Behold, All Things Are Become New

Sneak Peek

I pressed my hand against the wall to steady myself and face the fingerprint-smudged mirror.

“Aargh.” I yanked the uncooperative tie, cracked my knuckles, and attacked it again. Despite the air conditioning, the Florida sun penetrated the walls broiling me like a rock lobster.

A groomsman snapped his suspenders. “The duffel bag boy’s gittin’ married.”

“Don’t choke yourself, man.” Another chuckled and adjusted his cummerbund when Bryce, burst through the door to the Sunday school room turned dressing area.

“Tyler!”

My best man’s face swelled like a puffer fish. His usual composure on an EMT call, defibrillating a lifeless heart, delivering a crowning baby on a sidewalk had vanished.

My off-tune whistling trailed off.

“Someone here says he’s your dad.” He glanced sideways as if to double-check the veracity of the man’s story. “Wants to talk to you.”

“Huh? Speak English, bro. What are you talking about?”

His slow blink and lips pressed together seemed to wait for me to catch up. When I did, life rewound all the way back to cigarette burns and welts from a belt buckle. An acrid tang rose in my mouth, the taste of nights I’d forgotten. I tore at the tie and crumpled it.

“He wasn’t a dad. Just a man in need of a punching bag.” Hopefully he heard me. Bryce’s eyes softened, knowing my history. I jammed the tie into my pocket and stewed. “Drunk, isn’t he?” Can’t imagine how he ever manage to get down here.

“Seems calm and collected.”

“Blast it!” 

The groomsmen milled about, adjusting their jackets, whispering in hushed tones. If he was in fact drunk, Bryce and the guys could cart him off, but I couldn’t allow a showstopper in front of Julie or her family.

Trickles of sweat worked their way into the cracked terrain of old scars dotting my back. I reached to scratch one, angered that it still itched after all these years. Agreeing to see him meant opening a door for him to worm his way back into my life. My stomach tighteded further when the wedding coordinator announced from the hallway only five minutes until marching time.

“Stink!” My father always knew the worst time to show up to cause the most pain.

“And?” Bryce asked.

“Not on your life!”

He stepped inside. “Buddy … I can only imagine what you’re feeling. But might you reconsider?”

My voice rose to meet his challenge. “He dumped me once on a county road. Told me not to come back. At 15, I didn’t know what else to do so I did anyway—regretfully.”

Bryce’s face pinched before continuing. “It’s up to you, buddy.”

“Yes, it is!”

I popped my jaw and ran a hand through freshly cut hair.

“Sure?”

I leaned in. “Whose side are you on, best man?”

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