The judge was late, and we were growing nervous.
Our witnesses glanced at their watches. This was meant to be a lunch-hour wedding in the City Clerk’s Office of the small New Jersey town where we lived. We were ready, but where was she?
At last, we stood before her. Clarence wore a blue and purple tweed jacket that hung loosely on his gaunt frame, his lips a blue that almost matched the hue of his jacket. I was hiding my plump body in an ivory dress with large red roses scattered across it. My daughter and a dear friend stood by on each side. This day had been a long time coming.