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The matronly black woman seems so serene and wise, like she’s everybody’s ideal grandmother. She’s seen so much driving this bus, so many brides shaking with nerves or torn apart inside, trying to forget themselves and stave off their fears and doubts with too much alcohol, the ardent attention of male strippers, and faux displays of courage like getting tattoos, dyeing their hair hot pink, or flashing their boobs at bystanders. She’s taken the time to ask “how you doin’ there, hon?” and for some reason that means so much, and she sees what no one else sees, “you look like somethin’s eatin’ at you.”
This lady is savvy enough to know Chloe isn’t just another bride fretting over the perfect dress or whether rain will spoil her special day. She’s an unbiased stranger with no personal stake in Chloe’s life. She’s not taking sides, cheering her on, or pushing her in any particular direction. She lets Chloe talk it all out—about how fast things have been moving, and how she hoped marrying a safe, steady guy was the right thing to do, and would make her life happier and better—and even then the bus driver doesn’t offer an opinion, it’s like she’s there just to make Chloe listen to herself.
As a detective, Chloe knows sometimes all it takes is a fresh pair of eyes, a new perspective, to shine a light and reveal a clear path amidst the chaos. And right now that’s exactly what she so desperately needs.
For weeks there’s been a wild, whirling, confused clamor inside her brain, like an out-of-control carousel, endlessly spinning round and round, faster and faster, louder and louder. But she’s too afraid to take a leap of faith because she doesn’t know if she’ll fall, alone and broken, and have to pick herself up, and patch herself up again, or if a strong pair of arms will catch and hold her, love and protect her, or just drop her after the danger has passed. She’s not a carnival prize, so thrilling to win, yet so easily discarded once the glow of victory has dimmed; like the Kewpie doll thrown in the dumpster outside the fairground gates.
“Hey, are you married?” Chloe asks suddenly.
“Seventeen years,” the bus driver proudly replies. “He’s my everything. Hopefully, your guy is too.”
In that moment the carousel suddenly stops spinning. But the feeling of relief doesn’t last long. Chloe feels like she’s just slammed up hard against a wall in one of those tricky eye-confusing labyrinthine maze puzzles where there’s only one true path and dozens of twists and turns leading only to dead ends.
“Everything,” Chloe repeats the word numbly, rolling it over on her tongue, and in her mind, pondering exactly what it means.
The answer is there plain and simple: Marcus Pierce is not her everything. He never has been and never can be. There’s no arguing with the truth. Everything seems so clear now. She can’t marry him. It wouldn’t be fair or right. It would be like slapping Love in the face and turning her back and declaring “I don’t want or need you!” Marrying Marcus because he’s safe, steady, and reliable, would be just like marrying a guy because of his bank balance. And that’s just not her.
Chloe tosses her glittery Bachelorette tiara down and tugs off the hot pink t-shirt Ella designed for the party with a photo of Chloe’s serious face perched like a giant bobble head atop a cartoon bride’s sexy, skinny body. She takes a deep breath and smoothes down her rumpled hair and gives a gentle tug to the hem of her pink flowered blouse and double checks the buttons as she walks up to the front of the bus.
“Would you take me to Lux, please?” she asks the driver.
“Sure I will, honey.”
The club has hosted so many bachelorette parties Chloe doesn’t even have to ask if the driver knows where it is.
***
The piano is silent, and the lights are dim, but thankfully there’s no noise coming from the bedroom. Barefoot, in a loosely flowing, open red satin robe and matching pajama bottoms, Lucifer stands on the balcony, smoking a cigarette and staring up at the night sky as a gentle breeze ruffles his dark hair.
Chloe steps in front of him, smiling tentatively and leaning back lightly against the railing.
Instantly, Lucifer flings away his cigarette. His hands are at her waist, clutching tight, and he’s mumbling something about getting new guardrails first thing tomorrow.
“Guardrails?” Chloe asks incredulously. “Guardrails!” She’s just ditched her bachelorette party and come to him, feeling like she’s holding her heart out on a plate, and he’s talking about guardrails?
“I just don’t want you to fall,” he answers softly, his breath catching, like he’s never been touched before, when she reaches out and lightly strokes his bare chest. The smooth tan skin is warm yet he shivers beneath her fingers. He’s looking at her like a blind man who has suddenly, miraculously regained his sight and this is all dazzling and new.
“Too late,” Chloe tells him, “I already have.”
Chloe takes a leap of faith and kisses Lucifer.
Lucifer takes the same leap and catches and kisses her at the same time.
He lifts her bottom off the railing and swiftly turns his back to it, and Chloe needs no coaxing to wrap her legs around him as he returns her kiss wholeheartedly and holds on tight, like he’s determined never to let her go.
“I’ve fallen too,” he says shakily, “from my Father’s Heaven to a better one. You are my Heaven, and my home, Chloe.”
“That’s all I needed to hear.”
When her left hand caresses his cheek, Lucifer stills it with his own, gazes deep into her eyes, and, finding whatever answer or encouragement he needs there, firmly grasps the band of her engagement ring.
Chloe pulls her hand back, and the ring slides right off.
She takes it, bounces it on her palm for a moment, and then flips it over the railing. She’s knows she’ll have to reimburse Pierce for it, that’s only fair, but that’s tomorrow, this is tonight, and making this gesture, expensive and foolish as it is, just feels right.
“Detective!” Lucifer looks both startled and delighted.
“Did you make a wish?” she teases.
“It already came true,” Lucifer answers in all seriousness.
“Mine too,” Chloe says as they smile and lean into each other, forehead to forehead.
As he carries her safely inside the penthouse, the ring plummets like a falling star into the street several storeys below where it is pulverized by the wheels of a big pink bus.
The driver nods, glancing up at the sky with a satisfied smile, as the bus disappears from the earthly plane. All is well, God is in His Heaven, and the Archangel Samael is nesting with his mate in his penthouse in the sky high above Los Angeles, the closest the Devil thinks he can ever get to Heaven. And before the last star fades from the sky, Chloe will know the most important truths, and be sleeping safe and sound, nestled in black silk sheets, strong tan arms, and divine white wings, and Lucifer will know what being loved and desired truly means.