by Jim Cangany
"I do."
"Annie, E.J. has spoken of his honest love and devotion to you. I think we've all seen it. Do you, Annie, take E.J. to be your lawfully-wedded husband?"
"I do."
"Then by the power vested in me before God and the State of Indiana, I now pronounce husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."
I took Annie in my arms and brought her lips to mine. Fireworks went off inside me when I kissed, for the first time, Mrs. Annie McCarty. When our lips parted, she gave me a wink that sent my heart into the stratosphere.
Gloria turned us toward the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, it is my distinct honor and privilege to present to you, Annie and E.J. McCarty."
The crowd stood and applauded while the Downtowners broke into an upbeat instrumental tune. As we took our first steps down that aisle and into our undiscovered country as husband and wife, I leaned toward Annie.
"Think you're ready to have your happily ever after?"
She looked at me, a tear in her eye to match her heart-melting smile.
"Not my happily ever after, dear husband. Our happily ever after. And yes. Yes, I am."
Epilogue
I looked up from my book as Annie came bustling out of the bathroom.
"All right, I'm ready, I think." She kissed me on the cheek. Even after all these years, I still felt a jolt of electricity go through me when she did that.
The weather had broken into a perfect late April afternoon—abundant sunshine mixed with a few puffy clouds. Annie couldn't keep still as I drove us from our hotel to the Indiana University Women's Little 500 Bicycle Race. I had countless fond memories of when I'd competed in the men's event and was thrilled to see it evolve into a family tradition.
Between Annie's incessant hand wringing and blouse smoothing, in all our time together, over twenty-seven years now, I'd never seen her so worked up.
"Good Lord, E.J. I still can't believe my little boy is singing the National Anthem."
I patted her on the thigh. "I know. You don't think it could have anything to do with the fact his debut album's coming out next month?"
"My son, the jazz artist." She rummaged around in her purse and pulled out a tissue. "I'm so proud of him I don't know whether I want to cry or do a cartwheel."
We drove in silence. With the convertible top down, the breeze mingled with the sunshine to create a concoction of spring bliss. Once we were parked, I went to push the button to close the roof. Annie took my hand. "Let's leave the top down, yes? It's such a beautiful day. It reminds me of a certain day a long time ago back in Malibu, and I'm just..." She shook her head. "This is too much. Where's the camera?"
I came around and opened her door with one hand while I displayed the camera with the other. "It's right here. It's got full power, so you'll be able to take as many pictures as you want."
She took the camera, and with style and grace undiminished by the years, slipped out of the BMW with a little bounce in her step. After I pointed out a few landmarks, we began our way toward the stadium. College kids threw Frisbees while parents grilled burgers and dogs. Caught up in the carnival-like atmosphere, Annie stopped and snapped a picture every ten or fifteen feet. She even intercepted a Frisbee and tossed it back with a "Yeah, baby!"
A stone's throw from the stadium entrance, she came to a halt, her eyebrows furrowed. "Audrey did make the final selection, yes?"
I showed her the roster of the young ladies competing in the race and pointed to our daughter's name. "Yes. She let me know yesterday. You need to keep in mind that since she's just a freshman, she'll probably be on the track less than any of her teammates. Don't be disappointed if she doesn't get a ton of laps in, okay?"
Annie took me by the arm, and we resumed our walk. "Nothing could disappoint me today. Between the weather and the kids, we're the luckiest people on Earth."
Once inside the stadium, we weaved our way to our seats, blissfully anonymous. Just a couple of fifty-something-year-old parents. Not a world famous musician, even if she was semi-retired, and her bike shop owner husband. As the time drew near for the race to start, Annie couldn't stop adjusting the camera settings and I couldn't keep seated.
The announcer's voice boomed over the P.A. system, welcoming the twenty thousand fans to the Women's Little 500 Bike Race.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen, please rise for our National Anthem, being performed by national recording artist, and our very own Indiana University School of Music graduate, Frederick McCarty."
I directed Annie to the spot in the infield where our son, whom everyone said was a carbon copy of me, down to the unruly hair, began to sing. His voice was naturally lower-pitched than Annie's, and a little bit more refined, a result of his years studying and performing jazz. The a cappella performance brought tears to our eyes. We hugged each other, oblivious of everyone and everything else around us. When Freddie finished, he bowed, waved at the crowd and blew a kiss in our direction. Annie returned the gesture.
"Oh, E.J., he's so handsome." Annie wiped away a tear.
"And an amazing singer, just like you."
She elbowed me. "You old charmer. So where's Audrey?"
I pointed out the pit box to which Audrey's team had been assigned. She was one of four riders in matching bright orange jerseys who would take turns racing a total of two hundred laps around the quarter-mile track. Audrey and two other riders were in the pit with a mechanic.
The fourth rider had mounted the team's single speed racing bike and was pedaling around the track with thirty-two other riders on the parade lap. Just like the Indianapolis 500, the riders were organized into eleven rows of three. The pace picked up as the riders crossed the start/finish line and the pace lap began.
As the thirty-three riders, clad in jerseys covering every color of the rainbow, pedaled around the fourth turn, the crowd rose in a wave of sound and color that sent shivers down my spine. The green flag dropped and the racers accelerated to full speed. Before we knew it, they were already into the second turn of the cinder track. The roar from the cheering crowd was as deafening as the sky was blue.
The laps took less than a minute to complete and the riders who had started the race began to come in to the pits, where they were relieved by fresh riders. I put my arm around Annie when Audrey stood, took a couple of steps toward the track and raised her hand. Her teammate slipped out of the pack and came around wide. She hit the brakes, dismounted, and handed the bike over to Audrey. Our daughter grabbed the handlebars, took a few steps and hopped on the bike without breaking stride. She was pedaling like an angry bear was chasing her in a matter of seconds.
"Flawless," I said, bursting with pride at the exchange I'd taught her team.
Annie leaned forward, taking picture after picture of our daughter as she worked to catch up to the other riders.
"Here she comes, here she comes." Annie bounced on her toes as Audrey flashed by us and melded into the peloton.
"Go Audrey, go!" she shouted.
With a joy-filled laugh, I turned to Annie. She rewarded me with the smile that had, still did, and always would, melt my heart. Our eyes locked for a heartbeat before she winked at me and turned her attention back to the race and our daughter, shouting more words of encouragement.
In that moment I knew, with all my heart and all my soul, that yes, through it all—the hopes and the fears, the laughter and the tears, the cheers and the jeers—together, we'd completed our journey to the undiscovered country and arrived at our happily ever after.
And our dreams had come true.
THE END
About the Author
A lifelong resident of the State of Indiana, Jim Cangany is proud to call himself a Hoosier. The youngest of eight children, he grew up in a household full of books and people. Thanks to the influence of his older siblings, Jim gravitated toward fantasy and sci-fi when looking for something to read. He wrote his first story at age fourteen. A school project, The Magic Coin was a fantasy that involved a king, some bad guys, and,
not surprisingly, a magical token.
These days, Jim writes romance on the sweet end. If you ask him what is a guy like him is doing writing romance, he'll reply, "Those are the stories in my head." A believer that the world has enough doom and gloom, he likes stories with a happy ending, regardless of genre. He lives in Indianapolis with his wonderful wife Nancy and his two sons, Seamus and Aidan.
* * * *
Uncial Press brings you extraordinary fiction, non-fiction and poetry. Put a world of reading in your pocket.
www.uncialpress.com
Table of Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Epilogue
About the Author
