He gave me a look.
“Too fast?”
“No.”
“I practiced.”
“I know.”
One of Lena’s photographers crept silently to the front, while another took pictures of us from the side.
Nathan was never in a hurry.
Never forget.
Don’t ever let go.
His mouth began to shake halfway down the aisle.
I was afraid he might weep.
Rather, he said, “Dad would’ve liked your dress.”
I was practically done by that.
He came to a stop at the altar just where Father Michael had instructed.
He then shook Daniel’s hand and let go of my arm.
Daniel drew him into an embrace.
Nathan then turned around to face me.
He didn’t go sit down, though.
He reached into his jacket.
My stomach fell.
“What are you doing?”
He produced a folded sheet of paper.
I turned to face Daniel.
Daniel appeared just as perplexed.
Father Michael grinned.
It seems that only one person was aware.
Nathan unfurled the document.
His hands trembled.
He then turned to face the assembly.
“I wrote something.”
A few folks chuckled quietly.
Nathan cast a downward glance.
The first two words were said in a tremulous voice.
After that, it stabilized.
“Sarah is my little sister.”
He gave me a look.
“Dad always walked with her when she was scared.”
I kept my mouth shut.
“Dad can’t do that today, so I did.”
There was total silence in the church.
Nathan turned to face the paper again.
“Dad told me I am her big brother and I should take care of her.”
Next, the final sentence.
“So that is what I am doing.”
After that, I don’t recall standing up straight.
Daniel’s hand on my back is what I recall.
I recall Mom crying uncontrollably.
Father Michael removed his glasses, as I recall.
Additionally, I recall Nathan meticulously folding the paper.
“Do I sit now?” is then asked.
Everyone chuckled while crying.
“Yes,” I said.
He moved to sit next to Mom.
The ceremony went on.
Margaret also remained silent.
Not in reference to Nathan.
Not because of the pictures.
Not on that particular day.
The record was delivered eight weeks later.
The standard wedding album was exquisite.
The second one was superior.
Nathan started by getting ready.
Dad’s cufflinks.
Nathan looks at the time.
Nathan was by himself at the church doors, holding out his arm.
The walk comes next.
Page after page.
His expression was focused.
I put my hand on his arm.
As he counted, his lips moved.
He glanced at me halfway down.
Daniel gave him a hug.
The speech came next.
On one double-page spread, Nathan was seen at the altar with the paper in both hands while everyone in the pews behind him started crying.
I started crying again.
The next Sunday, we had dinner.
Daniel’s parents arrived.
Mom did, too.
Nathan was also present, talking to Daniel about a football game as if he hadn’t emotionally ruined an entire church eight weeks prior.
I placed the record on the coffee table.
I didn’t make the announcement.
didn’t give it to Margaret.
failed to make a point.
I entered the kitchen.
She was sitting on her knees with it open when I returned.
She had completed roughly half of it.
At the church door, she was staring at Nathan’s double-page spread.
Put your arms out.
awaiting my arrival.
His lips were slightly parted.
counting.
Margaret didn’t raise her head.
“He practiced this.”
Behind the couch, I stood.
“Every day for three weeks.”
She flipped to the next page.
Then one more.
She arrived at the picture on the altar.
Nathan holding the document.
I’m crying.
Daniel is behind me.
She spent a considerable amount of time there.
She then put both hands flat on the cover of the album and closed it.
“Can I get a copy of this one?”
I was aware of the one she was referring to.
The speech.
“Yes.”
That was all.
She never expressed regret.
Not verbally.
And I no longer needed her.
Daniel emailed me a picture from his parents’ home a few weeks later.
Margaret had the photo up in her entryway.
At the altar is Nathan.
He held a piece of paper.
She had spent far too much for the frame.
It was unbelievable.
It seems that she now tells guests, “That’s Sarah’s brother, Nathan. Their father died before the wedding, so
Nathan walked her down the aisle.”
Daniel then stated, “He practiced for three weeks because he wanted to get it right.”
It’s the best thing she knows about us, she says.
It might be by now.
What she stated at the dinner table was something I never shared with Nathan.
He is unaware that the question of whether he would appear in the photos was ever discussed.
He is unaware that I hired more photographers because someone was afraid his face would ruin them.
He is not need to.
To the best of my brother’s knowledge, he requested to take over Dad’s duties.
Everyone agreed.
He rehearsed.
And he did it flawlessly.
This is precisely what transpired in every aspect that ultimately mattered.
The true question is this: Should someone’s bias ever be permitted to determine who should be included in someone else’s most significant memories?
If you liked this story, you might also appreciate this one: An adolescent who carried his disabled brother to school was publicly humiliated by a new headmaster. But the entire hallway found out why the
youngster had been doing it for three years when one employee finally came forward. What was the school concealing?
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