Chapter 4: Best Man

I set the tray down between us.

"Then I'll be in his house," I said, "where I can watch you."

I picked up the cookies and walked out through the front of the bakery, and I didn't look back to see his face.

Holy Rosary was full by ten-thirty.

Old men in the front pews with their hats on their knees.

Their wives in black lace, fanning themselves with the programs.

Half of 5th Street in the back, in their church clothes, because I'd cleaned their teeth.

Carmela walked ahead of me in a red dress, chewing gum until the last possible second.

Nonna walked me up the aisle herself.

She was four foot eleven in her good shoes. She held my arm.

Dom stood at the altar in a black suit.

Nicky stood next to him.

My ex-husband had his hands folded in front of him and a smile on his face.

Nonna stopped at the front pew and looked up at Dom for a long time.

"You were a thief at eight," she told him, loud enough for the first four rows. "Don't be one now."

"No, Signora."

She put my hand in his.

His palm was dry. Mine wasn't.

The priest went fast. I think somebody had told him to.

When he asked for the rings, Nicky took them out of his pocket and held them on his flat palm, out toward me.

His late mother's ring, and a plain gold band.

"Here you go," he said, so only the three of us heard. "Try not to drop this one."

Dom took the rings without looking at his son.

He slid his wife's ring onto my finger. It was loose. He held it there with his thumb while I said the words.

"I do."

"I do," he said.

The priest said he could kiss the bride.

I'd expected his mouth on my cheek. Something for the old men to see.

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