Home for a Soldier (8 page)

He hauled her into the store where a
slim clerk with blond hair glanced at their clothing and directed them to the
display of wedding rings. “You choose,” Rory said to Grace.

She surveyed the trays of rings, her
face furrowed in concentration. “Plain. No pattern. Not too wide.” Grace rattled
out her requirements with the same firmness she’d delivered her instructions for
a cheeseburger. She selected three pairs of rings and tried them on in turn.
Rather than ask Rory for his opinion, she reached for his hand and slipped one
of the larger rings on his finger. She held his hand in both of hers and
inspected the effect, rubbing his skin, twisting the ring around.

The feel of the gold circle digging
into his flesh sent a wave of panic through Rory, like a virus multiplying in
his veins.
Marriage
. He’d never before been buffeted by such contrary
emotions—exhilaration and terror at the same time.

“This one, I think.” Grace glanced up
at him, and Rory felt himself drowning.

“Your eyes,” he mumbled. “What color
are they?”

“My eyes?” She removed the ring from
his finger. “That’s a strange question, considering you’re looking at me.”

“Every time I look, they’re
different. First, I thought they were blue. Then I thought they were green. Now
they look grey.”

“They’re somewhere in between. They
pick up the shade from what I’m wearing.” Grace examined the price tag,
whispered the amount to him under her breath. “Is that all right?” she asked.
“You’ll have to pay for both. I’m broke. Or course, I’ll give it back to you
when we get divorced.”

Suppressing his irritation at her
comment about the temporary nature of their marriage, Rory nodded to the blond
youth who measured their fingers and replaced the display trays under the glass
counter. After locking the cabinet, the clerk strolled away to fetch the rings
in the right size.

“What color do
you
think your
eyes are?” Rory asked Grace.

“It says blue on my passport, so they
must be blue.”

“Blue.” He nodded slowly.

When the young man returned, they
tried on the rings again to make sure of the size.

“Can you go ahead and see if they
boys are waiting at the entrance?” Rory suggested. “We’re late. Tell them I’ll
be along as soon as I’ve settled up here.”

“We’re
late
?” Grace gasped in
horror. “I hate being late,” she muttered as she whirled about and rushed out in
her high heels, her teetering steps almost like the graceful gait of a giraffe.

Rory smiled after her, his amusement
mixing with doubt over the sanity of allowing her to traverse the mall by
herself in that flimsy gown. He turned back to the clerk. Before he handed over
his credit card, he selected a pair of sapphire and diamond earrings. They cost
every penny he’d made selling his car, but he didn’t care. He might die in Iraq,
and what good would savings do if he never returned?

* * * *

Grace stood opposite the fountain,
craning her neck to survey the cars pulling in and out of the circular drive. A
pair of jeeps filled with a band of rowdy soldiers would be impossible to miss,
but she inspected each passing vehicle anyway. She shuddered at the possibility
of being late to her own wedding.

Unreliability was
not
an
attractive quality, and if they missed their seven o’clock appointment at the
Little White Wedding Chapel, they might have to make another reservation and
return later. The possibility of not ending the day as Mrs. Rory Sullivan caused
a hollow dip in her stomach.

Something warm touched her bare back.
With a cry of fright, Grace leaped around, crashing into Rory’s arms.

“The boys not here yet?” he asked,
steadying her.

His hands were empty, but the dent in
the line of his jacket over his chest reassured Grace that the wedding rings
were in his breast pocket. The broad set of his shoulders and his sculpted
features made her pulse spike, just as they had when she’d watched him getting
dressed in his immaculate evening clothes.

“No, they’re not here,” she told him.
“Are we late?”

Rory glanced at his watch. “If they
don’t come in the next five minutes, we’ll take a cab.”

As soon as he finished speaking, a
convoy of jeeps rolled up, this time at a more leisurely pace. The number of
vehicles had increased to three. Grace’s tense frown melted into a smile of
relief. No ripped jeans and dirty T-shirts, no drunken louts. The men must have
gone shopping together, since everyone was dressed in identical khaki chinos and
green polo shirts.

Overcoming her usual reserve, Grace
called out a greeting as soon as the jeeps had lined up beside the fountain. She
made a sweeping gesture to indicate the matching attire of the group. “You look
wonderful.”

She continued to beam at them, but no
one replied. They kept staring at her, their mouths agape, a look of stunned
disbelief stamped on their faces.

When Grace whirled to seek
reassurance from Rory, someone shouted, “Sullivan, you lucky son-of-a-bitch.”

It was as if the words broke a spell
of silence. Bedlam erupted around her, with whistles and yells and stomping feet
that rattled the jeeps.

“Sugar, what did you do to the girl
we picked up at the airport?”

“Turn this way, angel. Let me see the
rest of you.”

“Do you have a sister?”

“Sullivan, you bastard. You don’t
deserve her.”

Laughter bubbled up inside Grace, and
a blush of pleasure radiated from every inch of her exposed skin. She crossed
over to the first jeep in the convoy, where two solders occupied the front seat,
and the rear seat awaited empty.

“I’d lift you up, I’m worried about
damaging your dress,” Rory told her, his arms half-raised to her.

She sent him a smile over her
shoulder and offered him her hand instead. He curled his fingers around hers,
supporting her as she hiked up her gown. Grace folded one slim leg through the
slit on the left, and scaled up the long step into the vehicle.

On the front seat, the soldier with
the coal-black crew cut who had made fun of her on the way from the airport
ogled at her leg and pretended to fall into a dead faint. Beside him, a swarthy
young man Grace didn’t remember from before nodded at her.

“I’m Karim.” He pointed at the
soldier slumped next to him. “And this is Joe.”

“Joe and Karim will be the
witnesses,” Rory explained. “Is that all right with you?” He directed a
concerned look at her. “I’ve told the others to wait outside rather than come
into the chapel. It’s quicker and they can keep an eye on the jeeps. And if
there’s no parking, they can drop us off at the curb and pick us up again, since
we’ll all be going on together.”

Grace nodded, unable to speak as
emotion choked her chest. Instinct told her what errands Rory had spent the day
taking care of. When she said her prayers last night, she had asked for a nice
wedding. He had gone out to make sure she got one.

“Thank you,” she whispered, reaching
over to squeeze his hand. “Thank you for arranging everything.”

He clasped his fingers around hers.
“It’s the least I could do. You deserve a nice wedding.” He appeared to
hesitate. “There isn’t much I can offer you, but I’ll try to give you anything
you want tonight.”

After a drive along the crowded
Strip, the jeeps dropped them off outside the wedding chapel. A white picket
fence surrounded the artificial lawn where another wedding party stood posing
for photographs. Joe and Karim jumped out, and one of the other soldiers took
Joe’s place at the wheel. Grace hurried ahead into the low building, where a
harassed-looking woman with a clipboard met her with an impatient glare.

“Clements and Sullivan?” the woman
yelled.

“Yes,” Rory replied, catching up to
Grace.

“You’re late. The chapel is ready.
This way. You need your marriage license. Do you have two witnesses?”

“Yes,” Grace blurted. Her breath
rushed in and out of a tightened chest. She wanted to go to the bathroom, but
there was no time. Joe and Karim and Rory jostled around her, blocking all
escape routes.

“Oh my God,” she muttered as a hazy
cloud of disbelief enveloped her. “I’m getting married.”

“It’s not too late,” the woman
advised her as they reached the chapel entrance. “You don’t have to go ahead
with it if you don’t want to, but you won’t get back your deposit.” She stood
aside and waved them through.

“It’s all right.” Rory curled his
hand around Grace’s elbow and steered her down the narrow aisle between the
white pews barely wide enough for two. The flowers and the crimson seat
cushions, and the pair of marble statues flanking the altar blurred in her
vision. She stole a glance at the man beside her, and the smile in his eyes
banished her fears.

“Don’t worry, Grace,” he told her,
and caught her shoulders, to keep her from crashing into the altar as she failed
to come to a stop.

A tiny squeal of alarm rose on her
lips, but the gentle pressure of his fingers on her bare skin flooded her with
warmth. All at once, Grace knew how a bride felt on her wedding day.

Full of hope. Floating on dreams.

With a sigh of longing, Grace
banished the romantic thoughts, focusing her mind on the practical nature of her
marriage.

In front of her, the preacher cleared
his throat. He was a tall man, dressed in a dark suit, and his pale face and
graying hair gave Grace the impression that he spent his entire life in the
chapel, marrying couples, never being allowed outside. She watched Rory unfold
the marriage license and hand it over.

“Do you have your vows?” asked the
preacher.

“Vows?” Grace echoed.

“What you’ll say to each other. Some
couples prefer to compose their own vows, but we also provide printed cards for
a selection of the most popular vows.”

“I’d like to have the basic one,”
Grace said. “The one that starts
I take thee
.”

The preacher bent to extract a pair
of cards from behind the altar and handed one to each of them.

“Could I just take a moment to read
this?” Grace asked. “I mean, you should never sign anything without reading it
first, so I can’t just read this out, without knowing what it says.” She flicked
a panicked glance at Rory, who stood at ease beside her.

“Of course,” the preacher said. “But
please hurry. The next couple will be here soon.”

Grace lowered her eyes to the printed
card and scanned the text. She jerked her attention to Rory. “I can’t say this,”
she told him in a frantic whisper. “I can’t promise to marry you
until death
do us part
.”

“Don’t say it then.” Rory turned to
the preacher. “Do you have another card with a vow which is a little…
less
permanent
?”

“Perhaps you might like to
reschedule,” the preacher suggested. “Think it over before you go any further.
Marriage is meant to be a lifetime commitment.”

Grace lifted up the card and
indicated the last line. “Could we just say ‘until further notice’ here, instead
of ‘until death do us part’?”

The preacher looked baffled, but
agreed to her suggestion. Grace glanced behind her, where Joe and Karim heaved
with suppressed laughter in the front pews. The building appeared to shrink
around her, making her worry that she had suddenly developed claustrophobia.

“Let’s get started,” the preacher
said.

Grace gave him an expectant look, but
the preacher said nothing more.

“You must read the card,” he prompted
her after a moment of silence. “Say your vows, and then I’ll pronounce you man
and wife, and this handsome fellow standing beside you will kiss you.”

“Oh.” Grace stole another glance at
Rory, and suddenly every cell in her brain went on strike. He would kiss her.
Here. Now. As soon as she read out the card. She gulped in a deep breath, raised
the card to her eyes, and rattled out the words.

“I, Grace Clements, take thee, Rory
Sullivan, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward,
for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness or in health, to love
and to cherish, until death do us part.”

The instant she finished, Grace
slapped a hand over her mouth, horrified. She’d forgotten. Her brain had
disengaged, and she had failed to substitute
until further notice
. She
had made a promise, and promises were holy tokens of trust, never to be broken.

“I….” She fought for something to
say, her voice muffed by the fingers clamped over her lips.

Rory smiled at her, his eyes full of
laughter, and with a delivery that didn’t waver, he recited the card. “I, Rory
Sullivan, take thee, Grace Clements, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold
from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in
sickness or in health, to love and to cherish, until death do us part.”