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Shauna gets married in the middle of December. Snow crunches under Travis’s feet as he makes his way to the church, Episcopalian despite Shauna being Jewish then Catholic then nothing at all. Travis was Catholic once, years ago, when he wasn’t scared of God because he didn’t believe in Him. Now he knows God is real, real and hungry and ruthlessly violent, and he’s scared because anyone would be if they knew what God was like. He knows God will be angry with Shauna for marrying Jeff, and he knows he’ll be punished for it too, because Shauna never hurts unless Travis hurts with her.
He has thoughts like this often, so often he sometimes finds himself missing Lottie, because she might’ve pressed her hand too close to his chest and whispered odd prophecies right in his ear and made him see things he wishes weren’t real, but she also would have listened. Almost none of the others are ever willing to listen.
Travis steps up to the tall wooden doors and waits several seconds before he pulls them open. He spends a lot of his time delaying the inevitable, because the future has never brought him good in all 19 years of his life. He waits so long Nat’s the one who pulls the doors open for him, scoffing under her breath in the way she’s started doing since they got back, because Travis doesn’t talk to her like he used to anymore.
“It’s still gonna happen whether you’re there for it or not,” she mutters, shoving past him, biting the bullet like she always does. She always was the better hunter.
Travis trails in after her, and the inside of the place is just as un-Shauna-like as the pristine exterior. He knew it wasn’t going to be terribly nice looking, considered the date was set only a month after their engagement, but he hadn’t imagined it would be so garish: everything’s pink and green and hideous, and because Travis knows Shauna and Jackie too well, he recognizes details from what Jackie’s mother sketched for her, back when Jeff first gave her that promise ring — ceramic bunnies, shiny balloons, dozens of people Travis knows Shauna’s never talked to.
He feels the way he did at the funeral the school organized for everyone who died in the crash. Lined up empty boxes arranged all in a row, Rachel Goldman next to Laura Lee next to Javi next to Mari, like they died all together in just the same way, accompanied by speeches from people who had no idea what they were talking about. Beautiful souls, gone too soon, resting on fluffy clouds up in Heaven. Travis knows better. He’ll see his brother again, but it’ll only be through blood and dirt.
Akilah sits down next to him and squeezes his hand. She’s his favorite of the survivors, above even Natalie, because she never gets angry when he doesn’t do or say what he’s supposed to. She doesn’t like to talk about it — none of them do, none of them except for Lottie — but on increasingly rare occasions she’ll listen, and that’s better than what he gets from any of the others.
“This is so weird,” she whispers. She’s 17, only two years older than what Javi should be, and she looks too small and too young all by herself in the pews. Travis knows her parents aren’t here because they didn’t even want her to be here, because none of their parents wanted any of them to be here. Everyone’s so insistent that in order to move on they have to put it — and by “it” they mean each other — all behind them. Travis doesn’t think that makes any sense, because the harder he tries not to think about things the more they fill his brain. He doesn’t think there’s any way to move on from what they all went through.
“Yeah,” Travis murmurs.
“I never really thought any of us would get married,” Akilah continues, letting out a long, anxious breath. “Especially not Shauna. I thought if any of us did, it would be…” She trails off, but Travis hears it anyway: it would be you and Natalie. “Sorry,” she says. “I don’t know why I’m talking so much.”
“It’s okay,” Travis says, and he takes her hand and holds it tight.
Travis knows he and Natalie will never get married. There was a time when he thought they would — a time when he really, really thought they would, spent time thinking about how he would ask and what he would use as a ring and what it would be like if they were Mr. and Mrs. Travis Martinez. He never really liked the last part, even when it felt possible, because he doesn’t even like being Travis Martinez himself — he’d never want to subject Nat to it as well. Maybe he could’ve taken her name instead. He’d like to try being Natalie Scatorccio for a day, not because her life is better, but because it’s different, and he’s so incredibly sick of living his.
The pianist is passable, plunking out the Bridal Chorus with all the bittersweet emotion of a paper bag. Laura Lee would’ve blown him out of the park — Travis never got to hear her play, not really, but he hears it sometimes in his head if he listens closely enough. It’s always faint, but it’s always beautiful, and it makes him miss her desperately despite never really having known her.
After Jeff’s parents, Deborah Shipman walks down the aisle alone, looking more like she’s attending her daughter’s funeral than her wedding. She smiles weakly as she’s escorted to her seat, then turns her face out of Travis’s view. Jeff walks in like he’s about to claim a prize, and Travis feels a whirl of contempt in his stomach that he recognizes as Jackie’s. Jeff is smiling big and bright, a picture-worthy grin complete with shiny white teeth arranged all in perfectly straight little rows, and he stands next to the officiant like this is the single best day of his life.
Travis doesn’t have the faintest idea what he’s so happy about.
The groomsmen are all boys from the Wiskayok baseball team and the bridesmaids are four girls Travis doesn’t think he’s seen before in his life — all cookie-cutter blondes with ugly matching dresses and uglier matching smiles. The Jackie in his head says it looks like Shauna picked them all out from a shitty department store, and the part of Travis that’s always wanted to be a teenage girl can’t help but agree. Randy Walsh walks down the aisle with Kiffy Schumacher, a girl Travis is certain Shauna has only spoken to once or twice. His gaze flicks to where Taissa is sitting with her arms folded next to Van and wonders if she was asked and said no or if Shauna didn’t say a word to her at all.
Finally Shauna walks down the aisle, on the arm of a man Travis recognizes as Richard Taylor and looking completely unrecognizable. Her hair is shiny, softly combed into a neat, simple bun on the top of her head, a delicate lace veil over her face that sends chills down the length of Travis’s spine. She’s smiling prettily, but all Travis can see are her eyes, dark and dull and the color of the earth.
It’s not enough for her to steal everything else, Jackie whispers. She has to take my father too.
Jeff lifts the veil and Travis is reminded of Lottie pulling a different one down. “This is wrong,” he murmurs, and Akilah says, “I know.”
Jeff’s vows are stupid and cliche; Travis doesn’t hear them even as they’re being said. He half-expects Shauna not to have anything prepared at all, so he’s surprised when she parts her lips to speak.
“Jeff Sadecki,” she says, and the name sounds foreign and ugly in her mouth, “you are my light, my rock, and my love. I wake up each morning and I wish I could hear your voice. I go to sleep at night and I wish I could feel your arms around me. I think something connected our souls when they were put onto the earth; I don’t even know where you end and I begin.”
Travis jerks upright in his seat. A glance in Akilah’s direction tells him she’s thinking the same thing.
Shauna takes a breath, closes her eyes like she’s grounding herself, then says, “To the separate paths that brought us together, to the moment right now that unites us, to the journey we’re about to depart on. I love you, and I can’t wait to spend the rest of our lives together.”
You could hear a pin drop in that damn Episcopalian chapel. Everyone’s holding their breath; the women who didn’t know Shauna are quietly dabbing at tears, the women who did stare forward with a silent kind of horror. Travis has a million dead people screaming in his brain, and none of them are happy, least of all the God they left back with their bones.
“Do you,” the priest says, “Jeff Sadecki, accept Shauna Shipman as your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do,” Jeff says, and it’s the penultimate nail in the white picket coffin.
The final is several seconds later, when the priest repeats the question for the bride, and Shauna says, “Yes. I do.”
Shauna Sadecki doesn’t look like a person. She’s sitting next to Jeff as he talks animatedly with his parents and staring off blankly, eyes lacking color and interest and any life at all as she fidgets with a slice of cake she hasn’t bothered to take a bite of. It’s strawberry, which was Jackie’s favorite — Shauna always liked vanilla best. Travis doesn’t understand why he knows that, but he does. He knows a lot of things he probably shouldn’t.
“This is so fucking ridiculous,” Natalie mutters as she sits down beside him. “Here.” She passes him a shot glass full of amber liquid and downs another herself. “There aren’t a lot of nice things I can say about Jeff Sadecki, but at least he doesn’t skimp on booze.”
Travis swallows the whiskey gratefully, savoring the way it burns its way down his throat. “Do you think they’ll be happy?” he asks, even though he knows the answer.
Natalie snorts. “I don’t think Shauna’s capable of being happy. Not anymore.” Not after Jackie. Not after the baby. Not after they took away her crown and tossed her back into this haunted place.
Travis hums in acknowledgement, because of course he understands. They all do, even if they pretend not to: happiness was out of the cards for them the moment they stepped foot on that plane, and anyone who tries to step forward and move on is really only kidding themself.
Van comes over with a tray full of shots and Taissa Turner hanging behind her. “Take one every time she looks like she’s going to kill herself.”
Nat guffaws, taking one and shooting it down. “Come on, Palmer. If we did that, we’d all be dead.” She pauses, then takes another. “I’m in.”
Van grins and sits down next to her, pulling out a seat for Taissa to join her. Tai doesn’t take a shot, arms still solemnly crossed over her chest and gaze forlorn and focused on the table Shauna’s sitting at. “I don’t understand why she’s doing this to herself,” she murmurs.
“You say that like the things Shauna does are normally perfectly understandable,” Van shoots back, rolling her eyes. Travis gets the feeling this is a common topic of conversation.
Taissa sighs and takes a shot of tequila, grimacing as it slides down her throat.
“Is Mel here?” Natalie asks.
“Why would she be?” Van says in lieu of an answer. “Would you go if you were her?”
“Probably,” Natalie sighs. “But I’m not exactly a shining example of healthy behavior.” As if to demonstrate, she takes yet another shot, and Taissa shoots her a deploring look.
“Slow down,” she snaps. “I’m not going to pay for your rehab.”
Nat rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t take another glass, instead petulantly crossing her arms. Travis takes one for himself and she looks at him like he’s betrayed her, which isn’t the first time he’s been given that look. He swallows quickly and glances elsewhere.
“Oh, there you guys are.”
“Akilah!” Van squeals and pulls her close to her side. Her scarred, freckled cheeks are already pink and shiny, and Travis suspects she hasn’t had that many fewer drinks than Natalie. “Come drink with us.”
“No, thanks,” Akilah says softly, pulling out the empty chair next to Travis and smoothing down her pretty pale green dress as she sits. Natalie’s glaring at her; Travis looks back in her direction and she averts her gaze as quickly as he did. Akilah takes a small, delicate sip of water, eyes trailing over to where Shauna sits, still miserable at Jeff’s side. “They… look nice together,” she offers, wincing slightly.
“Oh, please.” Taissa stabs a slice of cake with her fork. “They look like a badly pieced together collage project.”
“I’m just trying to be nice,” Akilah says.
“Well, don’t.” Tai stares her down until Akilah looks away, sighing softly.
Travis takes another shot. “I need to go to the bathroom.” He picks a good time, because he sees Misty Quigley heading toward their table out of the corner of his eye as he walks away.
He shuts himself into a stall even though he only needs to piss and three of the urinals are open, mostly to avoid conversation with strangers. He never got along well with guys during school, and it’s only gotten worse since he’s been back from the wilderness. It’s like he doesn’t speak their language anymore. His urine is a sickly dark yellow when it comes out, a sign he won’t take that he needs to drink more water. He flushes with a sigh and waits for the other two guys to leave before he walks out.
The sink water is persistently lukewarm and the handsoap smells and feels a bit like wax, but he scrubs for two minutes, if only to kill time. He wrings his hands out and accidentally catches sight of his reflection. Sunken eyes. Gaunt cheekbones. Messy hair, unshaved stubble. He feels like he’s going to be sick, so he tears his eyes away and shoves his way out of the bathroom.
He’s immediately greeted by choked-up sobs. Shauna sits in a pile of white satin outside the women’s restroom, mascara running down her cheeks in watery gray lines. She looks up at Travis and he freezes — he knows the doctors say she’s harmless now, but her gaze will always turn him into stone. His skin itches — it’s weird, seeing her like this. Small, vulnerable, emotional, like she was when she held the tiny lump of unmoving flesh she spent hours and hours giving birth to. Her eyes are shiny, big and brown, and she almost looks like someone Travis used to know.
He sits beside her. She doesn’t tell him to leave.
They’re silent for maybe two or three minutes, but she finally speaks: “Is she mad at me?”
Travis doesn’t have to ask who she’s talking about. “Yes,” he answers, simply, honestly.
Shauna sighs, a raspy, shuddering breath. “Good,” she says, and then she deflates into a puddle of sobs.
Travis doesn’t know why he does it. Maybe it’s Jackie who does it, or Javi, or Ben, but it’s his body, so he has to take some responsibility as he leans toward her and pulls her close to his chest, holding her as she runs herself ragged. She collapses into him, more like a small girl than the angry, bloodthirsty queen of the forest he got used to knowing her to be. He strokes her back, soft in a way that suggests someone went at it till her skin was rubbed raw, tearing off all the hardness she’d built up in the years prior. It makes him sad, and he doesn’t realize he’s crying too till she’s pressed her lips to his and he can taste the salt of his own tears.
He doesn’t know why he does it, but he kisses her back, rough and hungry, gripping desperately at the sides of her dress. She pulls back and her eyes are wild, pretty pink lipstick smeared around her mouth. “That was for her,” she says, and Travis says, “I know.”
She stands up and wipes her eyes, and Travis never sees her again.