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The reasons were obvious. It was the most unusual wedding anyone had done in years. In addition to a full sized carousel, the entire event was themed in the early 20th century, including corsets and horse-drawn buggies. Francine Martel was a bridesmaid. Standing with the groom was his sister, Dr. Siobhan Richards PhD, Congressman from New Hampshire. She was the current bride.Mr. R pulled out the old issues of Unique Bride. In the June edition, there was a full page article on Dr. Richards. The article contained side by side photos of her in an English-style men’s semi-formal suit and in a flowing lavender gown. Despite being actively unattractive, Dr. Richards made both of them work. Her towering height and military-straight carriage drew attention from the over-strong features. At this point, Mr. R brought out a garment bag. Inside was the same lavender gown. Something low in Trish’s anatomy clenched in recognition.Mr. R smiled at the reaction because more was coming. Next was a note. “Take a few steps back, would you?” he said as he waved her clear. “If this whole thing comes tumbling down, I don’t want you to be in its path.”“You are serious?” she asked, uncrossing her arms and retreating a short distance as she glanced up at the wall warily. Surely he couldn’t really bring it down? Calling down lightning was something that she could understand, even stealing life to heal one’s injuries, but what force could breach a barrier that had been erected by the Gods themselves?He lifted that stave of his, gripping it tightly with both hands, beginning to whisper under his breath. It looked like such an innocuous weapon. It had no sharp blade, it was not a club or a hammer, it was more akin to the sticks that young warriors used to spar. In spite of its appearance, she had felt its bite, she had seen what terrible forces it could call upon.As she watched, something odd began to happen. Water started to drip from one of the stone blocks, forming rivulets across its pocked.
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”“Sorry,” he said. “I can’t wait to get out of this place.”“It’s only another couple of weeks.”“Almost a month. Final exams. Then you sit around and do nothing for a week. Will you miss it?”“I don’t know. I don’t think about it. I’m just scared of finals.”“What for? You do OK. You know, there is no permanent record. They just say that to keep you in line.”“Really?”“What, you think when you go for a job in twenty years, they’re going to call Sister Margaret and ask if you ever had detention?”We talked like that, not saying much, until we crossed the avenue. I had to turn off toward the library. Eddie said he had to go on straight. He lived down toward the end of the parish. But we stood there on the corner, chatting, neither of us wanting to go. I thought about Lisa, but I didn’t know what time it was, or if she’d forgotten about me, and I didn’t feel like being alone.“I have soda at my house,” I said. “Would you like some?”“That would be nice. Thank you.”“It’s kind of far.”“Doesn’t.

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