Fiancée's Betrayal, Dante's Inferno novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: The Wrong Wedding
A marine in dress blues walks into his brother's wedding to his own fiancée and objects; his mother tells the church she has one son today.
The shuttle let me off at the corner of Bay Street at ten to two.
I was in my dress blues, with a ring in my left pocket and fourteen months of sand still in my boots.
I had told no one I was coming.
I wanted to see Brynn's face.
I had pictured it the whole flight from Savannah.
Then I looked up at the sign in front of the white church on Craven Street.
It said "Dixon and Brynn, Today, 2 PM. Family Welcome."
Dixon is my brother.
Brynn is my fiancée.
I read the sign three times, and the letters did not change.
Cars were parked down both sides of the street.
I knew half of them.
One was my mother's silver sedan, with the flower committee sticker on the bumper.
I walked inside before I had decided to.
An usher in a gray suit reached for my hand and then saw my face and let it drop.
In the lobby a screen on an easel played a slideshow with soft piano.
Brynn on a dock.
Dixon holding her hand.
Then a black-and-white ultrasound, with white letters across the bottom.
"Baby Tarrant. Due December 2."
I did the math standing there.
I had left Beaufort fourteen months ago.
I had not been home once.
The last thing she ever texted me was on March 27.
"Counting every day. Love you."
I still had it in my phone.
That baby was started in March.
Through the double doors, an organ stopped.
I heard the pastor's voice, warm and slow.
"If anyone here knows a reason these two should not be joined, speak now."
I pushed the doors open with both hands.
Two hundred heads turned.
Dixon stood at the altar in a gray tux, with his hair combed back.
Brynn stood beside him in white, one hand on her belly.
My mother sat in the front pew in a blue dress and pearls.
Her mouth fell open.
She did not look glad.
"I know a reason," I said.
My voice carried.
I walked down the aisle, and the boots rang on the old wood.
Nobody breathed.
Dixon's smile slid off his face.
"Roan," he said. "Buddy. You're supposed to be in Africa."
"I was," I said. "For fourteen months."
I stopped at the front pew and looked at Brynn.
She was thirty weeks along, and she was not surprised.
That was the first thing I noticed.
"I left in August last year," I said, loud enough for the back rows.
"I haven't been on American soil since. Brynn texted me on March 27 that she was counting every day."
A woman near the aisle put her hand over her mouth.
"That baby is due December second," I said. "You can count backward as well as I can."
Someone in the back whispered, "Oh my God."
Dixon took a step toward me.
"You don't do this," he said quietly. "Not here."
"You did it here," I said.
I took the ring out of my pocket.
It was a small stone, the best I could afford at twenty-seven.
I laid it on the front pew, next to my mother's purse.
It clicked once against the wood.
Brynn's face went pale and then very still.
She reached into her bouquet.
Between the white roses was a folded sheet of paper, soft from being handled.
She held it out to me, and her hand did not shake.
"Your own words, Roan," she said.
Her voice was gentle, and the whole church heard it.
"You ended it. You wrote me in April. Everyone in town has read it."
I took the page and unfolded it.
It was typed on top and signed at the bottom.
"Brynn, I can't do this anymore. I've met someone. Don't wait for me. Roan."
The R in my name was a block capital.
It was dated April 20.
I had not written a word of it.
I looked up.
Two hundred faces looked back, and not one of them was on my side.
They had all read it.
Dixon put a hand on Brynn's shoulder.
My mother stood.
She smoothed her skirt and turned to face the pews, not me.
"Please forgive my son," she said, and her voice broke in all the right places.
"He's not himself. He has not been well since he left."
A murmur of pity went through the church.
Then she looked at me, and her eyes were dry and flat.
"I only have one son today," she said.
In the back pews, two deputies stood up.
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