Donja jerked from reverie, focused on the television, listening intently to a commentator who was detailing the murder of a nineteen-year-old Chippewa female found in an alleyway in Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario. “That’s horrible,” Donja said, “but that city’s in Canada. We’re moving to Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan.”
Debbie rolled her eyes. “Two cities with the same name, are you sure?”
“Well no, not really, I’ve never been there but…” Seeing her mom approaching, Donja’s words fell short. She stood up and clutched her purse to her chest as a guilt-induced nervousness washed over her.
I wonder if the doctor told her Frankie was defending me?
Her heart thumped as Lisa drew near.
“Is he okay?” Donja blurted with her voice approaching anguish.
“He’s got a busted-up nose just in time for the wedding,” Lisa said with half raised brows that expressed her annoyance.
Debbie hardly let her finish before she mumbled under her breath, “Bummer.”
Contrite, Donja dropped her head.
Yeah, I hear ya and it’s all my fault.
Wedding Bells
“Your mom looks beautiful.”
“Yeah, she does,” Donja whispered as she flashed her dark eyes at Debbie. They shared a brief look before Donja turned her gaze back to her mother, dressed in a peach colored, knee length sleeveless dress with matching pumps, hand in hand with Carson Hampton, Donja’s soon-to-be stepfather.
She took a breath, the smell of gardenias wafting.
Debbie leaned into her ear. “Everything’s so perfect.”
Perfect?
Donja felt her pulse quicken as she cast a fleeting glance to the sky; a perfect collage of silver and white, painted upon a bright, blue dome. She lowered her head, eyes locked on the bride and groom.
For everyone but me.
She squirmed in her chair as a sinking disquiet settled upon her. She fought back trembling lips, shaky hands, fearful of crying.
“I can’t believe that there’s so many people here,” Debbie whispered.
Jerked back to reality, yet unable to escape her misery, Donja exhaled, tears welling in her eyes. She surveyed the domed white tent which was to accommodate thirty guests. It was packed full and others could be seen milling about the grounds of ‘The Knot,’ a popular 1800’s farm used exclusively for outdoor weddings.
“And do you, Lisa Bellanger take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband,” Reverend Carol, a longtime friend of the family asked.
“I do,” Lisa’s voice rang past the rows of white folding chairs filled with friends, family and half the staff of Lakeland Homecare, where she worked as a registered nurse.
Donja, feeling a bit guilty, gazed across the aisle to behold her paternal grandmother, Anna Bellanger, seated beside Frankie who was sporting a badly bruised nose. Doleful, she furrowed her brows, aware that she should be there, seated with them, but she and Debbie had sneaked off to have a smoke and when they got back, all the seats were taken on her mom’s side forcing her to sit on Carson’s. Her Grandma Anna, who was full blood Chippewa and seemed to possess a sixth sense, must have picked up on her guilt, for she flashed her dark eyes which glistened with tears. They shared a deadlock which lingered for the longest time. Finally, Anna, whose face was stolid, broke the tether and turned her misty eyes back to Lisa and Carson.
Donja exhaled, unaware she had been holding her breath. She knew of her grandmother’s pain, it was palpable. She dropped her head, and everything suddenly felt too soon. It had been only six years now since Anna lost her only son, her mom lost her husband, and she and Frankie lost a father.
Her eyes veiled, the wounds as fresh as yesterday. Her father, Donald Frank Bellanger, while on official government business for the Michigan Department of Agriculture, was killed by a car bomb placed next to the government towers in Norway.
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” the reverend stated, drawing Donja from misery. She glanced up just as Carson kissed her mom.
“You have a new dad,” Debbie whispered.
“Yes,” Donja said, unable to find a smile. She fluttered her misty eyes, thick black lashes forcing tears to streak her cheek and though part of her hated Carson, hated everything he stood for, a far greater part was grateful. He was a good man, successful, kind, considerate and most importantly, he loved her mom desperately. In the beginning, she despised him, stranger that he was, but he stepped into Frankie’s life as if he were his own, baseball, fishing, you name it Carson Hampton was there. He not only spent every moment of vacation, but traveled the seven hundred and forty-four miles round trip every weekend from his home in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, just to be there. He’d tried with Donja and though she resisted him at first, eventually they had settled into, if nothing else, mutual acceptance.
“Your liner’s running.” Debbie whispered, offering up a tissue.
Donja, wound tighter than clockwork, took the white fluff contrasted by her long, black nails and dabbed at her eyes as they rose to their feet. She lowered her hand to inspect the tissue which was smeared black. Leanne, the photographer’s assistant with short cropped blonde hair, made her way toward her, pushing at the folding chairs. “We’re gonna need you and your brother for pictures out by the carriage.”
“Sure.” Donja said with a forced smile.
“You’ll need to clean your face,” Leanne smirked. “Your eyes are dripping black.” She scurried away.
“Now that’s a judgmental bitch if I ever saw one,” Debbie mumbled.”
Donja rolled her eyes, though she knew it was true. Half the people she knew were judgmental in one way or another. In the beginning, around age eleven when she found herself obsessed with gothic style, even her mother had fought her tooth and nail. The desire for anything black, followed by falling grades, loud music and horrific nightmares about terrorists, escalated to a point that her mom forced her into counseling. A year and eight months later, the counselor mentioned in family session that the gothic makeup was just a shield to hide from what she could not face. She suggested that their weekly sessions continue to work through her father’s death, but Donja rebelled and finally her mom gave in, and why not? What do counselors know of pain anyway?
She turned to Debbie. “Is it bad.”
Debbie used her finger to wipe at her black tears. “I’ve seen worse,” she smiled. “Remember how I looked when we got caught in that thunderstorm at the Glad Peach Festival out in Coloma,” she giggled.
“Oh no,” Donja grumbled. Her makeup had rivaled Gene Simmons. She wiped at her cheeks then turned to fall in with the flow of bodies. She saw Carson’s daughter, Makayla, and her uppity friend, Heather, deep in conversation. Makayla, dressed in a beautiful blue mini with spiked heels, raised a hand to brush back her golden locks and they shared a look, though cursory at best.
Mikayla averted her gaze.
“Your new stepsister’s ultra-strange,” Debbie whispered, “she looks at us like we have two heads.”
Donja spiked her brows. “She’s Ivy League in case you didn’t notice.”
“I think there’s more to it than that. There’s something about her.”
“Maybe it’s a fear of losing her father.”
“That’s about stupid.”
“No, not really. You have your mom and dad, but how would you feel if some woman was taking your mom’s place.”
“I don’t know, I never thought of such.”
“Well it’s not easy, I mean, I actually feel a little insecure about this whole thing myself.”
“But you like him—don’t you?”
“It’s not about liking or disliking, it’s about him worming his way into our lives and Mom…” her words trailed.
“What?”
“Forgetting my dad.” Donja mumbled.
Debbie quirked her face to a scowl.
“Don’t look at me like that, it’s dumb I know, but Mikayla lost her mom just four years ago. Perhaps she feel
s the same way.”
“Well I guess you both better get over it, they’re married now.”
Donja dropped her head. “Yeah.”
“And anyway, your new sister,” she emphasized the word, “is lucky. She doesn’t have to move.”
“Don’t remind me,” Donja frowned.
Debbie gripped her arm. “I’m gonna miss you so bad.”
“Don’t start,” Donja’s lip trembled. “I won’t have any liner left and anyway, you and Gina are tight not to mention Faith, who talks like your besties. You won’t be alone.”
Beside the antiquated black carriage with six white horses, Makayla, Donja and Frankie joined the bride and groom for a photo shoot. Donja noticed Makayla took her father’s side while she took her mom’s, but Frankie took the middle between her mom and Carson and wouldn’t budge. Donja studied his bruised nose, contrasted by his brown, Chippewa skin as wind whipped his ebony locks. He had a smile from ear to ear. Something warm washed over her. He was happy…at least one of them was. She glanced to Makayla and strangely found her sneaking a little glance of her own. Makayla dropped her eyes.
What’s your problem?
“One last time,” the photographer beamed. “Ready?”
They froze, and though it was but a moment in time, their candy-coated smiles would adorn the wedding album of Carson and Lisa Hampton, forever.
“Excellent!” the photographer chimed as the music from inside the barn echoed the grounds.
Donja smoothed her lacey black dress and found Debbie. Together, they moseyed silently through the heavy crowd. Inside the renovated 1800’s barn, where round tables covered in white satin cloth with bouquets of yellow lilies circled a dance floor, they made a beeline and sat down at the bridal table.
Mirella, the wedding planner, microphone in hand, took to the dance floor. “And now Lisa and Carson will have the first dance,” she announced. The room occupied by a hundred or more, fell silent and the music swelled.
Donja watched as Carson, so tall and handsome led his bride to the dance floor. He looked dapper in his tux. He took a sweeping bow with a fringe of blonde hair falling upon his brow. A few surprised gasps echoed the massive room and then like a story book prince, he pulled her into his arms. Captivated, Donja took a breath; it was all so magical, her mother’s sable locks dangling, her chin tilted up to Carson’s adoring blue eyes. Curious of Makayla’s response, Donja turned her head to look. She was gone.
Strange.
She turned back and watched the dance.
“They are so in love,” Debbie whispered.
“Yes, they are,” Donja smiled and it was almost genuine for truth be known, she was happy for them. Kinda. The music stopped as Carson and her mom departed the dance floor.
“Where’s Makayla?” Carson asked.
Donja shrugged her shoulders.
Carson flipped his phone from his tux and walked a safe distance away.
“Honey,” Lisa said, smoothing Frankie’s unruly hair. “Your grandma will be leaving soon.”
“Why?”
“She has things to do. Now I want you to mind her while I’m gone. I’ll call you as soon as we get to Hawaii.”
“Can’t I go?”
“No, we’ve been over this again and again. It’s our honeymoon and kids are not allowed.”
Defiant, Frankie folded his arms over his chest and frowned.
Lisa ruffled his hair. “The circus is going to be in Grand Rapids tomorrow and Grandma’s gonna take you.”
The fight in Frankie’s dark eyes faded. “Sweet.”
Lisa turned to Donja. “You going to be okay on your own?”
“Mom, I’m not on my own. Debbie’s sleeping over and Maestro will watch over us.”
“Oh gosh, speaking of Maestro, did you get dog food?”
“I did, but I forgot to get it out. It’s still in my car.”
Carson approached as he slid his cell back inside his tux.
“Is Makayla okay?” Lisa asked.
“Oh, yeah,” he said with a not so convincing tone. “She wasn’t feeling well so she and Heather are driving back tonight.”
“That’s a long drive, Carson. I told her they could stay at the house overnight with Donja.
Come on, Mom, she’s not about to sleep with the enemy, Donja thought.
“I know, but she’s bashful. She wants to be home,” he replied sheepishly.
Donja bit her lip.
Good try, Carson, but it has nothing to do with bashful. Your little princess doesn’t want anything to do with us…especially me.
“Well, let’s go greet our guests,” Lisa winked as she looped her arm in Carson’s.
“As you wish, Mrs. Hampton,” Carson said with his lips curling into a smile.
“Mrs. Hampton,” Lisa mused as they walked away. “I like the sound of that.”
~~~
Donja woke with a start and realized that Maestro, the family Schnauzer of eight years was on the bed. He was licking her face. She blew air in his face and he backed away as she raised a hand and wiped at her nose and mouth.
Maestro came back for more.
“Eww!” Donja sputtered. She pulled his writhing body tight and hugged him as she recalled the day her dad brought him home, a tiny silver and black bundle. She fell in love with him and for weeks on end she refused to put him down. Finally, after a month of calling him ‘baby puppy,’ her mom named him Maestro and it fit perfectly.
He wiggled free of her embrace, hopping all over the bed, and then he dashed in and licked at her face. She pushed him away. He bailed off the bed like a silver bullet and took a stance next to the nightstand, trembling with a pathetic whine.
“Okay already,” Donja mumbled as she sat up with a groggy yawn. A fleeting glance to the opposite side of the bed revealed Debbie sleeping with her mouth gaping open and one leg hanging off the bed. Donja rose to her feet and Maestro went ballistic, jumping up and down like a maniac.
Debbie, roused from slumber, sat up a bit disoriented. She rubbed at her eyes, sunlight spilling through the open window. “What the heck?”
“It’s his potty time.”
Debbie swung her feet to the floor and pushed her black locks behind her ear. “Would you let him out already?” she said gripping her head.
“Someone’s in a mood.”
“Bite me.”
Donja laughed, slipping her feet, with shiny black toenails into her flipflops.
Debbie stood up, stretching. “Can we go to the Burger Shack, I want a caramel latte?”
“Sure,” Donja blurted, “but we gotta get back, no shopping and don’t even ask. I need a manicure and pedicure before the party.”
“Oh crap, me too but I do need a pack of ciggys. I can’t have a latte without a smoke.”
“Are you buying?” Donja asked with raised brows.
Debbie smirked then threw her pillow.
Donja dodged it, laughing and darted out the door, Maestro yapping to high heaven.
~~~
Cruising down Main Street in St. Joseph with the windows down Donja and Debbie were singing along with the sultry voice of Chelsea Wolfe. Just shy of the St. Joseph River, Donja took a sharp left onto Ship St. and then down the steep descent to Silver Beach. Cars were parked everywhere, and she turned off the music as they eased past the train station with a half visible sun looming over the liquid horizon. Finding a parking spot, she grabbed her beach bag from the back seat. Debbie came around the hood as she slammed the door. “Do I look all right? I’m on my damn period and I feel bloated.”
Donja cast a surreptitious glance out across the sand dunes to the crowded beach and then back to Debbie’s skull pentagram swimsuit. “You look fine.”
“I feel fat.”
“All right. You look fat.”
“You witch! Don’t be crude!”
“You asked, so get over it!”
Debbie lit a cigarette and took a long drag. Donja snatched it and took one of her own, holding
it briefly before she exhaled, “I’m nervous.”
“And it shows, you’re always bitchy when you’re nervous.”
“Sorry, but this driving me nuts.”
“Chill, he might not even be here.” Debbie smirked, blowing smoke.
“Oh, he’ll be here, with a hard on. That’s all he thinks about.”
Debbie thumped the Virginia Slim with her finger, ashes flying. “So, you gonna give in?”
Donja snatched the cigarette, took a deep drag and then without a word squatted, snuffed it in sand and set her stride past the rows of cars onto the beach. She scanned the maze of bodies down to the south pier, which was packed. She raised a hand to her brow to shield the setting sun which was glistening orange and red across the horizon. She wiggled her toes in the warm sand, searching the faces.
“Donja!” A voice rang amid a cacophony of gulls screeching, kids screaming and waves crashing.
Donja spun with gentle winds whipping in from the lake and tossing her ponytail. She saw Steve, Jose, Dumi and Rollie walking toward them, shirtless and barefoot in baggy swim trunks.
“We have a group down on the north end of the beach,” Dumi said pointing with his hand. His eyes washed over them. Dressed in a bikini, which she only wore to impress Kevin, Donja pulled her beach bag tight over her tummy. Dumi raised his head. “Looking good, girl.”
Donja smiled, pearly whites flashing.
“Did you guys bring any drinks?” Rollie asked.
“We got a bottle of Jim Beam I swiped from my dad’s liquor cabinet,” Debbie said.
“Damn, we’re scarce on the good stuff.” He sighed. “Just a little vodka and some rum but Kyle brought some kick ass smoke.”
“Where you guys headed?” Donja asked.
“For coke and seven-up, you guys go on, we’ll be back.”
Donja took a few steps then paused, turned and called out. “Hey Dumi. Is Kevin here?”
Dumi turned to face her with a hand shielding his eyes. “Uhh, yeah, he is, he…ahhh.” He stumbled on his words. “He, uh…he came with Brandy.”
“Brandy?”
“Uhh…yeah.”
Donja felt a sting, like harsh slap to the face.