Denise took my volunteer badge. She hugged me before I left, but she still took the badge.
I don’t know how to explain what I felt. It wasn’t romance, not the way movies show it. It was something quieter. Like I’d found a person I’d somehow been missing without knowing it.
The next afternoon, a retired Methodist minister named Reverend Paul Kessler came to Julian’s house. Tanya and a neighbor named Mrs. Ortiz served as witnesses.
I wore jeans and a plain white T-shirt. It was the only white thing I owned.
There were no flowers. No music. Just the rain on the porch roof and Julian in his recliner, sitting as straight as he could manage.
When Reverend Kessler said, “You may now kiss the bride,” Julian kissed my hand instead. His fingers were shaking.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “You have no idea what you just gave me.”
