“Well,” Pastor Jim said, wiping his eyes, his old voice wobbling. “I believe that’s the part where you kiss her, son. Again.”
Mark kissed me.
Behind us, the sun went down over Loon Lake, orange and red and purple, exactly the way it had twenty-seven years before. Exactly the way it would keep doing, long after both of us were gone.
From the front row, I heard Ray say, “Sophie, give me my phone back, I’m missing it!”
And Sophie said, “No. Just watch it, Ray. For once in your life, just watch it.”
That was four years ago.
I’m writing this down now because Sophie asked me to. She said someday she might need to remember it too. She said I’m not getting any younger either.
She’s right. Nobody is.
Mark is in a care home now. A good one. Twelve minutes from our house. I drive there every morning at nine and stay until the dinner bell at five. His room has a window that looks out on a little pond with ducks. I asked for that room specially. I told them my husband loves the water.
