The Colonel Gave My Wedding to His Sick Sister novel · Chapter 24 of 24
Chapter 24: Chin Up
On the morning of my wedding I woke up in Gran's house in my own bed, and nobody had to carry me anywhere.
The sun came through the curtains at seven.
I lay and listened to the house.
Gran was banging pans in the kitchen, and a baby was complaining, and Livia was singing to her in a low, cracked voice.
I got up on my own two feet.
Gran had banned Kirk from the house until noon, so he had been parked at the end of the drive in his car since six.
I went out in my robe and walked down to the gravel with my arms folded.
He rolled the window down.
"I'm not here," he said. "I'm a rumor."
"You're a general in a sedan."
"I brought you something."
He held out a paper cup.
It was white, with a plastic lid and a cardboard sleeve.
I took it, and I looked at him.
"I stood at the cart and watched her pour it," Kirk said. "I put the lid on myself. I carried it here in my own hands, and it has not left my sight."
I took a sip.
It was only coffee.
It was hot and bitter and perfect, and for a second I had to look at the cornfield.
"Thank you," I said.
"Drink the whole thing."
"I'm going to."
I finished it standing at his car window in the morning light.
Then I leaned in through the window and kissed him, and Gran shouted from the porch that she could see everything.
The portraits were at nine, on the church lawn.
The photographer came back for them, the same man, in the same wrinkled jacket.
He had asked for no fee.
He set up the white bench in the sun, the same one, and he stood a long moment with his camera down.
"Miss Phelps," he said. "I looked at the ground that morning. I've been looking at it ever since."
"You kept the second card."
"I did, and I'd do it again."
"Then you did your job," I said. "Take my picture."
I sat on the bench in my own gown.
It was ivory silk with long sleeves, a plain neckline and a small train, and I had picked it with Gran, who cried in the fitting room and then denied it.
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