Kelly Bak stood at the top of the seven steps to the wide, carved oak doors of the church. It was a perfect day: clear skies, low humidity, and a cleansing breeze to chase away the dust and the pockets of settled heat.
There was a long, covered walkway with morning glory twining up the posts, tracing the path the bride would take from the driveway where the limousine would stop, across a sidewalk, and up the church steps to the doors. The shelter was erected in case of a rain storm, which would not happen now, but the brilliant white of the canvas and the deep blue of the blooms were a perfect setting to welcome a perfect bride.
She was a little late, but that was the bride’s prerogative, and the only issue when Mrs Bak left the house was the makeup— Kimberley felt she looked like a raccoon with a rash. The makeup artist explained that this was for the benefit of the photographs, but Kimberley would have none of it. And was infuriated when the makeup artist turned to her mother for the last word. But Mrs Bak succumbed to Kimberley’s wishes, and the eye liner, shadow, mascara, and blush were duly reapplied. She was perfect.
Mrs Bak had chatted very briefly with her future son-in-law, Harrison, when Kimberley was ten minutes late. She assured him all was well. He wore a perfectly tailored navy suit with a white rose boutonnière. He had the luminous, well-groomed look of a young man entering the most powerful phase of his life; indeed, as Kimberley had told her mother that morning, Harrison was seriously considering a run for congressman. The future looked bright… and, well, perfect.
Though the bride, thought Mrs Bak, could be a little more punctual, to be honest.