The Chapel Wars Read Online Free PDF Page B

ceremony had been booked out for six months, and the couple was flying in from England, so we couldn’t cancel, funeral or not.
    Our golden-hued reception area was still warm and welcoming despite Grandpa’s absence. Chairs were arranged in a conversational circle around the stiff-backed brocade couch, with a screen on the coffee table so that Mom could break down package options.
    The couple before us tonight was, blessedly, of a forever nature. Scientifically, forever. Oh, and romantically, I guess. After each ceremony, I wrote down details into different categories, details like dress style, body language, duration of dating, age, groom’s shoe size … you know, just the typical stuff you notice at a wedding. Then I plugged that into a formula I created thatestimated within 2 percent the marriage success rate of each couple. Of course, I’d only been tracking for five years, so I’d have to wait decades to see who would survive, but I kept up with our couples, and most of those with percentages under 20 were already divorced.
    Not that I
wanted
them to get divorced, mind you, but it’s a great feeling knowing I was right.
    Charlie and Emma Dean, though, these two had it. They held hands without groping, they laughed at each other without laughing
at
each other. They’d only walked into the building ten minutes ago and already I’d given them a 79 percent. If they nailed the vows, they were well on their way to their golden anniversary.
    Donna wore her work bun and work smile. “Do you have any more questions?”
    “Can you take a picture of our rings?” Emma asked. “Something with the bouquet, or on top of lace would be nice.”
    “It was my mum’s,” Charlie explained. “And she’ll massacre us all if we don’t do a picture.”
    Dad laughed. “You have me and this chapel to yourselves tonight. We can do any picture you want.”
    “Brilliant.” Charlie stuck his wallet into his back pocket. “Mind if we clean up first?”
    “Of course,” Donna said. “I’ll show Emma to the bridal room. The bathroom is on the right.”
    Charlie left but poked his head right out. “The loo has gold urinals.”
    Emma beamed at her fiancé. “Only the finest for you, love.”
    I wanted to bundle the Dean family into my pocket and pluck them out from time to time just to listen to their accented banter. I loved accents, like Dax’s southern drawl. He’d obviously lived somewhere else long enough to develop that accent, so maybe that geographical distance meant he wasn’t close to his poppy. Maybe he didn’t even like his grandpa. We could sit around and hate the man together.
    “Do you have a moment?” Donna led me into the photo studio. Dad was switching out backgrounds.
    “Dad? Can you leave?” I asked.
    Dad harrumphed. “I still can’t believe Cranston pulled that at the funeral. I have half a mind to march over there now.”
    It was the fifth time he’d made a similar threat. As kind as both of my parents were, they had a blind spot when it came to Victor Cranston. “Don’t leave the chapel, just the room. Please.”
    “Fine.” Dad dropped the curtain. “Make it quick, boss.”
    “So how are you doing?” I asked once Dad left.
    “Two of my alpacas, Milton and Clarabelle, were depressed today. I shouldn’t have broken the news about Jim. He always brought them treats.”
    I filed away the alpaca comment to share with James later. He was obsessed with Donna’s alpaca obsession. “But how are you?”
    “I’m a mess.” Donna didn’t look like a mess. She looked exactly the same every time I saw her: a different colored suit for each day of the week (Saturday: lavender—seasons and funerals bedamned), nude tights, cloggish shoes, and hair too aggressively blond to be natural.
    “I’m sorry. I know you and Grandpa were … whatever you were.”
    “We dated on and off for nine years. Let’s call a spade a spade.”
    Gross. We all knew there was something more between Donna and Grandpa,