the anger. You can take the girl out of Calvary Baptist, but you can’t take Calvary Baptist out of the girl, she thought.
At the end of the hallway, two young men in white uniforms stood stationed beside massive oak doors. When the Supremes, Richmond, and James approached, the men shoved open the doors, exposing a vast and spectacular courtyard. Second—possibly—only to Barbara Jean’s prizewinning gardens, this was the most elaborately landscaped property in town. Intricately sculpted evergreens lined the courtyard’s redbrick walls. Lacy vines trailed from stone pots that sat atop pillars that had been distressed in the style of Roman ruins. Luridly bright flowers of every variety surrounded the wedding guests.
Barbara Jean grabbed Clarice’s arm. “This is incredible. They must swap out these plants every week to keep them looking like this.”
The garden was something to see, all right. Unfortunately, the direct sunlight that helped the flowers remain so beautiful was not greeted with much approval from the wedding guests. The sun beat down on them and, as more people arrived, their shared suffering soon became the number one topic of conversation. Erma Mae and Little Earl McIntyre stepped into the courtyard just behind the Supremes, both of them frantically fanning themselves with their hands. Erma Mae grumbled, “Outdoor weddin’ in July. Your cousin’s tryin’ to kill us all, Clarice.”
Erma Mae wore a violet straw hat that Clarice thought was cute. But that hat didn’t provide a bit of shade to her great, round head. Erma Mae’s cheeks and ears baked in the afternoon sun. She continued to curse Veronica as she and her husband headed to their seats.
To ensure Odette’s comfort, James had been toting around an enormous insulated bag full of just-in-case supplies all summer. By the time the Supremes and their spouses had traveled down the brick path that divided the courtyard in half and seated themselves on creaky white wooden chairs, James had dug into the bag and pulled out five chilled bottles of water and a couple of battery-operated personal fans. He handed each of his friends a bottle of water and gave fans to Barbara Jean and Odette. In return, James received heartfelt thanks and an apology from Richmond for having teased him about carrying a purse for the past month.
Refreshed by the water and puffs of air from the tiny fans they passed back and forth to each other, Barbara Jean and Clarice ventured from their seats to take a closer look at the flowers. They took a few steps toward the nearest bed, but stopped when they were still about five feet away after discovering that they weren’t the only admirers of the flowers. Dozens of bees floated from bloom to bloom in lazy arcs—a picturesque summer scene, best appreciated from a safe distance. When they discussed it later, they all agreed that the bees had been an omen.
The two uniformed employees who had opened the courtyard doors for the guests reappeared, each carrying an oscillating electric floor fan. When they placed the fans in opposing corners of the rectangular seating area and turned them on, the crowd burst into applause. The effect was mostly psychological, though. Humid hundred-degree air was still humid hundred-degree air, even with a two-mile-per-hour gust behind it. But the slightest of breezes was cause for celebration on that day.
The tiresome elevator music that had been piped in via speakers placed throughout the flower beds stopped. The redhead who had greeted everyone at the front door entered the courtyard and asked the crowd to be seated in order that the service might begin. James glanced at his watch and nodded his approval. “Right on time.”
The speakers blasted out music again. This time it was Pachelbel’s Canon in D. Clarice muttered to herself, “How unimaginative can you get.” Then she admonished herself for being mean.
The large oak doors opened again and Reverend Biggs stepped through. He was followed by Clifton Abrams and his groomsmen—Clifton’s shoe freak brother Stevie and two shifty-eyed, scowling young men. The groomsmen slouched in their ill-fitting, rented tuxedoes with matching green cummerbunds and emerald bowties beneath a bridal arch that was covered in chartreuse carnations. Behind them, a fountain in the shape of a gigantic fish spat water high into the sticky air.
Odette leaned toward Clarice and said, “Is this a wedding party or a police lineup?” Clarice responded, “You are just awful,” even though she had been thinking the same thing.
The doors opened again and Veronica’s mother walked out on the arm of