Chapter 8 - THE REHEARSAL DINNER
Lauren met me the next morning at a coffee shop near King Street.
I almost canceled.
My body hurt badly after the wedding.
Stress always made the scar tissue across my back tighten.
But I needed to hear what she knew.
Lauren arrived wearing jeans and an oversized sweatshirt.
Without the blue bridesmaid dress and perfect makeup, she looked younger.
Nervous.
“I’m sorry.”
Those were the first words she said.
“For what?”
“For not telling you yesterday morning.”
She sat across from me.
“At the rehearsal dinner, Emily was talking about photographs.”
“There were six of us at the table.”
“She said you would be in the second row.”
Lauren looked sick.
“One bridesmaid asked whether you were going to be in family pictures.”
“What did Emily say?”
Lauren hesitated.
“Tell me.”
“She said she hoped not.”
I looked out the window.
A carriage rolled slowly down the street.
Tourists laughed.
Charleston continued being beautiful while my family disintegrated.
Lauren continued.
“She said your scars would clash with the aesthetic.”
I stared at the tabletop.
There it was again.
Aesthetic.
Atmosphere.
Perfect image.
Words that sounded harmless until attached to a human being.
“Did anyone challenge her?”
“One girl did.”
“Rebecca.”
“What happened?”
“Emily said Rebecca was being dramatic.”
“Then she said you were used to people staring.”
I laughed softly.
Lauren looked close to tears.
“I should have said something.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because she was the bride.”
The sentence was honest.
And terrible.
People allowed cruelty every day because they decided the cruel person temporarily held special status.
Boss.
Parent.
Bride.
Husband.
Family.
“Did Emily ever talk about the fire?”
Lauren nodded.
“She told us you two had a complicated relationship.”
“What did that mean?”
“She said you resented her because you were injured saving her.”
I sat back.
“She said I resented her?”
“Yes.”
“She said you sometimes used the fire to guilt the family.”
I felt something settle inside me.
Not rage.
Clarity.
Emily had not invented one lie for Daniel.
She had built an entire version of me for anyone who got close enough to notice the truth.
Lauren pulled out her phone.
“I have messages.”
My heart jumped.
“What kind?”
“Bridesmaid group chat.”
She scrolled.
“I took screenshots because Emily deleted some messages this morning.”
She turned the screen.
There it was.
Emily’s name.
A message from three weeks earlier.
IF SHE INSISTS ON SITTING UP FRONT, EVAN CAN FRAME AROUND HER.
Another.
I LOVE HER BUT I DON’T WANT THE WHOLE ALBUM TO BECOME A BURN SURVIVOR DOCUMENTARY.
Another bridesmaid had replied.
THAT SOUNDS HARSH.
Emily answered.
YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND OUR FAMILY.
Lauren looked at me.
“There are more.”
“Send them to me.”
She hesitated.
“I already exported the chat.”
“I figured you might need it.”
My phone buzzed as the file arrived.
I thanked her.
She looked ashamed.
“I don’t expect you to forgive me for staying quiet.”
“This isn’t about forgiving you.”
“What is it about?”
I thought for a moment.
“Deciding what I do with the truth.”
When I returned home, there were three cars parked outside my apartment.
My parents.
Emily.
And someone I did not recognize.
Emily was standing beside the unfamiliar man.
He wore a navy suit and carried a leather briefcase.
The moment she saw me, she folded her arms.
“We need to talk.”
I stopped several feet away.
“Who is he?”
The man stepped forward.
“Patrick Hale.”
“I represent Emily.”
I looked at my sister.
“You brought a lawyer to my apartment?”
Patrick opened his briefcase.
“We’re hoping to resolve the current misunderstanding privately.”
I almost admired the phrase.
Current misunderstanding.
As if the problem were a seating chart.
He handed me an envelope.
Inside was a legal agreement.
I read the first page.
Then I began laughing.
May you like
Emily’s attorney wanted me to sign a confidentiality agreement.
And in exchange, my family was offering me forty thousand dollars of my own money.
