“Grandma said it was probably cowardice,” I added. “What she did. But I think it was love. And I think I understand it now better than I did this morning.”
“And if he never knows?” Tyler urged.
“Billy’s already doing one of the most important things a father can do. He’s going to walk me down that aisle. He just doesn’t know why it matters as much as it does.”
Tyler reached across and took my hand.
“Billy’s already doing one of the most important things a father can do.”
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We got married on a Saturday in October, in a small chapel outside the city, in a 60-year-old ivory silk dress that had been altered with my own hands.
Billy offered me his arm at the chapel doors, and I took it.
Halfway down the aisle, he leaned close and whispered, “I’m so proud of you, Catherine.”
I thought: You already are, Dad. You just don’t know the half of it.
Billy offered me his arm at the chapel doors, and I took it.
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