Chapter 3: The Voice on the Speakers
Nick caught Martha’s wrist before she reached the phone.
The microphone squealed, and every guest went silent.
“Let go of me!” Martha snapped.
“No,” Nick said.
“You’ve taken enough from my wife today.”
Martha stared at him.
“Your wife?
You have no idea what she’s cost you.”
Vanessa tapped the screen again.
Martha’s recorded voice filled the restaurant.
“Tell everyone Nick has been seeing you,” the recording said.
“Cry if you have to.
Once that girl runs out, I’ll take care of the rest.”
Vanessa’s recorded voice answered, “What exactly is ‘the rest’?”
“The signed marriage license will disappear.
Without that, she’ll have nothing.”
A chair scraped across the floor.
Nick’s father, Robert, stood and looked directly at Martha.
“You told me you were taking the envelope to the officiant.”
Martha pulled her hand free.
“It was a joke.
Vanessa took it out of context.”
“A joke?” I touched the jagged ends of my hair.
“Was this a joke too?”
“You’re being dramatic,” she said.
“Hair grows back.”
“And trust?” I asked.
“Does that grow back?”
Martha’s mouth tightened.
Vanessa held up her phone.
“There’s more.”
The recording continued.
“Nick will thank me when he realizes what he nearly threw away,” Martha’s voice said.
“My friend will make him a vice president if he marries you.
That poor little receptionist can’t give him a future.”
I looked at Nick.
“Receptionist?”
“That’s what she calls you,” he said quietly.
“You knew?”
His eyes dropped for one second.
It was one second too long.
Martha smiled.
“Ask him how long he’s known.”
“Don’t,” Nick warned.
“Why not?” she replied.
“You wanted honesty in front of everyone.”
I stepped away from his hand.
“Nick, what did you know?”
He swallowed.
“I knew she had spoken to Vanessa before.”
A murmur moved through the room.
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I found out this morning.
Vanessa called me and refused to be part of it.
That’s why I asked her to come.”
Martha folded her arms.
“Yet you still went through with the wedding.
Very brave.”
Nick moved toward her.
“Where is our marriage license?”
“I don’t have it.”
Robert pointed at the silver handbag beside Martha’s chair.
“Then open your bag.”
“You don’t get to search my belongings.”
The restaurant manager, Mr.
Ellis, approached carrying a sealed white envelope.
“You may want to explain this first,” he said.
Martha’s face changed.
Mr.
Ellis placed the envelope on the table.
Our names were written across the front, but a red line had been drawn through mine.
“Where did you find that?” Nick asked.
“In the ladies’ room,” Mr.
Ellis said.
“One of my staff saw Mrs.
Hale place it behind the waste bin.”
Martha reached for it.
I put my palm over the envelope.
“Don’t touch it.”
She looked at me as if I had forgotten my place.
Then the officiant opened the envelope, checked inside, and went pale.
“This is not the marriage license,” he said.
“It’s a photocopy.”
Nick turned to his mother.
“Where is the original?”
May you like
Martha picked up her handbag.
“You’ll get it back,” she said, “when she agrees to leave this family.”
