Chapter 31: The Dress

Dad's first try was that afternoon.

He stood in the doorway of the shop without the cane, and looked down Taylor Street toward the church.

"How far is it?" he said.

"Two blocks and a half."

"The aisle, Lulu. How far is the aisle?"

Damiano knew. He'd measured it that morning, with a tape and the priest watching him.

"Sixty-one feet," he said. "From the back pew to the altar rail. There's a step at the end."

"A step," Dad said.

"One. Six inches."

"Then I'll practice on the curb."

He practiced every evening for seven weeks, with Damiano one step to his left and his hands in his pockets.

He never touched him.

On the second Thursday, he fell.

Halfway to the barber, his left foot caught the seam in the sidewalk.

He went down on one knee, hard.

Damiano was crouched beside him with his hand out.

Dad looked at the hand.

"Don't," he said.

Damiano took it back.

Dad put his good hand flat on the sidewalk and pushed.

It took him almost a minute.

Nobody on Taylor Street moved the whole time.

Then he was up, and the barber started clapping, and so did everyone else.

"Sixty-one feet," he said to Damiano. "With a step."

"With a step, sir."

"Tomorrow we do the step."

I made my wedding dress in the shop at night, after closing.

I'd hired the bride by then. She had good hands and a better temper.

She was the one who caught Damiano at the door on the third night.

"No," she said, and stood in the doorway with her arms crossed. "Absolutely not. Go home."

"I just want to drop off dinner."

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