03 LEAH WHITCOMB
The Pastor’s Wife A week before Chanel’s wedding, I dreamt that her husband would be the death of her. In the dream, he chased her down a dark alley, eventually cornering her, leaving her with nowhere to go. When he put his hands on her, everything went black. I woke up. I didn’t think it’d come true. It had been many years since I’d seen Chanel, and many more after that dream when I’d see her again. I saw the wedding announcement in the newspaper. Her joy was visible even from that still image. My clairvoyance was new then, and I was untrustworthy; I didn’t want it to be true, but here Chanel laid, twenty-eight, dead in this white casket. The after-death bloat brought back a bit of vitality to her body. Her face was soft now instead of gaunt. As people filed into the church, my heart tightened watching her lay there. She was finally at peace, but we weren’t. She was my cousin. Only a few months younger than me, we went to daycare, elementary, and high school together. At family reunions, we would run off together and gossip about school
“The love spell I gave her to be the recipient of all of her husband’s affection was wearing off; she needed something stronger.” SISTORIES
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and boys. A decade ago, when we were teenagers on our way to college, we sat in her car after the morning service. Her golden face gleamed with possibility as she told me about her college plans. She was going to State with Brian, and after college, they’d get married and start a family. It was the blueprint for all girls our age so I wasn’t surprised when she asked me if I’d marry Darrell, my high school sweetheart, after college. I wasn’t sure, but I was excited to leave the state. She said she respected my decision as I searched for something more promising, something more ancient. I promised her that once I left, I’d never step foot in this church again. I lied. After the choir sang and the prayer was prayed, her husband eulogized her. He stood behind the pulpit but kept his head bowed. Thinking, searching for the right way to lie, “We’re gathered here today to celebrate the life of my beautiful wife, Chanel Leroy.” His hands on the top of the podium, he shifted trying to force or hold back tears, “You know, Proverbs 18:22 says, ‘Whoso findeth a wife findeth a good thing, and obtaineth favour of the Lord.’ I was a lucky man,” he nodded with red eyes. “Chanel was every good thing God could give me: loyal, honest, submissive. Her faith in me made me a better man.” He twisted his mouth. I shifted in my seat and started