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Marshall didn’t even spare a glance Abby’s direction as the medic slammed the door shut. She idled on the curb even after the ambulance pulled away. Wondered at how the sirens faded faster than the flashing lights. She shook her head slightly to clear it and the scene around her was familiar even if the feelings weren’t. An accident scene. Not unlike hundreds of others she had secured.
Mark was guiding a hysterical Jinx to his car. A few remaining guests loitered in the circular drive. Abby directed her feet toward the entrance, pausing briefly in the foyer to glance into the ballroom.
It really wasn't at all what she would have expected from the high spirited girl she had come to know. Towering, elegant arrangements of calla lilies and orchids in plum and burnt orange dominated each of what appeared to be hundreds of round tables set with ornate silver chargers and flatware and crystal goblets of four shapes and sizes. Somehow she had expected something ... simpler from the sweet, unaffected girl who had spontaneously invited Abby to her wedding on the sidewalk in Old Town. Daisies, maybe. Or sunflowers.
She smoothed a hand down her sundress and laughed at herself for having felt so underdressed for the would-be wedding just an hour ago. The sound of men laughing as they disassembled the stage at the far side of the room broke her from her reverie. She ran her hand across the high back of a silk covered chair, stooped low to retrieve her handbag from beneath it.
When she turned to leave the ballroom, out of the corner of her eye, she noted a familiar figure in the mahogany paneled cigar lounge off to her left. When she slid onto the stool next to his at the bar, he showed no reaction. Both his hands lay flat on the bar; a lowball glass with three fingers of amber liquid rested between them.
"Come here often?" she asked, playing up her Texas drawl.
Peter quirked a corner of his mouth upwards, but said nothing.
"Huh. That usually works. I was going to offer to buy you a drink, but..." Abby trailed off, gesturing toward his glass.
"Yeah."
The bartender ambled over, cast a sidelong glance at the jilted groom before returning his gaze to Abby. "Get you something?" His smile was flirtatious, borderline lascivious.
Abby rested a hand on Peter's tuxedoed forearm before answering. "I'll have what he's having."
The bartender shrugged before retrieving a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue off the shelf. He offered her a generous pour before making his way through the swinging door to the kitchen.
"The good stuff, huh?"
"It's my wedding day."
They sat in silence a long time, while Abby nursed her drink. The room was silent save for the tinkling sound of glasses being returned to their racks in the ballroom.
Finally Peter spoke. "Can I ask you something?"
Abby put her glass down and nodded. "Of course."
"Have you ever ..." He turned to face her. "Have you ever known that something was destined to end badly, known that you'd have your heart broken, but gone along with it anyway?"
Abigail swallowed slowly, but Peter continued on.
"I knew. I always knew somehow. I think we always do. But I didn't want to face it. A braver man would have. Would have been strong ... strong for me, for her. Ended this before ... She isn't strong enough. I should have been. Loved her enough ... Have you ever...."
Abby swiped at her tears with the back of her hand and nodded. She looked past the broken man beside her through the french doors to the ceremony site. The rows of chairs had been cleared and the sun was setting behind the chuppah. Had it only been two hours ago that she watched Marshall choose for the third time that day? And it wasn't her. It would never be her.
She was suddenly overcome by the need to leave this place. She looked into the warm brown eyes of the man beside her and extended her hand.
"Let's get out of here."
He smiled sadly and uttered familiar words. "I'm not ready. I'm not ready."