degree after all,” Dylan chuckles. “Of course you are. I knew it all along.”
I didn’t, though. The whole year has been harrowing. And I can’t believe I’ve come out on the other side of it. The paper grows blurry as my eyes fill with grateful tears.
A firm hand lands on the back of my neck and squeezes lightly. It’s Rickie. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to.
He’s just there for me.
Forty-Eight
Rickie
“Alec, receive this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” May slips the ring onto her new husband’s finger.
Father Peters, his job nearly done, smiles gaily at the two of them. “There is no mention in the Catholic liturgy of kissing. However…”
Alec promptly leans in and kisses May, while everyone cheers.
Seriously, the Shipley clan really knows how to throw a wedding. The bridal party is up there looking sharp in a style I’d call Vermont Formal. The three groomsmen are in pressed khakis, crisp blue shirts and matching tawny vests instead of jackets. While the women wear pink dresses that are totally cute but not fussy. Daphne’s long legs are particularly eye-catching in a skirt that ends just above her knees. I heard that there’s dancing later, and I can’t wait to whirl her around in it.
For now, I’m sitting on a pew next to Grandpa, who gave May away at the start of the ceremony. He spent the last half hour mopping tears away with his handkerchief.
Father Peters says one more prayer, although the business of marrying Alec and May is done now. The bride and groom are smiling at each other, hand in hand. And the wedding party looks ready to get to the next part of these festivities. Dylan and Keith stand up from the first pew and pick up their instruments. When Father Peters nods, they begin to play an Irish reel as a recessional.
We all rise, and the bride and groom join hands to lead the way out of the church. It’s slow going, as people keep thumping Alec on the back and blowing kisses at May.
The wedding party is next. Daphne takes the arm of Benito, one of Alec’s three brothers. Then comes Lark, May’s best friend, with Damien, another Rossi brother. Then Audrey Shipley links arms with a man I’ve never seen before. Griffin was supposed to stand up for Alec, too. But at the last minute Alec’s oldest brother turned up in town after a long absence. J.M. is striking, with long, badass hair and a broody look in his eye.
“Well, son. Let’s shake a leg,” Grandpa says when it’s our turn to leave. “I heard there’s bacon-wrapped scallops for the cocktail hour. We could be first in line. Most of these suckers are going to walk down the hill to the bar. But you could drive me in that sweet old Volvo of yours.”
“Yessir,” I say. Because you do not argue with Grandpa Shipley. Not when there’s bacon on the line.
A few hours later I’m sipping a Shipley cider as Daphne pounds a Coke. We’re both full of barbecue and flushed from dancing.
“I heard there’s karaoke next,” I say, teasing my girl.
“You wish,” she says, setting her empty glass down on a tray.
“You’re right.” Instead, the band segues into a slow song. I finish my drink as couples begin to sway to the music. “Is it true that this cider has magical properties?” I ask. They’re serving the Audrey cider at the wedding, which has been rumored to be an aphrodisiac.
“How would we know?” Daphne whispers, sneaking a hand underneath my vintage velvet jacket.
“Good point, baby,” I whisper back. The two nights we’ve spent in her childhood bedroom have been our longest dry spell in months. “Although others may be affected.”
We scan the room full of slow-dancers. The bride and groom are dancing together and laughing about something. Griffin is dipping Audrey while she giggles. Dylan and Chastity are staring meaningfully into each other’s eyes. Her grandpa is dancing with the woman who may or may not have kept him company on the truck’s heated seats.
Even Ruth Shipley is out there, dancing with Gil, the same man who accompanied her the night we bumped into them at the noodle shop. They’re a couple now. “But taking it slowly,” Ruth had explained over the holidays. He’s a nice man, too. Even Daphne thinks so.
“Baby, dance with me?” I ask, closing a hand around hers.