Chapter 23: The Second Wedding

The second wedding had thirty chairs, one arch and no phones.

Helen had asked every guest to leave theirs in a basket at the gate.

The housekeeper stood over the basket with a dish towel.

I walked down the garden aisle at six in the evening.

My dress came from a shop that did not use the word Vera, and I had chosen it myself.

It had sleeves, a zipper that worked and a pocket for my pink pen.

My mother sat in the front row, in a wide white hat, crying into a handkerchief with her whole body.

Helen sat beside her, holding her hand.

Anders's father sat on the other side, in his wheelchair, in a gray suit.

The watch was on my wrist, and he winked at me as I passed.

The officiant was the same man who had married us the first time, a round man with a cough.

He looked at Anders, who was standing under the arch with his shoulders straight, and his face lit up.

"Anders Carrow," said the officiant, loudly, to the garden. "I've been wanting to say that name for three weeks."

Tobin was the best man.

He wore a clean black suit and held the rings on a small velvet cushion, and he had not said a word to anyone since the car.

I took my place on Anders's left, beside the one I want.

"Dearly beloved," said the officiant, and coughed.

The vows came after the rings.

I had written mine on an index card, because I write everything on an index card.

I read it standing in the grass with Anders's hands around mine.

"One," I said. "I will go first when it matters."

"Two. I will go second when it's nice."

"Three. I will grade you every day for the rest of my life, and I'll never give you less than a hundred, because I'm not going to lie in writing."

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