So there they all were, gathered around the minister and Jimmy Joe, and all laughing and smiling just like it was a family picnic or something. And then they all watched as their parents came down the aisle, Mirabella’s dad with her mom on his arm, Jimmy Joe’s mama helping her mama, Granny Calhoun, along. It was the way Mirabella had wanted it, all the families together, and Troy thought it was just the way it oughta be. He was already starting to get a lump in his throat and a crowded feeling in his chest he thought could have been happiness, if there hadn’t been something important missing. As it was, it just felt like loneliness.

The parents and Granny Calhoun took their seats in the front row of chairs. The organist from the Methodist church struck some chords on the old upright piano-which Troy and his brothers had hauled out onto the patio last night-and then launched right into “Here Comes the Bride.” A rustle of anticipation ran through the crowd, and Troy felt the same shiver in his insides. Everybody turned to look. Troy was looking, too, but his vision was starting to go shimmery on him.

And then here she came. Charly.

She came down the aisle toward him, looking straight ahead, walking with assurance in spite of the grass and the high-heeled shoes, with those incredible legs of hers going on forever. He thought she seemed thinner than when he’d seen her last, but it could have been the dress, which was the soft green of new leaves, with a skirt that stopped just above her knees, and a top that left her throat and arms bare. Her skin was pale as wax, and she had her hair slicked back and up in that way that reminded him of Audrey Hepburn, or maybe a prima ballerina, and topped with yellow roses. She was holding a yellow rose, too-he happened to know they’d been picked this morning from this very garden.

Troy thought she was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen in his life.

But that wasn’t what had his throat swelling up and his eyes misting over. What did him in was the way she carried herself-head high, shoulders back, and a “Go ahead, make my day!” look to her chin-that took him straight back to the first time he’d ever set eyes on her, that night he’d watched her come toward him down that hallway in the Mourning Spring jail. Bravado. Sheer bravado.

As the maid of honor took her place on the minister’s right, Troy could hear Bubba barking out in front of the house, where he’d been tied to a tree to keep him from getting in the way. At least, he thought, he’s not howling.

And then the organist started the wedding march all over again, and it was Mirabella’s turn to make that long walk down the aisle. Troy knew he should be watching her along with his brother and everyone else, but he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off Charly.

Don’t give up on her.

Troy could hear his brother’s voice as clear as if he’d just spoken the words aloud. And right then and there he vowed he never would, no matter how long it took.

He wasn’t sure when he’d stopped worrying and thinking about what he was going to do with himself now that he’d retired from the navy. He just knew it didn’t matter anymore what he did with the rest of his life; the only thing that mattered was whom he did it with. And he knew, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that the who for him was the woman standing across from him, the woman with the pain of unresolved issues in her whiskey eyes. It didn’t matter to him that she was an L.A. lawyer with some peculiar notions about what sophistication was, or that she’d made up her mind to hate everything about the South. He didn’t care that she had no real idea what it was like to be part of a family-he figured he had family enough for the both of ’em, and he couldn’t wait to make her a part of it. All he knew was, in her he’d found his soul’s compass, his life’s magnetic north. All the rest, as he’d heard it said somewhere, was details.

For the first time in his life he thought maybe he understood why it is that people cry at weddings.

“Dearly beloved,” the minister began, “we are gathered here in the sight of God and this congregation to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony…”

When he got to the part that usually goes “Who gives this woman to be married…” and so on, what he said instead was, “Who stands with this man and this woman?” That had been another one of Mirabella’s ideas.

Then all the family that was gathered around shouted out in joyful chorus, “We do!” And they scattered and took their seats, all but Charly and Troy, while Mirabella and Jimmy Joe came together face-to-face in front of the minister, and took hold of each other’s hands.

It was then, in the humming, rustling quiet, while everyone was getting settled again, that Troy heard Charly make a sound. A soft, choking sound.

Her face looked frozen, pale as marble. In it, her eyes seemed to glow like liquid fire. But she was gazing, not at him, not at the bride and groom, not at anyone in the seated congregation, but beyond them. At someone who was standing there, all alone. A young man, hardly more than a boy, with dark gold hair, a sensitive face and a certain proud jut to his chin.

Cutter.

He was holding something in his hands. A small book, bound in dark green leather.

My diary. Charly stared at it, uncomprehending. But…that’s impossible.

Then slowly, wonderingly, she turned to Troy. She knew that tears were streaming down her face, but she didn’t care. Through them she saw sunshine…rainbows. And she could see his face, more clearly than she’d ever seen anything in her life before.

“…and do you take this man…to have and to hold…to love and to cherish…from this day forward, as long as you both shall live?”

She heard the words, but they seemed to come from the sky and the air, the sunshine and breezes, from the grass and the flowers and trees. From deep inside her, from her heart…from her soul.

With her eyes clinging to his…to the most beautiful, incredible, miraculous pair of eyes she’d ever seen…she felt her own lips moving, forming the words as Jimmy Joe and Mirabella spoke them aloud.

And through the golden shimmer of her tears she could see Troy’s lips saying them, too, at the very same moment:

Yes! Yes…I do.

I love you.

Epilogue

From the diary of Charlene Elizabeth Phelps

Final Entry


(So much has happened between my last entry and this one, it would take a book to tell it all. Maybe I will do that someday-write a book about it-who knows? Stranger things have happened!)


October 5, 1998


Dear Diary: (Okay, it still seems hokey to me, this business of writing to an inanimate object as if it were a living, breathing person, but I suppose customs must be adhered to.)

I came home today. Home to-are you ready for this?-Mourning Spring, Alabama. That’s right, the very same place I ran away from over twenty years ago, swearing never to return.

Home. What an amazing thing. How could I not have known that home isn’t a place at all? But a state of mind-or perhaps I should say, of the heart-a safe haven created by the people we love, and that love us. Yes-love us. I, Charly Phelps, am loved! Is that incredible, or what? Even more amazing, I am loved even though I have done nothing whatsoever to deserve it! I am loved in spite of myself. This is a truly incredible and humbling thing, and I am having trouble even now believing that it is true.

But it is true, Dear Diary. Today, a few hours ago now, right down there in the backyard of the house where I grew up, where Colin and I used to play, I officially became something I never in a million years ever thought I’d be. Yup, I am now the wife of an honest-to-God Southerner. Who’d a’ thought, huh? Wow.

My wedding day. Could it possibly have been more beautiful? The sky was so blue and the sun so warm, and for a backdrop, the woods where Colin and I once hid notes to each other, looking as though they were on fire. (Poor Bubba just about had a fit because he couldn’t get loose and chase after the squirrels!)

It was a very simple ceremony. Naturally, we had Bella and Jimmy Joe stand up with us, although I sort of hated to impose on Bella, what with all the trouble and worry she’s having over her sisters (especially Summer with that no-good ex-husband of hers still missing-and if you ask me he’s probably dead by now-and Evie off somewhere in South America filming giant reptiles or who knows what.) But you know Mirabella. Not only was she my maid of honor, but she insisted on planning the entire wedding, down to the nth detail! All I can say is, it’s a good thing Jimmy Joe is a patient man.

I can’t believe how many people were there. All of Troy’s kinfolk came up from Georgia, which is a good-size bunch right there! And most of the town of Mourning Spring, it seemed like. (Kelly Grace bawled her eyes out, wouldn’t you know.) Anyway, I guess the town’s forgiven me, especially since the judge came through his bypass surgery and is out of the hospital and doing so well. He-my dad-was right there in the front row, and he looked pretty impressive, if you ask me, even without his robes. (Troy had the idea of having him marry us, but Dobie wouldn’t hear of it, and insisted on a preacher.) Anyway, he sat there the whole time holding Dobie’s hand, right in front of everybody. (’Brina, he calls her-my stepmom. Wow.)

He looked proud. PROUD. Of me. Can you believe it?

And right next to him was Cutter. Cutter, my beautiful, miraculous, grown-up son. Still very much a stranger to me, but then I can’t expect to make up for the twenty years I’ve missed overnight. At least we’re talking, getting to know one another little by little. Who knows? Maybe one day we’ll get to be friends. It’s getting easier, these days, to believe in miracles.