Cursed [Book 1] ✔

Chapter 8: Not Driving Stick Anymore

No matter my qualms about the baby, there was a wedding to plan. The next few weeks evolved into a whirlwind of caterers, florists, and lace frills. I don't know what I was thinking, because I hated lace, and froze. But striving to live up to the ideal wedding can compromise anyone's sense of self. I knew better, however. Wedding planning allowed myself to forget, for a while, truth.

Thinking about my future, or lack thereof, depressed me severely. I had to remind myself that the shaman promised a future for my child, regardless of what he promised about mine.

Besides, dress fittings were a whole another type of depressing, serving as a reminder of how huge I was. The dress I chose featured wide satin straps, a v-neck to accentuate my new bust, and an empire-waist to hide as much of my pregnancy as possible. All of the guests knew that I was pregnant, but I preferred to perpetuate the illusion that I was not.

Ever the practical one, my mother suggested that instead of traditional wedding presents, we ask for baby-themed gifts. After the wedding, Rafe and I planned on living together in his three-bedroom apartment, and so we thought her idea genius, with my mother agreeing wholeheartedly.

Signing up for a baby registry turned out to be a fun scan-a-thon of blankets, bottles, baby Bjorns, and bassinets. I never knew there were so many necessities involved in raising a new life. I inspected a blue, bulb-shaped device, wondering what it was for. Seeing my confusion, Rafe laughed, swearing it was for the baby's nose. My dubious expression prompted him to say,

"What? I looked it up."

We were like a regular couple, in the midst of a ritual signaling continuity. Grocery shopping gave me the same hopeful feeling.

A flash of the Morcoso nightmare seared my brain, and I closed my eyes, swaying in an effort to keep upright.

Rafe noticed I wasn't myself, probably owing to the fact that I'd been staring at the same pack of onesies for ten minutes.

Mid-scan, he asked, "Are you okay?"

"Yes." I faked a smile. "Just thinking."

"About...?"

"Baby names."

"Liar."

"Maybe, baby." I draped myself on one of the display ottomans.

"Tell me."

Lie.

I pieced together parts of truth to deliver the fiction convincingly: "Seeing all of this baby stuff makes me think of the delivery. My mom had c-sections with all three of us, so she couldn't really relate to the natural birth experience. I'm scared."

Rafe sat beside me. "Everything is gonna be okay, Imogen. Once the delivery's over, you won't even be thinking about it. All you'll be thinking about is how much you love our child."

How naive he was.

"Your logic is sweet and sound, but I can't help being scared about what's going to happen during." Words I hadn't planned on popped outta my mouth. I couldn't figure the lies from the truth, but I knew it wasn't fair to force Rafe to marry a dyimg woman. All the same, the voice compelled me again,

Lie.

"I'll be right there," Rafe was saying, "and Estelle too. We'll take care of you."

"I know you will." I played with the blanket in my hands, twisting, untwisting.

"Truthfully, I'm glad this is what was on your mind. I was worried you were getting cold feet."

That caught my attention.

Calm his fears.

And I said all the right things--"No. Never. I love you, and I couldn't be more sure that marrying you is the right thing."

We shared a short kiss.

"Come on." Rafe spun the merchandise scanner on his finger, a seasoned cowboy. "Let's do this."

I fluttered a hand over my stomach. "That's what got us into this in the first place."

Rafe laughed, and the crisis passed. Marrying him would be easy. Committing to him may have been a scary notion at first, but he was a good man, and the man for me. If I was destined to die prematurely, at least I'd marry the love of my life. The lie between us was inconsequential, or so the voice assured me.

****

Typical Florida weather hit on the day of the wedding, hot and muggy. As our wedding ceremony was beachside, we preferred hot and muggy over ceaseless rain. Estelle had chosen a beach on Ana Maria Island that boasted soft white sand and clear aquamarine water. She had decorated an arch with orange, pink, and purple flowers to serve as an altar. The guest chairs were wrapped with white and orange chiffon. For the aisle, she had laid a carpet of lilac rose petals. When I saw the final set up, I was breathless with appreciation.

To make the wedding a true beach celebration, my mother demanded  each guest leave their shoes in the car. Barefoot in full wedding finery, our friends and family took their seats with sand in between their toes.

During all of the dress fittings, I hated the thought of donning a dress that would make me look fat. When I finally slipped the dress on, the soft material settling all over my body, those thoughts of negativity were nonexistent, and I was instantly transformed. I was no longer going to be Imogen Ameore, but Imogen Shoal. Imogen Shoal will have a different future than Imogen Ameore, one with a longer lifespan, the voice assured me. Marrying Rafe was going to fulfill all of my dreams, becoming my salvation.

I glided down the aisle of lilac roses toward my husband-to-be. He waited for me with all the adoration of a man who was in love and equally loved back. The poor man had no idea what thoughts lay in the subconscious of his bride. If so, he'd have run the other way. Rosalind's power of telepathy had died with her, leaving my thoughts all to myself.

After the ceremony was sealed with a kiss, the wedding party proceeded to a nearby dock to the yacht for the reception. In the fading afternoon light, the path to the boat beckoned, with twinking lights strung across a wooden walkway.

By nightfall, the boat sailed out over the water. Dinner took place outside on a wood-paneled deck. More lights decorated the yacht, glowing to match the full moon. A gentle sea breeze danced over the table linens, sifting through my hair. I inhaled and savored the sea-salt smell. Rafe took my hand in his, fulfilling my contentment by sharing in it. There was nothing beyond the moment I was in, and nothing bad or evil could touch me in my sphere of happiness. If I had to define the presence of God, or choose my version of Heaven, that shining moment would have been it.

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