I was wrong.
I should have acted sooner; I should have been less hopeful. I should have had better judgment, should have protected Grace better. She was, after all, my charge, not Con, and Danit warned me that I might have to cut him away. But I wanted to believe, and so I let this go too long.
This morning, well before anyone was awake, Con slipped out of the bed where Grace lay sleeping. He brushed her hair back from her forehead, a loving gesture, but he was restless, and so he went for a drive. None of this seemed alarming to Elome’el, who was watching for me. I cannot help but wonder, however, if I would have noticed something had I been there. I suppose I will never know.
I was called back to Grace not by her excitement, but by her anxiety. Michael had informed her that Con was nowhere to be found, and that they could not reach him by phone. Grace reassured him, saying that he was probably just out getting some air—she knew him well. Michael, who also knew his friend, pretended to be reassured.
I found Con lingering at a café outside of the city. He was staring into a cold cup of coffee, and his mind was in a fog.
“What are you doing?” I asked him. “Grace is waiting for you.”
Thinking of Grace brought a rush of anguish to him, and he picked up his phone, dialing her number.
I could hear the relief in her voice when she picked up the phone. “Con, is everything okay?”
“Yeah, baby, I am so sorry,” he said, cupping his hand to muffle the noise of the coffee shop. “Look, I went out for a drive and I was in a little accident. No, I’m fine, I’m good, I just can’t drive the car back.”
I looked out the window at his car, perfectly pristine in the morning sunlight, and back down at him.
Con hunched his shoulders. “No, it’s fine, babe, I don’t need any help. Come on, all your friends are already on their way to the hotel! I can handle it, I just need a little time. But I’ll be back in time for the ceremony, I promise.”
“Okay,” said Grace. “Well, be safe, and you know you can call Bill if you need any more help. He’s on duty today.”
“Good deal. I love you,” he added.
Grace was silent for a moment. “I believe in you,” she said.
Con hung up the phone.
Knowing that he was feeling enough guilt that any more would be useless to persuade him, I went back to Grace. She was staring at the phone, and I could see very clearly in that moment that she knew he was lying to her. But she drew herself and chose to believe in him, as she’d said. She went to start getting ready.
I spent the next hour going back and forth between Con and Grace. While she got dressed and prepared, he sat at the table, fear and love at war in his heart. While Grace spoke to her maid of honor, to Michael, to her parents, Con got to his feet, then sat back down. While Grace greeted guests and smiled and explained that her groom had been delayed, Con ordered another cup of coffee. Through all of this I tried to press him on his way, but I should have known from the moment I heard him lie to Grace that there was nothing I could do.
Finally, ten minutes after the ceremony had been meant to start, Con called Grace. One of her bridesmaids brought her the phone, her face white—she knew something of what Con was about to say.
“Con?” Grace asked, turning away from the guests who were trying not to watch her.
On the other end of the phone—for I was with her, now, lending what strength I could and stifling my own guilt—I could hear Con sob. “Oh, Gracie, I’m so sorry. I can’t do it.”
Grace took a breath. She said nothing.
“I thought I could do it, I thought I believed in us, and I do, really, I do.” The words were rolling out of his mouth now. “I think we could be together forever, I think we could be great, and I love you, I just—I can’t do it. I can’t promise that when I’m not sure, when I have all these doubts—” His voice broke off, stifled by her silence.
Still Grace did not respond.
Con snuffled into the phone, and Grace and I heard a chair scraping back. “I’ll come help with everything,” he said. “I’ll apologize to the guests, I’ll handle the hotel manager—”
“No,” Grace said.
Now it was Con’s turn to be quiet.
Grace took another breath. She was shaking, but she pressed a fist into her stomach and made it stop. “No,” she said again. “I would let you help me with all that if you were here, Con. I would agree with you that maybe everything we hoped for is still possible—if you were here. But you’re not. You made that choice, and you left me alone, and so that is how I will handle all of this. Alone.”
I wanted to tell her that she was not alone, but she would never hear it through her pain. She would never be able to feel my presence.
“Don’t call me,” Grace said. “I will call you, if and when I decide I need to hear from you.” And she hung up the phone and handed it back to her bridesmaid. “Thank you, Crystal,” she said politely.
She did handle everything. She was strong, so very strong and composed. She paid and thanked the caterers, asking them to box up the food for the guests, and if they had leftovers to take it to a food bank. She stopped the musicians, paid them and thanked them and sent them on their way. Then she turned to her guests.
“I’m terribly sorry, everyone,” she said, “but I’m afraid there won’t be a wedding today. Or anytime soon.” She had to pause after that, and she could not look at anyone in the crowd. “I’m very sorry for everyone who’s come a long way to be with me, and I hope that you can still get some enjoyment out of this weekend. Of course you won’t lose the discount for your hotel room.” Somehow she managed to laugh, but no one joined her. Again she took a deep breath, a pillar of white. “If you would like to take some food home with you, please do. I thank you all for coming, and I regret that I won’t be able to say goodbye to you all in person, but—” For the first time her voice broke. She coughed and swallowed and lifted her chin. “But I have to go and take off my wedding dress.” And then, because she felt the tears starting, she only nodded to everyone and stepped off the platform, walking stiffly and slowly out of the room.
I kept any of them from following her, for no one could comfort her in that moment, not even me. Still, I went with her back upstairs to her room, where she methodically removed the beautiful white dress and hung it back in the closet. She took off her shoes, removed every one of the pins in her hair, and wiped away her makeup. Then she was ready for the tears, but they didn’t come. She only stared at the mirror, as if the room were too dark to see.
I did not try to ease that grief. I only absorbed it, taking it into myself until there was room for the tears. At that moment I let Grace’s mother open the door, and Grace melted into her mother’s arms, weeping uncontrollably. They curled together on the bed and said nothing at all, and I kept watch.
I do not know what to do now. I do not know how to help her. I do not know what to do with my anger at Con, nor how to lift Grace’s despair, nor how to cope with my own guilt. It was my task to avert this tragedy, and I failed. What use are my three wings, all the praises of my seniors, if I cannot protect my charges?
I do not know what to do.