When he saw me at the top of the stairs, his whole face changed.
I’d seen that face before. I’d seen it twenty-six years ago in my parents’ backyard. I’d seen it the day Sophie was born. I’d seen it the night in the hardware store when I laughed at his hinge drawing.
He looked at me like I was the only thing in the world.
He started crying before I even reached the aisle.
Carol put on the music. An old speaker with a crackle in it. Etta James. At Last.
Same song. Like the first time.
Sophie had wanted to walk me down the aisle. “Somebody’s got to do it,” she’d said. “Grandpa’s not here, so it’s my job.”
She took my arm at the top of the stairs. She was shaking.
“You okay, kiddo?” I whispered.
“No,” she whispered back. “Not even a little.”
