4/22/11

Through Silence
By Shannon


Her laugh cuts through the silence, a trickle of bells like water, dispelling the atmospheric tensions and balmy pretensions of the old stone church. She darts through the stolid wood pews, shoes clacking against ancient tiles. Her smile is unrepentant, perhaps even mischievous, leaving no room for censure, only begging adoration.

“Sorry,” she exclaims in a half-whisper as she sits down in the seat next to him, a final sounding whuff of expensive fabrics expelling a cloud of dust and incense that mingles curiously with her fresh, fruity scent, “I’m late.” Where there should have been a bashful half-smile, there is instead a full on grin.

He can’t help but grin back, though his reaction is delayed due to his intense fascination. She gets more beautiful every time he sees her, and his smile lines grow deeper day by day, clearly visible now as his smirk extends fully, misplaced in the silent room.

“How long have you been here?” Worry lines touch her ivory brow, and it takes all his will not to smooth them away, not to trail his thumb down her cheek to those pink, rosebud lips.

“Not long,” His voice even sounds reasonably solid. “Besides, I told you to get here half an hour before we’re supposed to start.” This statement is followed by a twinkling smirk. He ducks his head to avoid her reprimanding wallop.

“I ran, Jamie,” she complains, as if it were a horrible sacrifice. She tucks a wildly curling strand of blonde hair behind her ear, turning away in mock annoyance. Jamie fights the urge to run his fingers through that brilliant, golden mane. “Do you know how hard it is to run in these?” She offers her high, sexy heels up for his inspection. He pretends to study them intently, and then looks up at her through his lashes with an amused expression.

“You know, you could have taken them off.” She looks like she’s fighting the urge to hit him again. She tosses her mass of curls over her shoulder in agitation.

“You don’t know anything, Jamie,” but she says it so fondly that there’s no room or cause for injured pride.

“You always say that, Katie,” he mutters to himself, rubbing his neck. Choosing to ignore him, she cranes her neck to look at the back door of the chapel.

“You think she’d at least be on time,” Jamie thinks he hears her grumble.

“Hypocrite,” he nudges her. She turns her nose up delicately.

Companionable silence passes, during which time Katie amuses herself by shuffling her fancy shoes back and forth over the old floors and stealing glances at Jamie when his attention is drawn away from watching her by a noise in the back of the church or a creaking of the large, wooden doors.

In profile, Jamie is even more handsome, Katie realizes, though it is a shame to only be able to see one of his mesmerizing eyes. She can’t remember when he became so handsome. It seemed to happen gradually, then all of the sudden, like a glass filling, filling, filling with rain water until suddenly it overflows.

She watches him, noting the way his hands are quiet, without the nervous fidgeting of most men, especially on a day like today. Appearing out of nowhere, a breeze stirs his dark hair and her fingers literarily twitch to touch the feathery softness.

He glances at her and his solemn expression turns mirthful, a smile tugging his perfect lips. She cannot help but answer with one of her own, teeth tugging at her bottom lip before joining in a full on smile. His smirk turns into a grin, her smile into a laugh, and then they are laughing together, clutching their sides, her waterfall bells dancing with his rumbling chuckle.

The silence has been split in two, annihilated, and then a loud noise startles them both. Hair falling in a curtain about her face, she quiets, eyes holding Jamie’s from behind the golden veil in shared amusement for just a moment before they straighten to discern the source of the sound.

When she identifies the noise maker, her mood evaporates entirely. It was no phantom breeze that stirred Jamie’s locks, but the movement of air caused by the opening of the church door, which created the loud sound at its closing. The arrival of a small, redhead and an old, stooping priest were the source of the commotion.

The sound of her voice splits the uneasy silence, silence that descends as rapidly as it had previously been dispelled.

“Margaret’s here,” Katie whispers, unnecessarily. Visible even from a distance is the flash of Margaret’s keen eyes between the man and woman. She holds the priests arm as they begin to descend down the aisle.

Jamie stands, offering a hand to Katie, and together they watch the slow progression, joining the pair in the journey to the altar when they draw near. The four progress together; it is as much funeral march as wedding procession.

No one speaks until they reach the pool of glowing light at the aisle’s end.

“This is your witness?” The priest addresses Jamie who nods. “Then we can begin.” The red head’s hand leaves the priest’s arm and floats like a descending spider onto Jamie’s. His eyes meet Katie’s, but she cannot decipher the web of emotions floating there.

“Go,” she says, quietly, almost no sound left in her voice, like a ship who’s sails have been deflated. Mustering a weak look of encouragement, she backs away from the couple. Margaret never once makes eye contact with her.

The words flit on, running away from them like ill behaved children. Jamie cannot catch hold of the events unfolding, and Katie sees more tension enter him with every sentence. Margaret’s claws sinks deeper into Jamie’s arm with each syllable.

She’s holding her breath, unable to move. There will be a moment when she has to act, but what can she say? Jamie, I hate your wife-to-be. Jamie, this is a mistake. Jamie, I love you.

He can’t see her face in his peripheral vision, can’t catch her eyes to tell her to free him. Exactly what is her doing here? There will come a moment when he has to speak, to answer. Affirmative or negative, but no one chooses the latter. What can he say? Margaret, I’m sorry. Margaret, I can’t. Katie, I love you.

No.

The moments almost there, almost there, and he feels as if he will collapse under the tension of indecision. The flickering candles cast the scene in an unreal light. If only he could see her face.

Her chance comes, his chance to look at her. With arms wrapped around her middle as if to contain an outpouring flood, she stands to the side. Her eyes are shielded by long, dark lashes, head downcast, mouth open, as if to speak. But Margaret hurries the priest along, and Jamie looks away, still unsure.

Now his part is coming, the inquiry begins in the droning, nasally voice of the elderly man. Still he does not know, though his heart cries out wretchedly. The query is finished, the question mark hanging in the air almost visibly.

And he hears an intake of breath, almost like a sob. The choice is wrenched from him like the bursting of a dam. And he’s spinning around, eyes consuming her face, her luminescent eyes, her down turned lips, the single seed pearl tear clinging to her lashes.

Katie doesn’t hear him speak, so complete is her misery. She hadn’t spoken, and she would have no peace. This is the moment. But somehow he’s turning away, eyes fixed on her face. She can’t tear her gaze away. Jamie places one big hand on her face, turning her chin up, thumb caressing her lips. The contact sends thrills of fire through her, but they are nearly dampened by trepidation. They stand a moment, frozen by years of tradition.

She lifts her hand to cover his where it has wandered to cup her cheek.”I object,” she murmurs, voice soft and private. His heart jumps into his throat, so when he speaks his voice is rusty.

“I don’t,” he answers, but it is not her he addresses, his head has turned away, slowly, almost unwillingly to answer the priest’s question, “I’m sorry, Margaret.” He adds this because he is a good man who hates to have gone back on his word. But then their audience is forgotten.

Jamie smiles down at his long-time best friend who smiles back in perfect harmony. Somewhere behind them a redhead storms out accompanied by an indignant priest.

“I love you, Katie,” Jamie says. His voice is all tenderness.

“Love you more, James,” she teases. He shakes his head, still grinning.

“What am I going to do with you?” Her expression turns mischievous.

“I think you’re finally going to kiss me,” she answers. His lips lean down to capture hers.

“I think you’re right,” he murmurs, lips just barely separated from hers. It seems to take an eternity, and at the same time only a fraction of an instant. Then they’re kissing, fire bursting through her unhampered by doubt. The kiss is years of waiting and watching, days and months of memories not tinged by unrequited hopes, forever almost lost.

Jamie is becoming addicted to the taste of her soft lips against his own. He places his hands on her waist, drawing her close, pouring everything never said into the kiss. And she accepts it, pushing closer, trying to make up for almost losing him.

There are no words to break the silence, so the silence willingly withdraws its pressing force, even such a place has room for lovers. They are a burning core of molten fire in the empty room, glowing with passionate, desperate, gentle, tender kisses, soft whispered words and holding each other close.


- - -
Shannon is a high school senior on a small island in the Chesapeake Bay. Her island may be picturesque like a fairy tale, but she has never before written anything quite this fluffy.