October the fourteenth was a perfect day. Blue sky, warm sun, red and gold leaves on the oak trees.

The ceremony was on the lawn of Carolina Oaks. Three hundred white chairs. An arch of white roses. A harpist.

Kelsey looked like a princess. Dad walked her down the aisle with tears running down his face.

Tristan stood under the arch in a white tuxedo, grinning, sunglasses pushed up on his head.

Dan and I sat in the third row with the boys. Dan was wearing a dark suit. No cardigan, for once.

He kept looking at his watch.

The minister began.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…”

Dan looked at his watch again. Then over his shoulder, at the parking lot.

“Dan,” I whispered. “What is going on?”

He took my hand and squeezed it.

“I'm so sorry, Al,” he whispered. “I didn't choose the day. I swear to you, I didn't choose the day.”

The minister got to the vows.

“Tristan, do you take Kelsey—”

And from the back of the lawn, a woman's voice said, very clearly:

“Tristan Vaughn?”