[*]
When Shannon burst into the tent, Sayid was sitting and whittling away furiously at a piece of wood. She had no idea what he might be carving; indeed, he did not appear to be carving anything useful, and the light was far too dim for him to really see what he was doing. He was probably just trying to busy himself while he waited for her to cool down. He looked worried and irritated all at once.
"I want a divorce," she announced.
The blade of the knife stopped halfway down the wooden object. Sayid looked up slowly. She was laughing. Silently, but she was laughing. Soon enough, he was laughing too.
Her smile faded and her eyes darkened. "I'm still angry at you, you know."
"Sit down, Shannon, please." She did. He put down the wood and the knife and said, "It was wrong of me to presume…that is…well, Shannon, to me, as far as I am concerned, I am committed to you for life, and that is really no different than marriage. But I know you do not see it that way. And I know you have not been regarding me as a husband. I have meant to do the customary thing, but in our situation, I cannot conceive of how to do it properly."
She looked at him in stony silence.
"Will you marry me?"
"Not unless you come up with a better way to propose than that," she said.
"Very well. Then can we at least call a truce and go back to the way things were?"
"Sayid!"
"What can I do, Shannon? What would you have me do? Whatever you want me to say, I will say it."
"It doesn't work that way."
"How does it work? Tell me."
"Damnit, Sayid." She stood up and began to walk away.
He followed and embraced her from behind, drawing her back against him. He spoke softly into her ear. "Do not walk out on me, Shannon. Please give me time, and I will make things right."
She wanted to resist, to draw out the argument longer…not because she wouldn't eventually end it-she had every intention of reconciling—but because she wasn't quite ready to lay down her gloves. She wanted to make a point. But was that really necessary? Probably not, and what was more, he was now kissing that spot on her neck, that particular spot, the one that made it very difficult for her to breathe…
"Shannon…" His breath was hot against her neck, her ear, "Shannon, I beg you…"
She turned and let herself be swept into his embrace, into his deepening kiss. She was an experienced woman, and sex had once been something of a game to her: she had often thought of attaining some goal, that is, of extracting something from her lover once she had ensnared him with her flesh. But there was no goal with Sayid, no prize to be wrested from him, there was only the heat of his embrace, the strong feel of his body against hers, the excitement of his touch, and at last the pleasure of yielding herself to him.
Here—only here in the tent her lover had built for her with his own hands—was pleasure to be found not in victory, but in surrender.
A week passed, and Sayid had mentioned nothing of marriage. Shannon began to wonder if he had finally asked himself, "Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?"
But then she thought, How would things change if we did officially marry?He could not treat her with anymore tenderness, any more passion, or any more loyalty. He already slept by her side every night, sought to protect her, and strove to build for her their own little paradise in the midst of a weary and frightening world. He had been a husband to her. How could she not have seen that?
I'll tell him tonight, she thought, that I, too, consider us married. But he did not give her the chance. Instead he walked by her on the beach and commanded, "Follow me," drawing a few steps ahead of her.
"Where are we going?" she asked with excitement, recalling the last time he had led her to a surprise.
"You will see."
Soon, she recognized the path, and they found themselves on that same stretch of beach where they had once picnicked together, where she had told him that she did not want to go back. The same canvas had been spread, decorated more beautifully this time: no fruit, but there were flowers scattered everywhere, and in the midst of the blanket rested a graceful wooden chest.
"Where did you…what is it?" she asked.
"It is…what do you call it? A hope chest. I built it for you. Look inside."
Eagerly she walked to the blanket and kneeled before the chest. He came and stood across from her and watched her reaction. She lifted the lid slowly, and just as slowly she reached inside and pulled out its contents.
"I do not know how Rose did it," he said, sounding very much unlike himself, talking not in calm and measured tones, but quickly, nervously. "But she did…she used to make all of her nieces' clothes. She used three different dresses, and I brought her one of yours as a model. I hope it fits."
She took the gorgeous dress into her hands and spread it over her arms; she saw it trail beautifully across the blanket. Although it was multicolored, and not white, it looked very much like a …
"I thought," he said, very quietly, "I thought you could wear it when you marry me. That is, if you wish to marry me." And that was when he fell to one knee before her. "This is how they do it where you are from, yes?" he asked.
She could only smile in response.
He took the dress from her and placed it back into the chest. He then took both of her hands into his own. "Shannon, I have no speech, but I have a hope. Will you marry me?"
[*]
The old Shannon had manufactured tears often enough when she thought she could gain something by them. But now natural, quiet, unpretentious tears of joy fell lavishly down her cheeks, and she leaned in and kissed him gratefully.
She pulled away and asked, "How…how will we do it?"
"So that is a yes?"
"Oh, yes," she said, laughing as she realized she had not actually answered him.
"Well, if tomorrow evening is not too soon…"
"It's not," she said quickly.
"Jack has called our monthly meeting. I thought we could announce it then to everyone present and ask them to be witness to our vows. I have already asked Charlie if he would perform the ceremony. He was a regular altar boy and he knows the litany. I thought you would want something traditional, and the form does not matter to me. You can discuss it with him tomorrow morning."
"So am I the last to know about our wedding?" she asked, glancing at the dress Rose had made at Sayid's request.
"Only Rose and Charlie know. And Claire. Charlie couldn't keep from telling her. Oh, and yes, Sawyer."
"Sawyer?"
"Where else could I get this?" he asked, and pulled out a simple yet elegant ring. It sparkled in the flame of the torches with which he had lined the blanket.
Her first reaction was pleasure, but then she involuntarily shuddered. Was he giving her some dead woman's engagement ring?
He saw the disgust begin to creep into her eyes, and he said hastily, "No, I have made it, Shannon. See, the ring itself is wood—wood I carved. Only the stones are borrowed…only the stones, and they came from a pair of Sawyer's own cufflinks."
"Sawyer's?"
"Apparently his…profession occasionally required him to dress quite well."
"And he gave them to you?"
"What use has he for diamonds on an island?"
"What did he demand in return?"
"An IOU. If ever we get off this island, I will be in debt to him for some years."
Shannon smiled and held out her hand to receive the ring. She could not believe he had managed to carve such a perfect circle. It was thicker than an engagement band would normally be, but it was beautiful nonetheless.
"Sun will be my maid of honor," Shannon said. "And who will be your best man?"
"My best man?"
"Yes. You have to have someone stand up with you, hold the rings…well, if there are rings. At least stand up with you."
"And make sure I go through with it?" He smiled broadly.
"It's tradition, Sayid."
"If it pleases you, I will find a best man." He spoke with confidence, but he did not really have a friend on the island. He had always gotten along well enough with most of the men—excepting Sawyer, of course—but he had never been particularly close to any of them. He couldn't imagine whom he should ask.
"Who?" she asked.
"Do not worry," he said casually. "I will have someone by tomorrow evening. You just show up in that dress."
When Shannon told Sun about their plans to wed and asked her to stand with her, Sun embraced her happily. And then she did something that shocked Shannon. She took her own wedding ring from her finger and placed it in Shannon's unwilling palm. She closed Shannon's fingers over it. "Jin will give Sayid his," she said.
"No, no, Sun, we could not possibly-"
"You can, and you will. Jin and I no longer need this reminder. But you are to be newlyweds…you deserve some symbol of your happiness on this island, Shannon. Please, please take it."
She protested, but Sun at last convinced her to accept the gift.
When the time for the evening meeting arrived, Sayid had misplaced his shoe.
"Hurry up!" Shannon demanded grouchily. Their plan had been to show up prepared to wed, announce their intentions, and ask the group to serve as witnesses. The wedding could then be performed on the spot. After all, Charlie and Sun were already prepared to play their parts. But it would be very awkward if she showed up in a fancy dress after the meeting had already started and if she had to wait for a pause in the proceedings before Sayid could announce their intentions. "We're going to be late."
"I know it is here somewhere," he said.
"Where'd you get the coat?" she asked. It didn't exactly match his shirt, but it was more formal than anything else he'd ever worn on the island, and he looked rather handsome in it.
"Sawyer," he said. "This is the suit he wore with those cufflinks…well, the coat, anyway. The shirt was ruined; the pants did not fit. Ah…here it is."
He put on his missing shoe and they hurried toward the meeting. Shannon thought he was rather under eager as he seemed to be dragging his feet the entire way.
However, she soon discovered the reason for his delay. When they walked up to the group, they were met with applause. Shannon was startled, but Sayid seemed nonplussed. That was when she realized that all of the people were standing in two groups, parted from one another, forming a human aisle. Torches had been erected along both sides to light the way. Flower petals were strewn across the sandy aisle, and Charlie stood at the front of the parted group, his guitar strapped around his neck.
"Sayid," Charlie said and used his head to gesture the groom forward. Sayid came and stood at the front of the human aisle, and Shannon felt Sun draw up next to her.
"When Charlie starts playing, you start walking," Sun said, and then the strains of "Here Comes the Bride" began to flow from Charlie's guitar.
Shannon, giddy with excitement and still whirling from the surprise, began to walk down the aisle. It was then that she saw Sayid's best man standing behind him.
"Sawyer?"she mouthed silently.
She shot Sayid a questioning glance, and he shrugged his shoulders in reply. She then caught Sawyer's eye, and he gave her a little wink, half-lecherous, half-affectionate. But then he smiled—not that wise, sarcastic smile, but the only genuine smile she had ever seen him flash-and she thought he looked almost like a gentleman. Almost. He was wearing the suit pants that didn't fit Sayid, along with a white T-shirt. It would do.
When their vows had been exchanged, and they had slipped their borrowed rings upon one another's fingers, Charlie announced that Sayid could kiss his bride. When their lips parted, so did their witnesses, to reveal on either side behind them an array of food gathered from the island. And so the reception began.
The happy pair mingled and received congratulations, but soon Shannon had slipped over to find Charlie. Sayid heard her whisper, "Can you play that old tune…" but then he did not hear her again until she had begun to sing.
He stood mesmerized by her voice, moved by its quiet depths. The words to her song—which were about finding love in the midst of violence, an oasis in the midst of a desert, and contentment in a world of unrest—stirred him still more.
When she had finished and had retreated some distance from the crowd, he approached her and kissed her lightly on her exposed shoulder. "Your singing, Shannon…it is so very…you should sing for me more often."
"I will," she said and kissed his cheek.
"I have never heard that song. What was it?"
"The tune is an old British folk song. But the words…" She looked away almost sheepishly. "I wrote the words."
"You did?"
She nodded. "You think them silly."
"No, no, not at all. Far from it. I was moved."
"You were?"
"I was," he said, and he claimed her lips.
His kiss deepened suggestively and she drew slightly away from him. "Sayid, we're still in public."
He glanced at the party, who were enjoying one of those rare happy times on the island. "No one will notice," he said, "if we slip away now."
"Do you want to?"
He took her hand and kissed it, and then tugged at it gently until he had pulled her into his open arms. He trailed kisses down her neck to her shoulder, and then back up to her ear, where he whispered, "Come with me, Shannon. I want to make love to my wife."
Hand in hand, they slipped away under the cover of darkness, determined to create their own light.
The End
