In two hours, Harper becomes my wife.
My wife.
The thought makes my chest tight.
I think about every moment we’ve survived. Mom’s death. Z’s betrayal. The showdown with Senior. Z’s last words. Every time I thought I’d lost Harper. And every time she came back.
One, two, three, four?—
I catch myself and stop. Take a breath.
You don’t need to count anymore,I tell myself.She’s not going anywhere.
At one-thirty, I’m wrestling with my tie. It won’t sit right. It’s either too loose or too tight. Or crooked, damn it.
One, two, three, four attempts?—
“Caleb?” Bruiser’s in the doorway, already in his suit. “You okay?”
“Can’t get this d—darn tie right.”
“Want help?”
I turn to him. “You know how to tie a tie?”
“Mom taught me.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Can I try?”
I crouch down so he can reach. His small fingers work the silk, tongue between his teeth in concentration. He looks so much like me when I was his age that it hurts.
“There,” he says, stepping back.
I check the mirror. Perfect.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He pauses. “You look good.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Like someone getting married.”
I pull him into a quick hug. He lets me, even though nine is almost too old for hugs and he gets squirmy almost immediately, so I let go after a quick squeeze.
At two forty-five, I’m standing under the arch in our backyard, trying hard to remember to breathe.
There are maybe thirty people in the chairs. All friends. No family since we still haven’t found Silas.
But right now the backyard feels full, not empty.
It feelsright.
Bruiser stands beside me, holding the ring pillow with white knuckles.
The music starts—simple acoustic guitar that feels perfect for the moment.