Chapter 8: The Man on the Stoop

"Drive," I said. "Don't stop. Don't look back."

"I'm not looking back," Maddie said, and looked back. "He's on his knees, Cassia."

"I know."

"In front of everybody."

"I know."

"That's actually kind of hot."

"Maddie."

"Sorry. Left or right?"

"Right."

By the time we reached her apartment in Logan Square, my phone had four hundred notifications.

By the time I got out of the wedding dress, the video had two million views.

Someone in the fourth pew had filmed the whole thing.

The caption said, Bride plays groom's own voice at altar and walks out, then he KNEELS.

Daphne had not posted hers.

I noticed that.

Maddie sat on the edge of her bathtub and ate a spoonful of peanut butter while I washed the makeup off in her sink.

"You okay?" she asked.

"No."

"Want to scream?"

"Yes."

"I'll turn on the radio."

I screamed into a towel for a long time while she played polka at full volume.

Afterward I sat on her floor in a borrowed T-shirt and felt strangely light.

Then the phone rang.

It was Harvey.

I let it ring until it stopped.

It started again.

Forty-one times that night.

At eleven, Maddie went to the window and said, "Okay. He's here."

I got up and looked.

Harvey was sitting on the front stoop of her building, in his tuxedo, with his tie undone and his jacket across his knees.

Rain was starting to come down.

He did not move.

"Want me to call the police?" Maddie asked.

"No."

"Want me to throw something at him?"

"Not yet."

He was still there at dawn.

He was there the next day when I came down for coffee, unshaven, wearing a different shirt.

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