All that mattered to me was that we were together.
At precisely seven, Strings played “Here Comes the Bride” on his guitar.
On her cue, Maggie strolled down the aisle carrying a bouquet of purple lilies. Her robot tracked ahead of her. The funny-looking thing’s crab-cracker arms swung in and out of a bucket, grabbing at pink rose petals. When it occasionally managed to trap a few in its claws, it threw them toward the audience instead of spreading them on the white satin runner.
A slight chuckle carried through the crowd as they watched Maggie and her creation make their way to the wedding arch. Once they arrived, she and the robot stepped off to the side.
I walked Mom down the aisle. She looked as lovely as I’d ever seen her carrying a bouquet of pink roses and purple lilies. She wore an off-white lace dress and had a bow anchored in her curls.
Under the arch, Bobby grinned at Mom. Proud as any man could ever be, he had on jeans, a cowboy hat, boots, and a tux jacket. His daughter, Priscilla, stood beside him, his best woman.
“Who gives this woman to marry this man?” Reverend Fred asked.
“I do!” I said. I walked Mom over, put her hand in Bobby’s and leaned in whispering, “Well, Dad, we’re family now.”
“We’ve been a family all along,” he said, giving me a peck on the cheek. “This just makes it official.”
After the ceremony, we gathered in a large white tent in the field behind the house. Bobby had a dance floor inside. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling along with strings of Maggie’s beloved white Christmas lights sparkling like stars. The tables were set with white tablecloths, crystal and china plates. The waiters wore tuxes, and a country western band invited everyone to dance. They sang of heartbreak and love, family and faith.
While the music pulsed around us, I took two flutes of champagne from a waiter carrying a silver tray and brought them to where Kristilynn Cavanaugh sat in her wheelchair next to the captain and his wife. She had a brace over her broken nose, but the bruises had begun to fade. I gave her one of the glasses, and we toasted.
“To life,” I said.
“And to love,” she answered. “May it always win.”
I wondered if there was a place where love truly ruled, where it was preserved and nurtured. That hadn’t happened for me, at least not romantic love. At least not so far.
Yet I had so much good in my life: the love of my family and the joy of watching my child grow. I watched Mom and Bobby hold each other on the dance floor, whispering and smiling as if they shared a special secret. I hoped they’d found their happily ever after, and I said a silent prayer that the bad times Mom worried about were years away.
Kristilynn and I clinked our glasses again, and she giggled ever so softly. I thought if she, after all she’d suffered, believed in the survival of love, so should I.
And I did.
Tonight I wouldn’t think about my other life, my job, which too often forced me to travel into the depths of evil. This was a brief respite, an evening to cherish. Here with my family, I had light, hope, and the greatest of all, love.
Tomorrow would come soon enough, and with it the darkness.
Acknowledgements
As always, there are many to thank:
Author Christa Allan, who copyedited the manuscript.
Arson Investigator Tommy Cones
FBI Special Agent Richard Rennison
Texas Ranger Lieutenant Wende Wakeman
Retired prosecutor Edward Porter
To my readers: Thank you for your loyalty, and for spreading the word about my books.
To my family and friends. As always, you make it all possible and worthwhile.
About the author
A novelist and an award-winning journalist, Kathryn Casey is the creator of the Sarah Armstrong mystery series and the author of eleven highly acclaimed true crime books. Her first novel, SINGULARITY, was one of Booklist’s best crime novel debuts, and Library Journal chose the third, THE KILLING STORM, as one of the best mysteries of that year. As a magazine journalist, Casey wrote more than a hundred articles, interviewed presidents, first ladies, movie stars, covered everything from the McCaughey Septuplets to sensational murders. True crime matriarch Ann Rule called Casey “one of the best in the true crime genre.” NY Times bestselling author Greg Olson described Casey as “a true crime great.” For more information and to learn about new releases, check out her website: www.kathryncasey.com
Photo courtesy of Lisa Hughes photography
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