William slid his crutches into the back seat of the blue sedan Charlie had borrowed and lowered himself into the front seat, after sliding it back for maximal legroom.
“Big day.” Charlie was wearing a suit; he looked small and uncomfortable behind the wheel. “I only wear this thing for funerals, usually,” he said, as he pulled out into traffic.
William looked at the buildings and houses outside the window. He felt like he was playing a scene in a movie: young man with his almost father-in-law on brink of wedding. He wanted to act his part as well as possible.
“You’re going to be good to Julia.” Charlie stated this like it was a fact.
“Yes, sir. I will be.”
Charlie took a corner smoothly, then switched lanes after checking his mirrors. A fat truck appeared in front of their car, and he slowed to allow enough distance between the vehicles. He was a good driver, which surprised William. Julia’s father always presented as the distracted, mildly incompetent man his daughters and wife believed him to be. It was interesting to see him be competent, and William wondered, for the first time, how much of Charlie’s usual behavior was an act.
“Did you know that Rose and I eloped? We didn’t have a wedding. I think that accounts for her feverishness about this one. It’s for her and for Julia.”
William shook his head. “I didn’t know that.”
“She was pregnant with Julia, and our mothers didn’t like each other. Some beef from the old country. We drove to Las Vegas.”
William smiled at the idea of Rose and Charlie on the Las Vegas Strip. Did Julia know that she’d been conceived before her parents’ marriage?
As if he’d heard his thought, Charlie said, “Julia knows. It’s family lore; we never hid the truth. Rose hated Las Vegas, though—she said she was disappointed in all the people that go there every year. She’s never gotten out of the funk Las Vegas put her in.”
This was supposed to be a joke, but Charlie’s overall mood was too somber for it to land. William felt bad for him. Charlie was about to give away his eldest daughter, and he was completely sober, which was a rare occurrence. Alcohol made Charlie lighter.
“I’ve never been good at providing Rose with what she wanted, other than the girls,” he said. “Try to give Julia what she wants, whenever you can. Julia’s strong, willful, like her mother—she’ll give your life a backbone. Rose holds me up, in a lot of ways, and I’m a lucky man. You’re a lucky man too.”
William felt the truth of this: He was lucky. Julia had already given him so much. All she seemed to want from him was his love and his enthusiasm for her plans. He could keep providing both of those things, easily, and he hoped that would be enough. From the outside, Charlie and Rose’s marriage seemed complicated, like a clock with inner workings that spun but didn’t quite connect.
Charlie leaned forward and peered through the wide windshield. “There’s the church. Look for a parking spot I can swing into.”
For the next six hours, with the exception of the time at the altar, William felt like he was always in the wrong spot. Julia, Rose, or Charlie kept calling his name. Asking him to speak to a distant cousin, hug the girls’ first-grade teacher, talk basketball with a Bulls fan or talk Boston with an uncle who had been there once. His knee ached no matter what position he was in. Julia would get upset that he wasn’t sitting and then pull him across the lawn to shake hands with the man who had done the flowers. Kent, who had the magical ability to make himself comfortable in any situation, hand-shook his way across the grass as if he were running for mayor. William noticed that he was always trailed by a flock of pretty young women. Sylvie, Emeline, and Cecelia revolved around William and Julia like pink constellations. “So much smiling,” Sylvie said to him once, in passing. Toward dusk, Cecelia handed William her high-heeled shoes and then walked away across the lawn. Charlie, hair standing up straight, a drink in his hand, clapped William on the back whenever they came near each other.
All of that was blurred, though, by Julia’s luminescence. Her white dress was covered with tiny white beads that swished when she walked. Her hourglass figure was hugged by the fabric; her hair was pinned up on top of her head; her eyes were bright. She looked like she had been plugged in to a power source the rest of them didn’t have access to. William was grateful all over again every time she took his arm or kissed his cheek. “My wife,” he whispered.
Rose came to find them when the limousine arrived. “It’s time for you to leave. You two have a wonderful time, and I’m going to sleep for three days.”
Julia hugged her mother, and the two women gripped hard and hung on for a long moment. When Rose pulled away, she said, “William?”
William took in the entire scene: the stone church; the crowd of tipsy, smiling people; his basketball teammates, taller than everyone else, their long legs wavering with drink. The white streamers connecting the tree branches overhead. His new sisters-in-law working the edges of the party, kissing the older guests goodbye.
“Thank you for everything, Mom,” he said. Mom hurt his throat on the way out; he’d rarely used the term—his own mother had seemed to prefer he call her nothing at all, so he’d done that. The word had long been dormant, covered with rust, inside him.
Rose nodded, satisfied, and turned to clear a path for them to the waiting car, to whatever happened after wedding, knee, and the rest of their lives.
Julia
June 1982–October 1982