Take a turn.
Once more.
However, it seems that he needed more than just at-home practice.
Without notifying any of us, he called the church and asked the priest what he should do when we arrived at the front.
After that, Father Michael gave me a call.
“Your brother is taking this very seriously.”
“I know.”
“He asked whether he bows before or after giving you away.”
I chuckled.
“What did you tell him?”
“That nobody is giving you away.”
Nathan seemed to object.
“Dad said that’s what it’s called.”
Father Michael made a compromise as a result.
He revealed the ultimate strategy to me.
Nathan would lead me over to Daniel, give him a hug, shake his hand, and then take a seat next to Mom.
Nathan jotted down the order.
He also worked on that.
He used the same two words every time someone raised a question.
“I practiced.”
Mom was concerned that the crowd may overwhelm him.
“I practiced.”
Uncle Patrick was concerned that his timing would be affected by the music.
“I practiced.”
In case he didn’t know where to sit, Daniel asked if he wanted someone to sit next to him.
Nathan scowled.
“I practiced.”
Everyone agreed.
My mother sobbed.
It was the only account of the day that made sense, according to Daniel.
And that was it for a while.
Three weeks later, Daniel’s mother brought it up over dinner.
Margaret is her name.
She was someone I had known for five years.
Although we had never been close, we had always been polite.
She prefers things done correctly.
Napkins were ironed.
Christmas cards must be mailed by December 1st.
Coordinated family photos.
Before Thanksgiving dinner, she once forced Daniel to switch shirts because his navy sweater “argued with the table runner.”
I therefore anticipated inquiries regarding seating charts when she invited us over to talk about wedding specifics.
I didn’t expect Nathan.
Dinner was almost over when she put down her fork.
“I wanted to ask about the processional.”
Daniel looked up.
“What about it?” he asked.
“Is Nathan still walking Sarah?”
I glanced at him.
“Yes.”
Margaret smiled.
Not warmly.
Carefully.
“He can come, obviously. Nobody is saying he can’t come.”
“Mom—” Daniel began.
“I’m saying he doesn’t have to be in it. Sweetheart, think practically. It isn’t one picture. It’s the whole aisle sequence, the album, the enlargement, and what goes above our fireplace too.”
I gazed at her.
She continued.
“His face will be in every single frame.”
Daniel went still.
“You’ll be looking at that for 40 years. I don’t want those photographs.”
The room changed.
That’s the only way I can explain it.
Nothing moved.
But everything changed.
I set my glass down.
Very carefully.
I had six things ready, and I was going to say every one of them, in her dining room, in front of her son.
That’s my brother.
Say his name.
Say what you mean while I’m sitting here.
Tell me exactly what part of his face ruins your photographs.
Tell me whether you think Down syndrome is contagious through an album.
Tell me whether you understand that my father is dead.
Tell me why you think your mantel gets a vote in my wedding.
Then Daniel took my hand under the table and squeezed it once.
“We’ll figure something out,” he said.
Not to me.
To her.
I turned my head slowly.
For half a second, I thought he meant we’d figure out how to remove Nathan.
Then I saw his face.
Daniel wasn’t agreeing with her.
He was stopping me.
Not because she deserved protection.
Because he knew me.
He knew if I started, I would not stop.
And once I stopped, Margaret would become the story of that night.
The argument would spread.
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