“I know nothing,” he said. “I’m useless.”
“Daisy and I have a use for you,” Erik said.
“I can’t get you out of parking tickets or traffic court, I’m sorry.”
“Can you marry us?”
Silence on the other end.
“You there?” Erik said after a moment.
Silence.
“Fred?” Erik looked at Daisy and shrugged. “Hello?”
A scrabble as the phone switched hands. “What the hell did you say to him?” Christine said. “He’s crying.”
“I asked him if he would marry us.”
“Marry…you?”
“Yes. He’s a retired Pennsylvania Justice so he can officiate. At my wedding. To Daisy. In Pennsylvania. So I am asking, would he marry us?”
Silence.
“Mom?” Erik rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Jesus Christ, now she’s crying. Mom. Would you stop?”
“Oh Erik,” Christine said, her voice choked. “You have no idea…”
He smiled. “I know, Mom.”
“You don’t. You don’t know what this means to him. And to me.”
“I do. It takes me a lot of years, but eventually I get it. Now will he?”
“Fred? Will you?”
Fred got back on, clearing his throat. “I’d be honored,” he said.
“You’re listed in the program that way, right? His Honor Fred Williamson?”
“It’s The Honorable Frederick T. Williamsen, punk. With an e-n. Get it right.”
It was a small wedding, sixty guests, but it was everyone and everything they loved. They wanted no grandiose staging, no ring bearers or flower girls. A simple ceremony with Lucky and Will standing up with them. And the father of the bride would not give her away.
“She was yours when you got me down from the roof,” Joe said.
More to the point, the bride and groom had gotten to this day together, goddammit, and they were walking down the goddamn aisle together.
Planning a wedding long-distance while trying to work full-time required massive amounts of organization and trust. Both of which they put in Francine’s hands. She took the large, logistic details in Pennsylvania while Erik and Daisy took care of smaller ones in Canada.
They picked gold bands. Né pour toi was engraved on the inside of Daisy’s. Née pour toi on the inside of Erik’s.
Born for you.
Daisy and Lucky shopped together for a dress. Will supervised Erik’s tux and all the finery was shipped down to La Tarasque. The little party—bride, groom, attendants and children—flew into Philadelphia the Thursday before the wedding.
Vivian would come if her schedule permitted. Mike Pettitte and his wife were definitely coming. The MacIntyres sent their regrets, but Kirsten and Trudy wouldn’t miss it.
Erik sat on the porch Friday afternoon, waiting for the Clayton clan. Squinting under the visor of his hand, looking for the dust cloud that signaled a car coming up the road. Listening for an engine the way a child would listen for sleigh bells on Christmas Eve. Finally they arrived.
Mike parked the rental. The back doors exploded open and two ladies got out. Both white-haired: one had a sharp pixie cut and the other a loose bun. Dressed nicely, looking around, pointing, admiring. And as Erik came down the porch steps and along the flagstone path, they caught hands and stared.
“Hello,” he said, stopping at the path’s edge.
They continued to stare. Mike and his wife hung back by the car, watching.
Erik held still, thinking, please don’t say I look like my father.
“Cripes,” the pixie-cut woman said. “Look at you.”
“Look at me,” he said, bracing himself.
“Unbelievable.” The woman with the bun shook her head, smiling. “You look just like your grandfather.”
The first woman put her hand on her heart. “Doesn’t he?”
The wind ruffled the sleek cap of her hair as she came toward Erik. Her eyes were pale blue. Familiar, but Erik couldn’t say how.
“I’m Aunt Trudy.”
“Of course you are,” Erik said.
“Do you remember us?” Kirsten asked.
“Not exactly,” he said, looking from one to the other. “But I hear I kicked your asses at poker.”
Trudy pointed a finger. “Young man, you owe me ten bucks. With interest.”
Kirsten laughed and held out her arms. “Come hug me before you get shaken down.”
During the rehearsal dinner, which was a casual barbecue at the farmhouse, Erik watched his mother chatting with Vivian, bantering with the two great aunts and howling with laughter when Mike told his stories about her wedding.
Erik’s heart swelled from the presence of his extended kin, and the hope he’d returned to Christine some small, joyful part of the past. To Pete as well, whom Erik spied taking a walk with Kirsten around the gardens, offering his arm or hand when the terrain got rough.
“The greatest aunt in the world,” Mike said, patting Erik’s shoulder as he passed by.
“We may need some