Chapter 6: What Forty-Three Years Looks Like
We stayed in the church for another hour.
Arthur talked.
Mom talked.
Sometimes I asked questions and sometimes I just listened.
The afternoon light moved slowly across the floor as the sun shifted outside, the blue and gold shapes sliding from the front pews toward the back.
I learned that Arthur had three children of his own — all grown, all living in different states.
That he'd been a widower for six years.
That he'd driven four hours that morning to be here, because he didn't trust himself to arrive on time if he left any later.
"You drove four hours?" I said.
"Five, with the traffic." He almost smiled.
"I left at five in the morning."
"Dad would have done the same thing," I said.
"I know.
We're alike in more ways than I care to admit."
Mom laughed at that — a real laugh, soft and sudden.
It was the first time I'd heard her laugh since the funeral.
Arthur looked at her when she laughed.
Something in his face relaxed.
"She used to laugh just like that," he said to me, quietly.
"Your grandmother.
His mother.
Same sound."
Mom looked surprised.
"He never told me that."
"He probably didn't know how to say it without it coming out strange." Arthur shook his head.
"We were not a family that said things easily.
Your father and I both inherited that.
I'm sorry for it."
"Don't be sorry," Mom said.
"He learned.
Eventually."
"Did he?"
"By the end," she said.
"Yes.
He did."
Arthur nodded slowly, as if that was the answer he'd come hoping to hear.
On the drive home, Mom was quiet for the first few minutes.
The dress was still on — she hadn't brought anything to change into, and neither of us had thought to mention it.
"Are you all right?" I finally asked.
"I think so." She kept her eyes on the road.
"Are you angry with him?"
I thought about it honestly.
"Yes.
A little."
"That's fair."
"But I'm not — I don't know.
I thought it was going to be something terrible.
Something that would change how I remembered him."
"And?"
"It changed how I see him," I said.
"But not in the way I was afraid of."
She glanced over at me.
"He was stubborn," I said.
"And proud.
And he waited too long.
But he tried to fix it.
He spent the last twelve years trying to fix it, and then he spent whatever time he had left making sure we'd know."
Mom's hands tightened slightly on the wheel.
"He loved you so much," she said.
"He just didn't always know what to do with it."
"I know." I looked out the window.
"I know he did."
We pulled into her driveway.
She turned off the engine but neither of us moved to get out.
"The house," I said.
"The farmhouse in the photograph.
Do you want to see it?"
She was quiet for a moment.
"Yes," she said.
"I think I do."
"Arthur said he'd take us.
Whenever we're ready."
She looked down at the wedding dress, smoothing a small wrinkle from the skirt with one hand.
"Your father picked this out, you know," she said.
"The dress.
He went with me to every fitting.
He said he wanted to be there because the first time, he hadn't been allowed to see it before the wedding day." She smiled at the memory.
"He cried at every single fitting.
Pretended he had allergies."
I put my hand over hers.
"Why did he want you to wear it today?" I asked.
"Specifically."
She looked up.
"Because he said the dress was the beginning of every good thing in his life," she said.
"And he wanted whatever came next — for both of us — to start from the same place."
May you like
I didn't have an answer for that.
I just held her hand in the driveway until the light started to fade.
