A wedding that not everyone celebrated
We got married in the little church where he had met me again.
My daughters were by my side. At first they had questions, but they saw how kindly Garrett treated me and welcomed him with open arms.
His children don’t.
Alicia was late and wore a forced smile in all the photographs. Brent shook my hand like we were closing a deal.
At the reception, I heard Alicia near the wardrobe.
“He barely saw Dad again for three months,” he said. “And now he’s wearing a diamond and moving into the house?”
“We have to make sure he hasn’t lost his mind,” Brent replied.
I walked away before they saw me.
I didn’t care about Garrett’s mansion. Its marble hallway looked like that of a hotel, and I would have been just as happy in my two-bedroom bungalow.
But Garrett had lived there for thirty years. Margaret had chosen the wallpaper and planted rose bushes along the southern fence. I respected that. I never moved his photographs, or changed his tableware, nor did I ask Garrett to hide the cedar trunk that contained his stuff.
I brought some boxes, my recipe books, Thomas’ pocket watch and photographs of my daughters.
Alice continued to act as if I had invaded sacred ground.
One night, during dinner, he scolded me for sitting in the chair that Margaret used to occupy.
“This is also Eleanor’s house now,” Garrett said.
Later, I asked him not to fight his children because of me.
“They are in mourning,” I said.
“You too,” he replied. Pain does not give the right to be cruel.
That’s when I realized I was more worried than I admitted.
The promise he made in private.
Eight months after we got married, Garrett began organizing the papers of his studio.
He met twice with his lawyer, Samuel Price. When I asked him if anything was wrong, he told me he was updating old business documents.
“You don’t have to worry about the money,” he said.
“I don’t care about money.”
“I know. That’s why I care about you.”
I reminded him that I had a pension, savings and my house, that my youngest daughter was renting.
Garrett took my hand.
“Eleanor, you’ve spent your life settling for what you had. That doesn’t mean people have the right to pass you on needs.”
A week later, while we were sitting on the back porch during a storm, he said, “If anything happens to me, remember that I knew perfectly who you were.”
“What kind of thing is that?”
“That kind of phrase that an old man says when he wants the woman he loves to believe him.”
Three days later, Garrett collapsed at his home.
At nightfall, the boy who had accompanied me in the rain was no longer there.
The day the keys were removed
The funeral passed between flowers, hymns and people who told me that Garrett had lived a full life.
That didn’t make the goodbye any less empty.
When we came home, I sat on the edge of the bed and held the sweater Garrett had left on a chair.
Alice showed up at the door.
“You have to pack your bag.”
I thought I got it wrong.
“Where to pack?”
“Everywhere. This house belongs to our family.”
“I am his family.”
“You were his wife for eight months.”
Brent came in carrying my old brown suitcase. I left it at my feet.
“Until the succession is resolved, we are protecting Dad’s property,” he said.
“You can’t expect me to leave today.”
Alice crossed her arms. “You’ve already shamed our mother’s memory quite a bit.
I looked at the photographs of the hallway: Margaret with the newborn Alice in her arms, Garrett teaching Brent to fish, Christmas mornings and graduations. I never wanted to erase any.
“I loved your father very much,” I said. And I respected your mother.
Alice looked away.
I packed two dresses, a sweater, my toothbrush and Thomas’ pocket watch. They watched me as if I feared I would steal the silver.
On the way to the ground floor, I saw our wedding photograph on the side table. Garrett came out laughing. I looked at it as if the seventy-two years were the beginning of everything.
“Please,” I whispered. At least let me take a picture of him.
Alice stood between the frame and me.
“No. Nothing in this house belongs to you.”
Brent reached out to give him the keys.
I gave them to them and came out in the black dress I had worn to bury my husband.
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