A Wedding in December_ A Novel - Anita Shreve [96]
Harrison closed his own eyes and wished Rob would play for hours. He vowed to take Evelyn and the boys to the Toronto Symphony as soon as he got home. He couldn’t remember the last time he and Evelyn had gone to a concert. He would seek out Rob’s CDs as well; there was a good music store a block from his office. He couldn’t think how he had let such beauty slip from his life. It was his own fault: too much work, too much getting and spending. He should have introduced his boys to classical music long before this, he thought, and he wondered if it was too late. He would tell the boys about his friend, a baseball player, who had become a famous concert pianist. The CDs, magical totems for the boys, would do the trick.
From a door to one side of the library, Harrison heard murmurs and rustling. He opened his eyes to see Bill and Bridget make their way across the front of the room, followed by the boys, Matt and Brian. Apparently there would be no procession down the makeshift aisle. This was a second marriage for both, and the bridal party was tiny. More to the point, Harrison guessed, neither Bill nor Bridget wanted any fuss.
Bridget, in a pink suit, had her lips pressed tightly together. A deep flush had suffused her skin, giving her a glow of robust health. Bill and the boys were in tuxes, a nice touch, Harrison thought. A woman Harrison did not recognize followed the four to the front of the room. She must be the justice of the peace, he decided. From the piano, the music quietly subsided. Rob sat back on the bench, his hands folded in his lap—the organist at church.
Bill and Bridget turned their backs to the guests and faced the justice of the peace.
We are gathered here today to celebrate one of life’s greatest moments . . .
Nora slipped into the empty seat beside Harrison. She gave him a quick smile, a greeting as well as a confession of some excitement. All Nora’s work—her choreography, her planning, her secret surprises—was about to be revealed.
“What was Rob playing?” Harrison whispered.
“Handel,” Nora whispered back.
Bill reached over and clasped Bridget’s hand. Standing beside the couple, Matt and his friend seemed slightly baffled but impressively solemn for the occasion. Bridget’s sister got up from her chair and put a hand on Bridget’s back. And Agnes—Agnes!—was sobbing. Noisy sobbing, with gulps and small head shudders. Josh offered her his handkerchief, and Agnes blew her nose. Harrison wondered at the source of Agnes’s dissolution. Joy for Bridget and Bill? Anguish for Bridget? A wedding was an act of faith, Harrison reflected, perhaps never more so than today.
. . . recognition of the worth and beauty of love . . .
The swish and whisper of a door slowly opening caused Harrison to turn his head toward the back of the room. A young woman in a white sweater and a short black skirt, a black leather purse slung over her arm, stood at the double doors. She seemed embarrassed, a concertgoer who had entered the hall during a particularly quiet moment in the symphony. As she scanned the room for an empty seat, Harrison recognized her. Melissa. Bill’s daughter.
Bill, turning (perhaps he had secretly been hoping?), spotted the young woman, and on his face Harrison saw a moving picture of emotions. Disbelief. Joy. Pride. Bill signaled to Bridget, who glanced at the small audience. She saw the young woman. On Bridget’s face, a look of pure relief.
. . . unite Bridget Kennedy Rodgers and William Joseph Ricci in marriage . . .
During the short ceremony,