Chapter 24: Four Sentences of Mine

We were married in the yard of St. Brigid's, under the new roof, on a warm Saturday in April.

Forty girls in borrowed dresses sat in the front rows of the folding chairs.

The smallest one held the ring in both hands.

She was the girl from the stairs, and she had told me twice that she was taking this very seriously.

The director sat at the end of the first row in a navy dress with her cardigan folded on her knee.

Next to her sat Adele, upright, in pale linen.

Next to Adele sat Maureen, in the blue dress from the gala, and on the other side of Maureen sat Camille.

Two weeks earlier a judge had given Camille five years of probation and eight hundred hours of community service.

Ronan had stood in that courtroom and told the judge she came back on her own.

Camille had cried the entire time, and she had not looked away.

Gordon had pleaded guilty to obstruction in February.

He had sent me a card, and it was still in its envelope in the kitchen drawer.

Ronan had asked if I wanted it burned, and I had said not yet.

Now she wore a yellow dress and a plain face, and she waved at me with two fingers, and I waved back.

The cello player started something slow.

Nobody had told me how to do the walk.

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