The clouds are the picture kind. I see a woman’s long, lean profile lounging within one. I see a house with a chimney billowing friendly smoke plumes that are made up of other clouds. I see a fat, healthy baby. I stop cloud-watching when Taylor reaches out and touches my elbow. I look up and catch my breath.
I used to think that if a moment in my life were ever truly perfect, I could say, Okay, that’s it, that’s all I needed and I can die now. If this is my time, I won’t argue. But that was bullshit.
Gwen waves from far up the path, holding on to her dad’s arm. Her white satin dress moves in the slight breeze. She looks like an angel.
She smiles at me. There has never been a moment in my life quite like this one, and I know that if my number was called right now, I’d put up one hell of a fight.
She wanted the wedding here at Riveredge Park. It has always been a special place to us, though we didn’t come here all that often, each time was meaningful somehow. Our invitation had the picture she’d drawn of us here on the back, a contemporary photograph of us here on the cover. The words: A celebration of love formed a simple frame.
Everything about today is simple. We kept the guest list small and I called on a few of my connections to keep this section of the park free from curiosity seekers or reporters.
My family takes up most of the seats. Siler and Janet and their sons sit with my mom and her boyfriend Caleb in the front row. My other brothers and their wives sit in the next row, and several cousins fill in behind. Jessie and Jack brought Jessie’s mother Pinky along, and the ancient lady’s indelicate snoring is like a dueling banjo against Armand’s sobs across the aisle. He sits close to Caroline Penny and her family like he belongs with them. Irene holds hands in the back row with a marathoner she’s been bragging about the past few Friday mornings. I’m happy for her. I’m happy for all of us
Gwen’s niece Leah and my lispy niece Crane share the flower girl honors. Taylor stands sturdily beside me. Megan marched up ahead of Gwen, crying as if they’ve always been best friends, though last night they insulted each other and I bet they will at the reception as well.
Gordy Golden gives me a solemn nod as he and Gwen reach the place where I stand waiting. I offer her my free arm. As she takes hold, I feel the coolness of her silk glove on my hand.
She leans in close and whispers, “I wished for you.”
I think of all the years, and pain, and regret, and longing, and healing since I last heard Gwen say those words to me. I have to stop for a moment to collect myself. My emotions run closer to the surface since the accident, as I may have already mentioned.
I have to take my hand away from Gwen to reach for a handkerchief in my pocket. I wipe my eyes. She waits. Everyone waits. I’m not mortified by embarrassment, I’m simply living this moment, the best of my life so far. It fills me up; I have no time or room for anything else.
When I’m able, I look at Gwen. She smiles and I smile back, and we take a tighter hold of each other. Together we turn to face the minister standing in front of a gnarled old oak.
Acknowledgments
Thanks to Joe Veltre and Alice Lawson from the Gersh Agency for believing in my work and finding me a comfortable home at Diversion Books. I will always be grateful.
Thanks to Randall Klein—a funny, perceptive, and wise editor—and the rest of the excellent Diversion Books team.
Thanks to Mary Jane and Bob Michael, my amazing parents. As the ninth of ten children, I’d like to particularly thank them for being such good Catholics. They raised us with laughter, and allowed each of us to be who we are.
Thanks to Abby, Abe, and Anna for cracking me up, trying my patience, and making life an adventure. They are loved beyond measure.
Thanks to Paul, for everything.
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