The sun slid through stained glass, shattering the incensed air and landing on the green carpet from the Narthex to the altar where he waited, dressed in his finest black suit, not quite a tux, but close, white shirt, black tie, polished shoes, and a perpetual look of stunned surprise on his handsome features. Not a smile, but almost, hinting at a secret only he knew. Oh, she knew it too, too late, after meeting at a barbecue and a fairytale courtship, he’d called it that, wearing the same pious look as he did now, hands clasped together, dramatically clutched to his heart.
Adele wanted to wear red, form fitting, hooker-red heels with spikes, but she bowed to convention, wore something more in keeping with his expectations, with the expectations of the congregants, with the guides set by her father as he led her sedately down the aisle. Lush flowers, lilies for the scent and lavender for the color, waited, became her focus. One-two-three, step. Grip Father’s arm. Glance up, but he kept his eyes front facing. One-two-three, step.
The audience dressed like fashion clones—not a bright color amongst them—watched as Adele and her father made the final promenade, sensible shoes silent on the plush carpet.
She wanted to wear red, thought it important to dress properly for new beginnings, so she wore the red bra and underwear set he despised. One-two-three step, a dance really, as she turned and fled the dead husband’s funeral.
* (c) Cindy Skaggs 2020. Originally Published: Beyond Words Literary Magazine