The Chapel Wars (19 page)

I folded my arms across my chest, trying to create some shield against Victor’s ickiness. Neck? Does that mean kiss? “You bought Angel Gardens.”

“Yeah. So?”

“So, we have a contract with them.”

“Had.” Victor grinned. “I don’t think I’ll be renewing that.”

“But why did you buy them?” I asked.

“Because I have plans, Nolan, plans that I’m not going to tell you. But since you seem to be buddying up with my grandson, I will do you a little favor. I’ll give you a chance to sell. Fifty K.”

“Victor. Our chapel is worth six times that. Rose of Sharon isn’t for sale.”

“Fifty-one K. Final offer. If your parents sell now, they can get out gracefully.” He ran his tongue along the front of his teeth, then spit. “Otherwise, things are going to get ugly.”

“Too late for that.”

“And stay away from my grandson. He’s a good kid.”

“No.”

“Fine.” He shrugged. “Then don’t expect me to stay away from your chapel.”

The elevator doors scrolled open. I willed myself to look Victor Cranston in the eye. “Please, Victor. Just … let us be.”

“The ball is rolling. Either you jump on or you get smashed.” Victor sneered. “See you in the parking lot, Nolan. At least while there is still a parking lot left.”

There was nothing we could do about Angel Gardens. By the end of the week, they’d closed their doors. The doors stayed closed, with no indication that Victor was opening things soon. Which did nothing to help the neighborhood, an empty business in the backyard. I wondered if Victor was going to knock it down and expand his chapel, or if he bought Angel Gardens just to hurt us. It was a crazy motivation, but with Victor involved, it wouldn’t be a shock.

I didn’t tell my family all the details. The news did nothing for morale, and right now we needed another long-term partnership with a reception hall. And before that glitch could be addressed, we had only three weeks until Valentine’s Day.

So we went to our next money-making tactic, an idea inspired by my trip to the Stratosphere.

Destination weddings.

Grandpa did them occasionally to fill a special request, but it wasn’t something we’d ever pursued or advertised. I didn’t know why—it was an easy-enough process. We partnered with a limo company to escort the bridal party anywhere—Mount Charleston, Zion National Park, the “Welcome to Las Vegas” sign. If they wanted to get hitched at a truck stop in Pahrump, we could do that too. Minister Dan commuted over, the ceremony was performed, and voilà. A $300 destination fee added to our regular package. Deluxe packages and à la carte items also available. See website for details.

We had our first ceremony at Red Rock just a few days after my meeting with Victor. My parents were going to run it alone, but I wanted to take notes on logistics. Come spring, destinations could mean big profit for us. Plus, Dad was going to take some professional pictures for a billboard spot we’d bought just off the Strip.

Plus, I was considering, just considering, telling my parents about Dax.

Mom and I set up a small lattice backdrop for the ceremony on an open stretch of dirt with the stunning Red Rock mountains behind us. The bride wanted a “glamour theme,” which to her meant purple and black with loads of feathers. Taste is … objective.

“I’m glad you thought to do more destination packages.” Mom tied a purple balloon to the backdrop. “The chapel is lovely, but it’s fun to see what we can come up with without the limitations of four walls.”

This bride would have done better with some limitations. “So you’re not mad? That I’m doing more? Dad and Donna seem … not too excited about the changes.”

Mom glanced back at Dad, who was checking the aperture on his camera. “You’re right. He’s not. But that’s his own issue. There’s a reason your grandpa put you in charge.”

“Thanks.” I squinted up at the sun. Dad wasn’t going to be happy about this lighting. “That’s, like, the only time I’ve heard you disagree with Dad.”

“Really?” Mom frowned. “I wasn’t trying to disagree with him.”

“You know, you’re divorced. It’s okay.”

“Mmmm-hmmm.” Mom pushed a stray wisp of hair back into her ponytail. “Honey, I’ve been thinking, you’re working yourself to the bone trying to help this place.”

I scowled at the subject change. I couldn’t think of a time my mom had talked about the divorce since it happened. She might as well have worn her wedding ring for how much the divorce didn’t happen. Why did we even have to move into The Space? My parents could have just comfortably coexisted in our old house. “I’m totally fine.”

“I just wish you had more time for a social life. You’re young.”

“A social life. Yeah. About that.” Time to spill my recreational activities with Dax, except maybe not the other day when we snuck into the Twilight Wedding Chapel and made out for an hour, because I was still a little creeped out about that myself.

What I could tell her was that even though we’d only known each other a few months, it felt like Dax knew me better than
anyone, that he helped me know
myself
, that he wasn’t like his grandpa, that he wasn’t like anyone. That I had this constant knot in my stomach because I was worried I was in love with Dax, and I worried that I was programmed wrong, worrying about something I should be happy about.

But then the groom’s mom came over asking for more feathers for the bride’s hair and the moment was over, just like all the other moments and opportunities I had to tell my parents the truth. Saving the chapel was the biggest deal right now, and revelations concerning my love life could wait until we weren’t in the middle of a ceremony.

Although it seemed like we were always in the middle of a ceremony.

I sat with James in the back row of chairs. We couldn’t have timed it more perfectly with the sunset and mild weather. James didn’t look up once, just played a video game the whole time.

They skipped the bridal march and played a Jay-Z song instead. The bride’s dress was the fabric equivalent of a belt, and the groom wore a green camouflage suit. He fist pumped when she walked down the aisle. Thirty-eight percent success rate, if they were lucky. I’d rather marry a hairbrush than that groom.

Or forget the hairbrush. Dax.

“Blah-blah-blah,” James muttered under his breath. “How do you sit through so many of these?”

“They’re not all like this,” I said. The bride and groom were slapping each other’s mouths with their tongues. Or maybe they thought that was a kiss.

“Are you going to marry Dax?” James opened a whole pack of Smarties and shoved them in his mouth.

“What? No. I don’t know. I’m not even thinking about that yet.” Or I’m thinking about that two minutes ago.

“Fine. If you want to stay with Dax, you should have Minister Dan marry you. Then you can both die and our families will see that their fighting was wrong and come together and cry. Your only love from your only hate.”

“You just summarized
Romeo and Juliet
.”

He rolled his candy wrapper into a ball and flicked it onto the ground. “I know. It’s a movie. Claire Danes? She used to be kind of hot.”

The groom tore off his camo suit jacket and tossed it into the crowd. They’d gone so far off script, Minister Dan just rushed a “husband and wife” and pointed them to the aisle. Instead, they decided to start making out again.

“Is this about you wanting me to tell Mom and Dad about Dax?”

“I just don’t know why it’s so hard for everyone in our family to be honest.”

“Then tell them about your job at Angel Gardens. Or the ice blocking. Or any of the other fifty thousand stupid things you get away with.”

“Are you serious? I don’t get away with anything. Mom and Dad don’t care about me, only my prison record. I’m their annoyance.”

“A prison record? You’re being dramatic.”

James dug at a small hole in his dark dress pants. “Therapist Whitney said it’s better to be a punk on the outside than to keep it all in. Mom and Dad know how I feel about things because I show them. You … everyone thinks you’re fine, but you’ve got this hidden boy and all the crap with the chapel and … I don’t know. Tell them or show them how you feel, or one day you’re just going to implode.”

“I’m not a bomb.”

“Tick-tick-tick!” James popped open his hands. “Boom! And there goes Holly.”

“Fine. I will.” I wanted to go
boom
in James’s face. “After the ceremony.”

The ceremony was pretty much over. The wedding guests were throwing feathers at one another, and Mom had to run in because they were essentially littering in a national park.

“Everybody! Get in the party bus! I just got freaking married!” the bride hollered.

Finally we were able to pack everything up and send the wedding party away. And just in time. The bride’s father and the groom’s mom were already making eyes at each other.

“You didn’t tell them,” James said as he and I walked out to Mom’s car.

“Shut up, I know. I’m going to.”

“They’re going to find out sometime. I mean, Lenore knows, I’m surprised it’s not on a billboard.” James picked his nose. “And I still have that picture of you sucking face, by the way.”

“So now you’re threatening me.”

“Motivating you. Don’t be perfect for once.”

I stared at my brother. The sun was down, the weather chilled. There was the faintest suggestion of a mustache on his Pony Boy face. “Just … get in the car. And don’t try to drive.”

I stomped across the sagebrush and rocks. Why should I tell my parents anything when they told me nothing? They were on the other side of the hill, folding the fabric aisle. Their voices carried up, echoing against the canyon wall. The sound clanged, metallic and sharp. My parents were … fighting?

“These destination weddings are ridiculous,” Dad said. “I can’t believe you said yes to this.”

“Your daughter did it. Which is more than I can say for you. What have you done to save the place?”

Dad dropped his side of the aisle. Dirt puffed into his face. “What have I done? Who’s taking the pictures?”

“That’s your excuse for everything, isn’t it? I can’t be home for dinner. Pictures. I can’t pay alimony. Pictures. I’m never going to make anything of myself because
pictures
.”

“Oh, right. That’s our problem. I have an actual job and pay your child support—”

“I wouldn’t call what you pay us supportive.” Mom yanked the aisle away and started to fold it herself. Her hair wisped limply out of her ponytail. “It’s a joke.”

“This! This is why I hate destination weddings. I can’t stand being out here with you when you’re like this.” Dad smeared his hands against his dark jeans. “I hope this place does go under because I can’t stand seeing you every day.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t stand seeing you
any
day!” Mom screamed.

The word “day” bounced across the mountain. Mom didn’t scream. That wasn’t my mom. These weren’t my parents.

“You’re making a scene,” Dad said.

“You started the scene. And we’re in the middle of the desert.”

“That’s because you wanted to do a destination wedding!” Dad hollered, bringing the conversation full circle.

“Um. Guys?” I called down. Mom and Dad froze midfold. Dad kind of shook out his shoulders before smiling up at me. I realized how rehearsed that smile was now. There wasn’t laughter behind his smiles anymore, at least not with us. “How long have you been standing around?”

“Just got here,” I lied. “James and I were in the car.”

Mom retied her ponytail. The dust swirled around them, clinging to their clothes, testifying that they were there, that the fight had happened. “Great! Your dad and I were just talking about getting ice cream together.”

“Uh … I’m good.” They were crazy. Why were they acting like this? For my benefit? Pretending to be happy for that long when you aren’t was enough to make anyone explode. James would tell them that. He would tell them it was okay to say and do whatever they needed to be at peace.

I didn’t say anything. I never did.

“No ice cream. I’ve got a lot to do,” I said, like the old lady that I was. “I’ll be in the car.”

“Great! Be there in a bit!” Dad called.

I left them to fold the chairs. I left them to pick up the discarded feathers.

I left them.

I trudged back over the hill and slammed my door shut behind me.

“So? Did they get pissed?” James asked

I flipped down the visor and checked my eyes in the mirror. My reflection blinked back. My eyes worked. What I’d just witnessed … that happened. “No … they were … fighting … when I got there.”

“With each other?” James perked up.

“Like … screaming.”

“
Why
?”

Why. How many times had I stared at those two and asked why? Maybe this was our answer. Maybe my parents had this whole other dynamic between them that we never saw. Maybe they
didn’t
like each other. Maybe all the small talk and civility was for show. Maybe … maybe they were trying to behave like adults.

“I think … because they’re divorced?” I searched James’s face. “Or because … people fight?”

“And you didn’t tell them about Dax first? Say something to start it?”

“No. They were already going at it when I got there.” I pushed back my bangs. “They were fighting about nothing. Just fighting to fight.”

James leaned back in his seat, a small smile on his face. “So they do fight, huh?”

“It was horrible.”

“That’s great,” he said.

Was it great? I flipped the visor back up as my parents cleared the crest of the hill. There was distance between them, but no more than there ever was. There wasn’t any visible sign that they’d just lost it. I’d been looking for signs for so long, and I realized they were just experts at disguise.

I twisted back in my seat and smiled sadly at my little brother. “Maybe our family is more normal than we thought.”

February 13 was our Third Annual (and likely final once my friends went off to school) Valentine’s Bomb, in which we convinced Vegas lovers old and young that they are ready for the commitment of marriage, and that they would like to make that commitment at our chapel. As was customary, I paid the boys and Camille each twenty bucks to pass out a box full of flyers on the Strip. But this year, I also asked everyone to dress up in the costume of their choice.