Chapter 3 - THE MAN IN THE FRONT PEW
My father, Richard Mitchell, was sitting in the front pew.
I could see the back of his silver head through the open church doors.
He was laughing with Ethan’s uncle.
Holding my wedding program.
Looking completely normal.
“My father is watching you?”
Diane nodded.
“Why?”
She gripped the brass key.
“Because Richard doesn’t know I found this.”
I stared at her.
“You’ve been married thirty-one years.”
“Thirty-two.”
“Great. That makes this less insane.”
Ethan stepped closer.
“Sarah, we need to leave.”
I looked at him.
“You kissed my mother.”
His face changed.
“I know.”
“You keep skipping that part.”
Diane’s eyes lowered.
“The kiss was my fault.”
Ethan shook his head.
“No.”
“What does that mean?”
Diane took a breath.
“Someone came around the side of the church.”
“So?”
“So I panicked.”
“You kissed him as camouflage?”
“No.”
Silence.
I felt my nails cut into my palm.
Diane looked at me.
“I kissed him because I was scared, confused, and because for one terrible second he reminded me of Thomas.”
Ethan’s expression hardened.
“I stopped it.”
“You held her.”
“She was falling apart.”
“I saw your face.”
He said nothing.
That silence hurt.
I walked away from both of them.
Inside the church, the organist had begun playing filler music.
Guests were restless.
My father saw me.
He stood immediately.
“There’s my girl.”
He walked toward me with his arms open.
I stepped back.
His smile flickered.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Where’s Ethan?”
“Bathroom.”
My father studied me.
He had always been good at that.
Not looking.
Studying.
“Are you crying?”
“Allergies.”
“In November?”
“Very aggressive flowers.”
Rachel nearly choked behind me.
Dad reached toward my cheek.
I let him touch it.
For the first time in my life, I wondered whether those hands had killed someone.
“Sarah,” he said softly, “if anything feels wrong today, you tell me.”
I almost laughed.
Instead, I kissed his cheek.
“I will.”
Then I noticed the cuff link on his sleeve.
A tiny silver sailboat.
The same symbol stamped into the corner of the old photograph Ethan had given me.
My father saw me looking.
He covered the cuff link with his hand.
Too late.
“Where did you get that?”
His eyes sharpened.
“Get what?”
“The sailboat.”
He smiled.
“Old family thing.”
May you like
But it wasn’t our family’s symbol.
It was Ethan’s.
