Chapter 12

Meg fixed them supper, hot dogs and rolls with red cabbage out of a can plus a leafy salad with tomatoes and carrots. She had been cleaning out his refrigerator. He told her about Joe Shorts and his mother and their grand home and various antiques, big lawn and old trees.

"She looks, I don't know, fragile, very thin. She's a worrier, a stylish worrier, a Jewish mother." He laughed. "You know what I mean."

"All mothers are worriers, it's part of the package. Perfectly normal."

"His father may call me. I left my number."

"I changed mine at school. Miss Price didn't bat an eye." She grinned at him.

"Shall we get married?" he asked quietly, leaning back and smiling at her. "You know I love you." He blinked at her, hesitating. "Well, don't you?"

"No, thanks, fine proposal, sir, if a bit on the plain side, but I think I'd rather live in sin for a while, new experience. They still call it that? What's better for income tax? How old are you anyhow?"

"Joint filing is better I think. My wife did all that. Recently I just hired an accountant." He smiled at her. "I'm a hundred and two, I think, most days, lately a bit less. Creaky you might say. Uninsurable but eager to learn."

"OK, lets, why not, lots of people do, have for some time I'm told, acceptable behavior and all that. We can get married I guess. I mean, why not?" She smiled and took a bite of her hotdog. "Never planned on being one of those old maid school teachers."

"When? Who do you have to tell? You go to church? Shall I ask your father?" Oh damn, again, from deep in his brain came the aching want, the hope commingled with fear. Faith, please, whoever is my god, grant me faith. I beg of you almighty one, please. I can do the rest, but faith I need, everything else rests on that. "Marriage, I read somewhere, is healthy, good for you. Church?"

"Not much. I was a Catholic, but I quit, the abortion fight was too much for me." She had turned away and not seen him close his eyes in silent prayer.

"Civil ceremony then, court house, a JP?" He conjured up a smile, burying his want, his fears. "Maybe on the basketball court, say at halftime."

"No sir, not on your life, you silly man. Hah! I want a church wedding, m'lad, a big one, long white dress, Mendelssohn, flower girls, bride's maids, the whole magillah, lots of presents and a cake, a big cake, rice and tin cans, everything. My folks go to church." She smiled at him. "They can afford it." She paused and closed her eyes. "Oh yes. And a reception, a big party afterwards, a ripsnorter, at the country club I think." She grinned at him. "When's the last time you got drunk?"

"OK, you've got it, whatever you want. Both your parents still alive? We've never talked about this you know?" He had expected that to stir up some demons, but it did not happen. His subconscious was dormant, very unusual. Have to think about that. Something was not right. Or perhaps. He tried to remember the first time, the wedding, the apartment. He could not even recall who had been his best man.

"Yep, both of them. My mother will be overjoyed. She's been saying rosaries, making novenas. Asks me weekly. I'm like Kate in the play, but not the oldest, just the one they were waiting on. Not really patiently either, especially after I got unengaged. It will probably have to be in Mechanicsburg, at St. Joseph's probably, and my father, my poor father will have to foot the bill."

"I'll help."

"You will not. The very idea! Silly man, the bridegroom is an accessory, barely necessary, ornamental, an appendix. You just have to show up properly attired and mumble, looking attentive, subservient."

"I can do that. When? Flower in the lapel? Tux? Tails? What? Can you rent clothes up there?"

"After graduation. Late June I suppose. June's the month to get married in isn't it? The merry month of June."

"Absolutely." It's all going well, it is too well, the calm before what? Hard to believe. Must be doing something right for a change.

"We have to send out invitations, engraved ones, and have parties, lots of parties, and I have to tell my sisters who will be green with envy, both of them. They're teachers, well one's a principal now and the other's in grad school, and they're still trolling."

"That what you call it?"

The phone rang.

He answered and listened. The call lasted two or three minutes, and he said almost nothing except, "Thank you, sir. Yes, I agree. He's a good boy. I hope you can get to a game or two."