Page 23 of Cabin Fever

Or maybe Finn knows something that I don’t.

* * *

By 3:55, I’m cleaned up and on the top deck. Golden hour is warming up early, and the lounge looks like the inside of a champagne bottle.

Mom walks in and gasps. “Oh, Harper. The windows. Oh, it's like rehearsing inside the sunset. How did you get this room?”

Okay, if Mom had anything to do with this, she’s gained acting chops over the past ten years. Her reaction seems more than genuine.

“Somebody canceled our other one. Happy accident.” I watch her, but she only laughs.

“Well, God bless them.” She sighs and floats off to usher people.

The officiant is a soft-spoken ship's chaplain named Father Aldo, whom Dahlia adopted within minutes, and after welcoming everyone, he says, “And I'm told the couple has a house rule?” and checks his notes. “'No takebacks'?”

The whole group laughs, feeling like they’re in on the joke since Finn’s slideshow. Aunt Bev is already reaching into her purse for the travel pack of tissues.

I'm laughing too until Dad leaves his seat and steps into the aisle spot when the officiant asks for places.

The plan that Dahlia built was for Denny and Rose, our godparents. Denny, who plowed our driveway every snow for four winters without once ringing the bell, and Rose, who showed up with casseroles she said were “extras” for two years, back when half of Maple Glen crossed the street to avoid catching what the Quinns had.

Dahlia is supposed to be escorted by both of them. They flew here to do this. And now my father is standing at the head of the aisle, straightening his cuffs, saying, “So I'll have her on my right arm. Dolly, right arm okay?”

Father Aldo, who has no idea, nods along. Rose, three rows back, folds her hands in her lap. Denny studies the carpet.

And Dahlia doesn't say a damn word.

Her eyes flick toward Mom, then to me, looking for our feelings instead of getting in touch with her own. Then she smiles and says, “Sure, yes. Right arm.”

My vision goes white at the edges.

I'm halfway out of my chair when a hand slips around my waist and brings me back down. Finn, in the row behind me, leans forward like he's stretching. His hand spreads over my middle, warm and soft. “Wait,” he says. One word, and I’m able to take a breath.

I want to argue. To stand up and flip the table. But this isn’t about me.

Finn moves. He slides his hand past my hip and reaches for mine, pulling it back behind my chair and wrapping it with his fingers.

He holds on until we move to groomsman and bridesmaid placement, then he gives a squeeze and walks up to take his spot next to the others.

We move through the rehearsal, and at first it feels like I’m breathing through a drinking straw. Once Dad is back in his seat, it at least turns into a straw used for boba. Then the vows blocking starts, and every thought clears. Because Theo, steady, over-analytical Theo, looks like he’s going to either throw up or have a stroke.

Father Aldo walks him through placeholder words, not even the real vows, and Theo says them like someone reading a deposition. Dahlia's holding both his hands, but her smile is slipping.

Finn dives in like a rescue swimmer. “Sorry, Father, he's peaking too early. Theo, save something for Saturday. This is a table read.”

Laughter rumbles through the room, and the tension drops. A minute later, Theo flubs the ring handoff, and Finn's there again, saying, “In his defense, he has fingers like sausages.”

His comments deploy like airbags, but between saves, I catch Finn's face in profile. His jaw’s tight. He’s tapping his hip with his finger.

Something’s wrong with Theo. And Finn already knows what it is.

The run-through ends in applause and golden light. It's beautiful, and I stand in the middle of it wondering if I’m one of two people who can see the crack running up the two-story glass.

We're all filtering out toward dinner when I realize my tablet's still on the seat in row two. I double back alone. The lounge is empty and dim now, the light now gray-blue. I'm halfway across the parquet when I hear voices from the service corridor behind the pillar.

I freeze.

“—running out of runway, man.” Finn’s voice. Low and urgent.