressed into the cracks.
"Diane," I said.
She stopped but didn't turn fully. Her shoulders were up.
"I caused trouble," she said, quiet. "I shouldn't have come on your wedding day. You have that beautiful girl in there. You should be in there."
"You didn't cause this," I said.
She tried to smile and it didn't hold. "I did. I knew I would. I told myself just to hand you the paper and go."
I didn't grab her. I put my hand out, palm up, a few inches from her elbow. Not touching.
"Stay," I said. "Please. Just until my parents get here. They said they're bringing papers. I need to see them with you here. If you leave now I'm left with a note and a photo on my phone and no context."
She looked at my hand, then at the bench by the side entrance, the stone one under the oak where the shade was. Her breathing was shallow.
"I don't have anywhere to be that matters more than this," she said, "but I don't want to be a spectacle."
"You won't be," I said. "Sit on the bench. I'll stay by the office door. No one has to come talk to you until you're ready."
After a second she nodded. She walked back with me and sat down on the bench. The wood was warm from the sun. She folded her hands in her lap and stared at the parking lot entrance, where cars were still pulling in for the reception.
I stood by the side door to the church office, the small envelope with the note and my phone in my inside tuxedo pocket. Through the glass I could see the hallway that led to the ballroom. I could hear the faint bass of the music starting again as Maya went in. Someone clapped.
Diane didn't look at me. She kept her eyes on the lot.
"If they say I'm lying, you'll know," she said softly, almost to herself. "I kept the hospital bracelet. That's why I came. Not for money."
"I heard you," I said.
Headlights turned into the lot. A silver SUV I recognized. My dad was driving. I felt my stomach drop and my hand went to the pocket with the envelope without thinking. Diane saw the car too and her hands tightened together.
May you like
"That's them," I said.
She didn't get up. She stayed on the bench, waiting because I had asked her to.
