He was right. The time between boarding and take-off could certainly be different when flying first-class as opposed to coach. I would have to get used to that. Luke only flew first-class, which made sense of course. Moreover, due to his different needs, the airlines generally preferred to have him board first, and for the same reasons he was also expected to deplane last. All in all there was a lot of hurry-up-to-wait when Luke traveled, but I had the perfect temperament for it; and besides whenever I was with him, to paraphrase the Isley Brothers, there was no place else I would rather be.
“Okay,” I agreed with Luke’s suggestion. “That sounds good.”
“Two sparkling waters,” Luke now said to the attendant, who smiled at us. “One with a lemon slice, please.”
The lemon slice was for me. Luke had always been very good with little details like that. The attendant quickly returned with our drinks and then resumed her other flight-preparation duties.
“To honeymoons,” Luke toasted our trip, tapping his plastic glass to mine.
“That last forever,” I added beaming at him.
The attendant, wearing her own bright smile, peeped around the bulkhead where she had been checking storage space.
“Are you two on your honeymoon?” she eagerly inquired.
“Yes,” Luke and I said in unison and giggled at ourselves.
“Congratulations!” chirped the attendant. “That’s wonderful!”
And unbelievable, and miraculous, and thrilling, and magical, and…and…and…
Almost a year later to the day, from the dinner at St. Ives, Luke and I were on our way to Toronto, to begin my dream vacation, the train trip through the Canadian Rockies. Only I could never have dreamed a trip this wonderful to quote the smiling flight attendant. The name on my passport read: Rachel Marie Sterling. Corrine had already seen to it that new business cards with my new name had been ordered, and my new voter registration card was on its way. Not only did I have a new name, T-T and Agatha, and I had a new home too.
By Sterling standards, Betty’s anyway, our wedding had been a modest affair, but Luke and I had wanted it that way, and together we had held firm when his mother’s ideas had been too over the top for our tastes.
“This time, babe, it’s yours and mine,” he had said to me. “We do it our way.”
“As long as it’s in a church,” I had reminded him, for Mommy’s sake and for mine.
“You don’t think that was ever a question, do you?” he had smiled.
And so we had had our wedding, the one we had longed for and gave up on, the one we both had always wanted. With a color scheme inspired by Claude Monet’s Water Lilies; and Lucas, standing proudly next to his father as the best man and Corrine standing triumphantly next to me as the maid of honor. St. James Baptist Church had been filled with happy people, including Big Daddy and Granny, and all of Luke’s children. As I had come down the aisle, unescorted, and struggling to pace Josephine Garner myself to the classical interpretation of Morning Has Broken instead of skipping merrily, the only person I had seen was Luke, dressed elegantly in a black tuxedo and rich indigo-colored shirt, which was also the color of Corrine’s maid-of-honor dress because I had been careful to select a color that would suit them both.
My own dress had been the color of pale ivory, not white, even though I had felt as giddy with excitement and anticipation as a young virginal maiden. The dress had a deep scoop neckline that revealed most of my shoulders, my conservative nod to the current fashion of strapless wedding gowns which I considered to be too immodest for my fuller figure. The style had been a simple A-line, floor-length, suiting my kitten-heel pumps that had been dyed to match the dress.
To the great frustration of both Mommy and Corrine I had shopped for and selected my dress alone. To me it had been a sacred act, a private thank-you prayer for only God to hear. I had even shooed away the very officious-overly-helpful sales associates and bridal consultants, who had been unable to fathom that I had had no entourage to help me. When Luke, taking my hands into his, had leaned forward to whisper, “You look like an angel,” well, that had been approval enough.
A little velvet-covered bench had been placed at the altar for me to use, so that when Luke and I had exchanged our vows we had been able to look at each other levelly, while Reverend Milton had towered over us decked-out in his full clergy regalia, because after all the lieutenant governor had been one of the wedding guests, on the Sterling side of the church of course.
Once Betty understood that whether she liked it or not, her only child would have the woman he loved, then she had resigned herself to that fact, with not a little help from Aunt Dot and Thomas. Mommy had had to do the same.
“At least I know he can provide for you,” she had said.
“We’ll provide for each other,” I had replied.
Now Luke and I were leaving for our honeymoon.
“Thanks,” Luke replied to the flight attendant as he threaded his strong fingers through mine.
What God has joined together…Yes, I had heard those words before, and once when I had thought I might lay down and die, but now they were as sure to me as the promise of Redemption. Faith was the substance of things hoped for, even when it seemed there was no hope at all. By faith you could walk on water.
“Toronto is so romantic,” the attendant was saying. “You’re going to love it!”
“We start in Toronto,” I explained. “And finish in Vancouver. We’re taking the train across Canada.”
“Oh it should be gorgeous this time of year,” enthused the attendant.
“Most people would go for cruises in the Mediterranean,” Luke said. “But not my wife. She wants mountain peaks and autumn leaves.”
My wife.
From now on the words would fill me with brilliant yellow butterflies when Luke spoke them. I had gone beyond walking on water. I was floating in air, on a juniper breeze.
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Walk on Water Page 28
