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Weddings are hard. The drink flows and the words come out and he has to be there. A man loses his daughter to a younger man. A woman sees her son throwing himself away on a lesser woman. It is something they half believe. There’s the expense, the sentiment, the no going back. Any time promises are made in public, people cry.
Before he is ready, the priest feels something inside him folding back, the way water folds back from the shore to form another wave – and it crashes from his mouth, a terrible cry that is her name and then it’s over.
If only, in her adult life, her unfounded beliefs could be so abruptly disproved. To be an adult was, for the greatest part, to be in darkness.
