Epilogue
The wedding took place late Thanksgiving Day. Rosie's restaurant had been transformed by flowers, by candles, by room deodorants. Rosie in her white muumuu, a crown of baby's breath in her hair, and William in his tuxedo, stood before Judge Raney, holding hands with tenderness. Their faces were shining. In the candlelight they didn't look young, but they didn't look that old, either. They were glowing, intense… as if burning from within. Everyone seemed to be part of the promises made. Henry, Charlie, Lewis, and Nell, Klotilde in her wheelchair. The terms "for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health" pertained to all of them. They knew what loving and being loved was about. They knew about pain, infirmity, the wisdom of age.
I stood there, thinking about Ray and Laura and Helen, wondering where they'd gone. I know it's absurd, but I found it painful they hadn't cared enough to stick around and see that I was okay. In some curious way, they'd become my family. I'd seen us as a unit, facing adversity together, even if it was only for a matter of days. It's not that I thought we'd go on that way forever, but I would have liked a sense of closure – thanks, fare-thee-well, drop us a line someday.
William and Rosie were pronounced husband and wife. He took her face in his hands, and the kiss they exchanged was as light and sweet as rose petals. Trembling, he whispered, "Oh, my love. I've been waiting all of my life for you."
There wasn't a dry eye in the place, including mine.