Page 15 of Downfall

I smile at the thought of Marjorie’s eighty-year-old husband showing up outside the courthouse in his Pontiac to whisk me off to safety.

“Maybe. Depends on how this next part goes,” I answer honestly, and Marge’s eyes widen. She must not have checked her work email over the weekend. According to my interview with her for the article, she gets notified of all of the online marriage licenses so she can print out official copies, file them, and send them to the newlyweds.

“Marge.” I lean in a little closer even though I’m the only one in the office. “I sort of got married last night using the new online system.”

Her eyes go wide, and I think for a moment she might fall out of her chair, but then the biggest smile spreads across her face. “Oh, heavens! That’s great news. I thought you were going to tell me you got caught up in one of those pyramid schemes.” She pushes her glasses back up. “I had no idea you were even seeing someone,” she says as she clicks around on her screen. “Let me see here.” She leans in close until her eyes are almost flush against the monitor. “Declan Astor? Sounds hot.”

“Marjorie!” I scold.

“What? Henry gets it. We both have our hall passes, you know.” Oh my God. Who taught her that word? “Anyway, this is pretty shocking news.” She looks me up and down. “You were giving off single vibes, dear. Just the other day, I told Henry that you were too pretty to die alone in that little cottage. We were even going to set you up with our nephew, Clyde. He just got that new job at the cemetery, and he’s hoping to move out of my sister’s basement by the end of the month, but I guess that ship has sailed, huh?”

“I’d say so. Listen, Marjorie.”

“Marge, honey. Call me Marge.”

“Marge. It was a mistake.”

“A mistake? With the license?” She looks back at her computer, adjusting her glasses. “Everything looks right on my end. Did you spell his name wrong?”

“No, I mean the marriage was a mistake.”

She looks at me for a few pregnant seconds, narrowing her eyes before glancing back at the screen. “But you uploaded your license. E-signed the disclosures. It’s all here.”

“I know. It’s a long story, but the bottom line is that I didn’t mean to submit the marriage license request.”

“Oh, honey. It’s not a request. It’s a legal marriage.”

“Right, that’s what I meant. Anyway, if you could just reverse it, I’ll be out of your hair.”

Marjorie, the sweet woman that she is, at least attempts to keep the pity out of her soft blue eyes as she sets aside her glasses. “Skylar, dear.” She speaks softly, not in a condescending way, but a little like she’s dealing with a toddler on the verge of a meltdown. “There were several disclosures.”

“I know, but it changed,” I argue. “There used to be another page after the initial submission where you had to upload a video.”

“Oh, yes. Apparently there were some complaints about that being confusing. Didn’t you see the warning in large font at the bottom regarding the change? I told them to write it in red. Was it not in red?”

The letters could have jumped off my phone screen and hit me in the head for all the attention I was paying. There was only one thing on my mind. Press submit. Watch him squirm. Except he didn’t squirm, and I’m the one who fainted.

“I don’t⁠—”

“Look, Skylar. You know I would damn it all to hell and delete this from the system for you if that were all there was to it, but this license was automatically sent to the county recorder and the state marriage board. My hands are tied.”

As I nod, I can already feel the pressure behind my eyes building, but I refuse to cry. Not about this.

“Do you know him well?” Marjorie’s voice echoes in the otherwise empty office.

“Yeah, I guess. He’s…an old friend from high school.”

“I see.”

“Is that bad?”

“Not bad, per se, but if you could prove he was a stranger when you married him, that might help an annulment case.”

My heart swells with relief at that word. There’s still a chance I can erase this. That’s what an annulment is, right? A clean slate?

“So I can get an annulment?” I ask her. “I wasn’t sure if Connecticut even had that option.”

“Annulments are legal in Connecticut, but I’ve heard they’re hard to get. You have to prove it was fraud, coercion, or incapacity. I’m no lawyer, but I did my homework after the fourth couple came in claiming they got drunkenly married. Apparently, intoxication is usually not enough.”