Chapter 20: Keep Driving

"No, Camille," I said. "You did it with your thumb."

My voice carried through the speakers, because she had never put down the microphone.

She looked down at it, and then at the ballroom.

A hundred and twenty people were watching, and none of them were smiling.

"I was going to tell you," she said to me, quickly. "After the wedding. When it was safe, when he'd fixed it."

"Safe for who?"

"Samantha. I couldn't have it ruined. Not this. I've worked for this."

"You left me at a rest stop to keep a man who was already married."

"I didn't leave you. I just didn't stop it."

"You texted Mom in my name."

"It was a few hours!"

"It was a few hours when I didn't have a phone, a wallet or a ride, in another state, in the cold."

She opened her mouth, and nothing came out.

"Cam," Brent said from the back. His voice had changed, low and fast. "Don't say another word. Put the mic down."

"Don't tell me what to do."

"You'll make it worse."

"It couldn't be worse!" She spun around, white skirt swinging.

"You said it was almost done! You looked at me and said it!"

"I said what I had to."

The bridesmaids at the head table stood up together.

One of them was crying.

The one who had emceed set down her glass.

"I can't be part of this," she said, and walked out.

The others went after her.

Brent started down the aisle toward the doors.

He walked fast, with his jaw set, past the bake committee.

The council man in the bow tie held out an arm to stop him.

"Son, I think you'd better wait for the pastor."

"I don't have to wait for anyone."

Brent's wife stepped into the aisle, her son on her hip.

"Your car keys," she said, and held out her other hand, flat. "The ones for the house you changed on me."

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