By the time Lorie placed my hand in his at the altar, all those sweet memories had me in tears.
Callahan stood with Buddy beside him in a black bow tie that one of his students had insisted on picking out. Those same students were supposed to play a love song when I came down the aisle. What they produced was a brave, uneven version of one, full of missed notes and fierce effort. It was terrible in the sweetest possible way.
When the pastor asked whether I took Callahan as my husband, I said yes before he finished.
Afterward, there were hugs, cheap cake, paper cups of punch, children running under folding tables, and Lorie pretending not to dab her eyes every time she looked at me.
For once, I was not the scarred woman people were politely trying not to notice. I was the bride.
