Dearly, Beloved (60 page)

“Yes, I understand all too well!” The priest swung himself off his cot. I’d never heard him raise his voice, and I set his cats down before he could find another reason to snap at me. “This is foolishness!”

“Father Isley—”

“Why do you want to do this?”

“So I can be with him. So that I can have part of him, even if we have to be apart for a while. Doesn’t the ceremony say that it makes you one flesh? I don’t care if it’s legal, I just want the words.”

Isley continued to watch me, his expression dark. I wasn’t about to back down, but I was lost for options—until he sighed and asked, “Where?”

Relieved, I told him and headed out after receiving his promise that he would bring Bram to meet me there. I took the box to the front door and fetched my bouquet, then climbed the stairs again, heading toward the place I’d chosen for my altar.

Dad’s bedroom was unoccupied, naturally. I unfastened the glass doors and stepped out onto the balcony. I’d been close to thinking this entire area unlucky, but now knew that it wasn’t. It was practically sacred. It was self-sacred, at least.

It seemed like forever before I heard the others entering the bedroom. I took a breath and almost shut my eyes, half convinced that Bram would try to reason me out of this wild idea again—half ready to allow him. In some ways, he was right. We’d not known each other half a year. We were young. And I didn’t want him to go through with it just to please me; as when I’d first ached for him to kiss me, I wanted
him
to want it, too.

When he stepped out of the doors, showered and dressed in his full captain’s uniform, I knew he did.

I almost burst into tears, seeing it again. He was dead, but he was so incredibly handsome in it, his smile so warm. His every memory would one day be physically eaten away by the very thing that had preserved him for me to find; his every injury was destined to be a disfigurement.

But until that day, he was mine.

Isley joined us and arranged himself, still looking ill at ease. As
he did, I selected a dead rose from the trellis and tucked it into one of Bram’s buttonholes.

“Are you sure you want this?” he murmured.

“Yes,” I assured him. “Do you want to wake everyone up? I’ll do whatever you want.” In a way, it felt wrong not to have everyone there, to share it with the people I loved, but at the same time, I knew how horribly unofficial our vows were going to be. It was real, and yet not real. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to tell anyone—unsure if they’d bury me alive or celebrate with me. It was insane, it was gloriously
insane
.

Bram shook his head. “No. Just us. Like you said.”

Isley waited for us. When Bram turned to him, he must have sensed the priest’s reluctance, for he asked, “Are you all right with this?”

The other zombie confessed, “I’m only afraid that …” He paused, and then drew himself up. “This will mean something religiously. I just want you to know that. It’s not a joke.”

I nodded. “Got it.” Bram took my hand and lifted his eyebrows, smiling.

I didn’t hear most of the words. I didn’t need to. I just kept my eyes on Bram. My brain twirled a few numbers around, telling me that four months to the two and a half good years we could expect was about five
years
to any other couple’s lifetime. Relatively speaking, we’d been courting forever. After figuring that out, I wasn’t afraid. I no longer felt stupid.

When it came time for the vows, Bram recited his half slowly and carefully, as if he was committing every clause to memory. Before saying the final words, though, he paused and turned to me, adding simply, “I know I won’t be there for every part of your life, but I’d like you to be there for every part of mine. I do.”

I figured if I was going to cry, it might as well be then. I recited my vows tearfully, except for the part about “obedience.”
Even Bram choked back a laugh when it came to that. Thinking on the fly, I added only, “I’m here for every bit of your life. The bad parts, the scary parts. And I vow to do all you ask of me that is fair … even at the end.” I knew I didn’t have to elaborate; I could see that he’d gotten it, and that it moved him. “I do.”

“By the power vested in me, then, by … the dead?” Isley decided. “I pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your bride, Abraham. And tomorrow we’re going to have a nice, loooong talk. Both of you.”

Bram laughed and pulled me near, kissing me tenderly. Isley, meanwhile, unfolded a piece of loose paper from the back of his Bible and read it. “I worked up a certificate from memory. You can sign it, but it won’t hold up in a court, just so you know. I almost feel like I ought to doodle on it in crayon.”

“I know,” I said breathlessly when Bram released me. I turned and took the pen from him, using the Bible as a desk to sign my name. Bram did the same, and then the priest. Grudgingly, Isley added Blackie and Mimi’s names and the date, before handing the paper to me. I hugged it to my chest, even though the ink was still wet.

“I’m going back to bed,” Isley grumbled as he made his way inside. “I think this is an elaborate nightmare.”

“Now,” I told Bram, “I’m going to show you that I keep my vows, even the ones that don’t matter.”

“Oh?” he asked, loosening the collar of his uniform. “Is this when the other shoe drops?”

Before he could lower his hand, I grabbed it and dragged him to my room, where I tucked my marriage certificate into my packed valise. From there, I led him outside. “Remember my pinky swear?” I asked him as I knelt down and pulled the box I’d left there close to me.

“About the end of your grounding?”

I untied the twine surrounding the box and opened the lid.
Within it there were a variety of cheap fireworks and a large box of matches. I’d ordered them from a toy shop in town, and they’d come by the trolley. Bram burst out laughing when he realized what I meant to do. “Okay. Fireworks, lawn—where’s the underwear?”

Selecting a pair of sparklers and holding them in my right hand, I puffed my cheeks at him a little. “See? We had to get married. You couldn’t watch this otherwise.”

“Oh, I could watch it.”

Handing him the box of matches, I readied myself. “Light up.”

Bram’s filmy eyes never left me. I felt my cheeks heating, for it was a little embarrassing—and odd to realize that it was suddenly perfectly
fine
for me to do what I was about to do. He was my husband now, at least in spirit. This wasn’t daring in the least. Well, aside from the fact that it was on the front lawn in the middle of the night.

I lifted my eyes, looking at the house. Now it
had
seen almost every important event in my life, in truth. The last thing I could do was die within its walls, and that wouldn’t be for years and years yet, with any luck.

Shyly, I opened my robe with my left hand. Underneath I had on my usual white Coutil corset, which I’d trimmed with a blue ribbon about the waist. It had frilly garters that held my white stockings up, though a pair of short bloomers covered those for the most part.

Bram stared at me for a long while, until he realized that the lit match he’d been holding was smoldering near his fingertips. Cursing, he threw it away, bringing on a fit of laughter from me. He lit another and held it out, saying only, “You’re beautiful.”

I joined my sparklers to the flame. Once they caught fire, I backed up onto the lawn, my robe hanging open, and did a twirl. I did promise to dance, after all. Bram’s laughter floated after me, and I allowed myself to answer it. By the time my sparklers had
grown too short to hold, he was with me, capturing my hands and waltzing with me, the artificial grass cold against my uncovered feet, his flesh deliciously cold beneath my skin, the fake sky above us deep and dark.

“We need music!” I cried as he spun me in the air.

“No we don’t!” he laughed, before singing a few lines. I recognized them—it was the song we’d first slow-danced to, back at Z Beta. Before he could get far into the song he stopped moving, though, his hands tightening about my waist. He looked into my eyes and said, “I feel like I should say something more. I don’t think I can ever say what I want to say. I don’t think the words exist.”

“Then don’t. Just love me instead.” I kissed him again.

And as I did, the dome above us exploded with light, the sky screen buzzing to life with a company logo, followed by a blue loading screen. We both looked up in surprise as clouds and faint stars took their place in the liquid crystal, mirroring the real sky outside. The walls followed, virtual trees glowing into being. It was like watching God create the world for the first time.

“They turned it all back on!” I found this almost as moving as my own wedding.

Bram laughed, keeping me close. “Just for you!”

After composing myself, after enjoying the spectacle for a few minutes, I came up with the idea of feeding one another tofu with sugar sprinkled on it in lieu of wedding cake. Bram bore me inside like a bride. Together we ate in the artificially moonlit kitchen, talking about our plans, figuring out how they could work in reality. We decided to use Michael’s bounty to buy rings the next day. He
should
pay for them.

Nothing was usual, for us.

Everything was wonderful, because of it.

For my father, who still remains convinced that horror movies will rot my brain, despite the fact that I have now built a legitimate career on my many critical viewings of Fulci’s zombie vs. shark showdown.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Once again I’d like to thank my fantastic agent, Christopher Lotts, and my editor, Jennifer E. Smith. Thanks also to Lauren Buckland, Betsy Mitchell, Joe Scalora, David Moench, and everyone at Random House. You’re all amazing people.

Thanks also to my family, Josh, and all my friends for listening to me ramble on and on about
awesome dead this
and
meaningful rotting that
and
ooh sawed-off shotguns
. It’s always good to have friends you can discuss the physics of airborne brain matter with.

As for all of the young local writers I’ve met since
Dearly, Departed
was published—what can I tell you, save that you’re all incredible? You deserve every opportunity you get. Never stop dreaming, thinking, writing, or reading, and know that I wish nothing but happiness and success for you all. I know that high school can be hell, but the weird lady in the bustle gown is pulling for you.

I’d also like to thank everyone who took the time to email me to tell me how much they enjoyed the first book. I never in my life dreamed that I would have “fans”—the idea still seems outrageously egotistical to me, like something I should scold myself for even thinking. You are the people who make this entire venture worthwhile. I will never forget your kind words so long as I
live. The idea that I was able to entertain and move even one person is an incredible gift.

I’m humbled to have been permitted to go on this journey. Praise is due to everyone but myself. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

ALSO BY LIA HABEL

Dearly, Departed

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

LIA HABEL is in her twenties and lives in western New York State. She is fascinated by zombie movies and Victoriana, interests that eventually led her to write
Dearly, Departed
. When she first got an agent, she was literally opening envelopes for a living. By the time the auction for
Dearly, Departed
was held, she was considering food stamps—which, thankfully, are no longer a consideration.

liahabel.com