Cry Uncle (12 page)

Swallowing a lump of emotion—part rue, part
dread, part sheer panic—Pamela straightened her shoulders and
joined Kitty at the door. They tiptoed out into the hall as a tinny
rendering of the Wedding March resounded through the small speakers
of a portable stereo atop the juke box.

As Kitty had promised, the barroom had been
spruced up. The tables, pushed to the perimeter of the room, were
all draped in white paper table cloths, and white satin ribbons had
been looped over the exposed rafters and the steering-wheel clock.
A strip of what appeared to be unbleached muslin lay the length of
the room. Although chairs had been arranged on either side of the
runner, most of the guests were standing, peering toward the front
of the room, where a silver-haired man in a straw hat and a dapper
seersucker suit stood before a table which was bedecked with
flowers. Pamela assumed he was the judge.

Lizard abruptly appeared at the rear edge of
the bar, near where Pamela and Kitty were standing. Nudged by a
wizened dark-skinned woman in a caftan trimmed with feathers,
Lizard started down the muslin runner. She wore a cotton sun-suit
with a pretty floral pattern—not a dress, but infinitely more
respectable than a plastic hula skirt or pajamas. Her hair was half
braided, half loose, and she carried a bouquet of peacock and gull
feathers.

Pamela couldn’t see her face, a fact for
which she was grateful. She knew Lizard didn’t care much for her.
Lizard’s reluctant shuffle down the aisle, her feathers fluttering
and her steps making clicking sounds as her rubber sandals slapped
the bare soles of her feet, told Pamela all she needed to know
about the child’s opinion of her uncle’s wedding.

She shifted her gaze from Lizard to the
wedding guests. Perhaps they’d been whooping it up before, but now
they were still and nearly silent, respecting the sanctity of the
occasion. It looked to Pamela as if at least a hundred people were
crammed into the room. In her plain white cotton shift, she seemed
to be the most elegantly dressed person present.

It isn’t really a
wedding,
she told herself, but the thought
rang false in her soul. A thousand-dollar wedding dress, engraved
invitations, a live organist and a sun-filled church weren’t what
made a wedding real. When she stared down the long, wrinkled strip
of muslin to the judge at the other end, she knew this was a real
wedding.
Her wedding
.

The comprehension staggered her. She reached
out to grab Kitty, but she was too late; her matron of honor was
already sauntering down the aisle, sending her smile to the left
and to the right and occasionally acknowledging a familiar face
with a cheerful wave. Pamela remained alone at the rear of the
barroom, gathering her wits and praying that going through with
this marriage wasn’t even a bigger mistake than testifying against
Mick Morrow had been.

From the front of the bar, Kitty turned and
beckoned Pamela with a crook of her finger. Pamela felt the
assembled guests turn en masse to stare at her. The hum of voices
she heard as she took her first step onto the runner was no doubt
not the hushed murmurs of people admiring a beautiful bride but
rather Joe’s friends whispering, “Who the hell is she? Where did he
find her?”

Once again she had to resist the urge to
bolt. Holding her head high, squeezing her gardenia bouquet, she
walked sedately down the aisle, refusing to glance to either side,
refusing to admit that she felt queasy. She concentrated on the
judge’s benign smile and counted her steps, maintaining a slow,
courtly pace.

The late afternoon sunlight sifted through
the windows, casting the front of the room in a golden glow. When
she was nearly at her destination, Joe stepped forward to greet
her.

Pamela froze. Not from fear, not from panic,
but from the shock of her response to him. He looked tall, relaxed
and absolutely sure of himself. His hair was brushed back from his
face, his cheeks were clean-shaven, and his glorious blue eyes
seemed to connect with her, communicating that this was okay,
everything was going to be okay, she was going to make it to the
end of the muslin runner without losing her lunch. He wasn’t quite
smiling, but she noticed his dimple. And his earring, a tiny gold
heart that caught the light and glittered.

Clad in a white linen blazer, a brightly
patterned shirt and cotton slacks, with an orchid pinned to his
lapel, he was put together as informally as she was. But he
looked...if not like a husband, at least like a man who didn’t
regret having chosen Pamela for his wife.

He also looked extraordinarily handsome.

Pamela recalled her first impression of
him—that he looked like a bum. Not all that much had changed since
then. His hair was still way too long, and the laughter in his eyes
seemed teasing, and of course he had a hole through his ear. And
yet... It wasn’t just because none of his apparel was obviously
torn, or because he had suddenly transformed into a model out of
GQ, but... In the instant her gaze locked with his, Pamela honestly
believed marrying him was the right thing to do.

Joe extended his hand and she took it. He
closed his fingers around hers, snug but not tight, just a gentle
squeeze of reassurance. Yet his eyes changed somehow, darkening
slightly, expressing more than just that this marriage was going to
serve its purpose. He almost looked...glad.

Glad that he was improving his chances of
winning permanent custody of Lizard, Pamela rationalized. Glad that
Pamela had come through, that she wasn’t an embarrassment to him,
that she would help him to convince the family court of his
stability as a parent figure. It was nothing more complicated than
that.

Yet as he turned her to face the judge, he
didn’t let go of her hand. His fingers remained woven loosely
through hers, as if he and she were taking a stroll along the beach
rather than standing side by side in front of the man who was going
to join them legally together.

The judge cleared his throat and smiled.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he drawled, speaking past Joe and Pamela to
address the entire room, “we’re assembled here today to witness the
marriage of Jonas Brenner and Pamela Hayes. Now, you all know Joe.
He’s one heck of a fine fellow. Generous as the day is long—and
right about now, the days are pretty long. Joe always fills the
glass up to the rim. He always listens to a tale of woe, and he
always laughs at a joke, no matter how poorly you tell it. I don’t
have to tell you what kind of a guy he is.”

This assessment was greeted with a quiet
chorus of assent. Pamela shot Joe a quick look. He was grinning and
rolling his eyes in embarrassment.

“
Pamela, on the other hand,
is new to the island. I’ve never met her, and I reckon most of you
haven’t, either. But she seems a charming young lady, and I’ll tell
you this—if Joe loves her, she’s aces in my book, and I think we
can all count her as a friend.”

“
Hear, hear!” someone at the
back of the room shouted.

“
Today we’re here to unite
these two special people in matrimony. I know Joe’s got lot of
refreshment on hand for the celebration, so let’s get on with it.
Is there anyone present who would speak against Joe and Pamela
getting hitched?”

Pamela eyed Lizard cautiously. Lizard slid
her left foot out of the rubber sandal and used it to scratch the
back of her right calf. Pamela noted that Lizard’s toenails had
been painted purple. She also noted that Lizard was making a great
effort not to look at her. She stared at her feet, at the door, at
Kitty, at her feathers and her uncle. Anywhere but at Pamela.

“
Well, then,” the judge
continued. “Pamela, do you take Jonas Brenner to be your lawfully
wedded husband through the good times and the bad, the ups and
downs, the high tides and low, the calm days and the hurricanes, to
make this marriage a thing of joy and beauty?”

Not exactly the standard lines, but Pamela
had to admit she liked it. It fit what she and Joe were entering
into, and the judge hadn’t mentioned “till death do us part.” She
wondered whether Joe had told him this marriage was going to be
parted by a divorce decree as soon as Joe had permanent custody of
Lizard and Pamela had proof that Mick Morrow was behind bars to
stay.

Whether the judge knew or not, Pamela found
it easy to affirm the vow as he’d stated it. “I do,” she said.

Joe squeezed her hand again, and she sent him
a shy smile.

“
Joe,” the judge said, “do
you promise to take Pamela as your lawfully wedded wife, to honor
and respect, to talk to and to listen to, to share the burdens and
the blessings of each day with, to partner through the dance of
life?”

“
I do,” Joe said. The smile
he sent Pamela wasn’t remotely timid. He looked downright
pleased.

“
The ring,” the judge cued
him.

A ring? Pamela cringed inwardly. She hadn’t
bought Joe a ring—she hadn’t even thought of it. Surely, if Joe
hadn’t gotten a ring for her, he would have told the judge to skip
this part. She hoped he wouldn’t make her wear something cheap and
brassy. A wedding band was a sacred symbol. A fake one would be a
travesty.

To her amazement, Joe pulled
from his pocket a
real
ring, a thick band of hammered gold. He slipped it onto her
ring finger. Cool and heavy, it fit perfectly.

“
Joe—”

“
Shh,” he silenced her,
still grinning.

“
By the authority vested in
me by the state of Florida,” the judge concluded, “I now pronounce
you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride—and you,” he invited
Pamela with a wink, “may kiss the groom.”

Joe had explained the necessity of pretending
in public that theirs was a love match. Obediently, she leaned
toward Joe, closed her eyes and puckered her lips, bracing herself
for the feel of his mouth on hers.

His kiss was light, sweet, a tender brush of
his lips that left her feeling oddly frustrated. But before she
could lean into him, before she could submerge herself more deeply
in this pretense of affection, the crowd began to hoot and cheer
and demand drinks, and Joe broke away from her to step into his
role as the host. “We’ve got plenty of food and libation, folks,”
he shouted above the celebratory cheering. “Brick, Kitty, let’s get
some glasses filled.”

“
Hey, groom,” Kitty
chastised him as he started toward the bar. “You’re not supposed to
be working tonight. You’ve got a bride to take care of. Don’t the
bride and groom have to have the first dance?”

Brick grunted in confirmation.

Joe turned to Pamela with a smile. “Okay,
then. Someone punch some buttons on that juke box. It’s rigged—no
coins necessary.”

A group of guests huddled over the juke box,
arguing about which song would be most suitable under the
circumstances. Others rolled up the muslin and shoved the chairs
toward the walls, clearing a dance floor at the center of the room.
Pamela eyed Joe, wondering whether they were going to be treated to
a slow, sensuous dance—and wondering why she wasn’t alarmed by the
likelihood that they would be.

The crowd simmered down as a
sinuous bass line filled the air.
Stand By
Me
. Pamela recognized it even before Ben E.
King’s soulful voice began crooning. Joe seemed delighted by the
choice as he drew her onto the improvised dance floor, into his
arms. “How are you doing?” he asked.

He was holding her decorously, one hand
resting at the small of her back and the other folded around her
hand. His eyes sparkled; his smile took on a wistfulness as he
gazed at her.

“
I’m fine.”

“
Good.” He urged her closer,
and she relaxed into the rhythm of the song. “Do you think we’ve
convinced the world that we’re in love?” Although his smile
remained enigmatic, his voice was tinged with laughter.

“
Actually,” she chided
softly, “you went above and beyond. Why did you get such a fancy
ring?”

“
It’s not so fancy. Just
plain gold. If it isn’t comfortable, we can take it back and get
the size adjusted.”

“
It’s very comfortable,”
Pamela told him, refusing to admit to herself that its very
comfortability made her uncomfortable. The ring shouldn’t have felt
so natural on her finger. It shouldn’t have felt as if it belonged
there. “But you obviously spent a lot of money on it,
and—”

“
There you go with the money
again,” he muttered, although his tone lacked any real anger. “What
sort of guy would I be if I’d given you something from a
Cracker-Jack box? You’re my wife. You deserve a nice ring.” He
pulled her even closer to him, until her cheek was resting against
the soft linen of his blazer. “Lord knows you’re going to earn
it.”

She leaned back and glared at him. “That
sounds ominous.”

He grinned. “You look real nice, by the
way.”

She faltered for a moment, then managed a
smile. Joe hadn’t seen her since the afternoon he’d introduced her
to his lawyer, three days ago. The lawyer had treated her
cordially—which Pamela had hardly found reassuring. In fact, it had
made her retreat, giving Joe a chance to rethink his decision.

If he’d rethought it, his decision had
remained the same. Pamela had talked to Joe several times on the
telephone between then and now, but he had been busy organizing the
wedding and preparing Lizard for the event, and she had been busy
coping with Kitty’s exuberance, which tended to manifest itself in
protracted shopping excursions.

Perhaps, during the three days they’d been
apart, Joe had forgotten what Pamela looked like. Perhaps he’d
remembered her to be homelier than she actually was, so today, all
spruced up with something-borrowed-something-blue eye-shadow, he
was startled to discover she wasn’t as ugly as he’d
recollected.