He drove down the highway to the fork in the road, where he turned right instead of left, heading south out of the Alabama hills, heading home to Georgia. He didn’t look for a radio station playing golden oldies this time, or pop in one of his favorite tapes to keep him company. He drove all the way home with his own song playing inside his head. A song with only one lyric: “Charly…Charly…Charly…”
“I’m the one supposed to be doin’ that for you,” Troy said, scowling down at the yellow rosebud his brother was pinning to his lapel.
“Aw, you’d just go an’ stick yourself,” said Jimmy Joe, smiling his slow, sweet smile.
Troy snorted. “Yeah? Well, what’s the matter with you, anyway, little brother? You’re the one gettin’ married. How come you’re not nervous?”
Jimmy Joe tilted his head to admire his handiwork. “Got nothin’ to be nervous about. This is the smartest and best thing I ever did. When you know you’ve found the right one…”
“Yeah…” Troy said on an exhalation as he turned away to check himself in the full-length mirror on the door.
They were in their old room at his mother’s house, the room four Starr brothers had once shared. His mama had turned it into some kind of den, maybe partly an office, with a big desk and a computer, and a couch with a pull-out bed in it for company. But there were still a lot of memories there in that room. He could see some of them in the mirror, the team photos and graduation portraits on the walls, and the shelves full of sports trophies. His little brother’s face, looking at him over his shoulder.
“You’re a lucky man,” he said softly.
“Don’t I know it.”
There was a silence then, the kind that falls between brothers who are also friends, but who wouldn’t know how to put that into words if their lives depended on it. The door opened, and the minister from the Methodist church down the road stuck his head in.
“It’s time,” he said, pointing at his watch. “You boys about ready?”
“Will be in a minute,” said Jimmy Joe. The minister nodded and closed the door. Jimmy Joe turned and picked up his suit jacket from the arm of the couch, and Troy took it from him and held it for him while he shrugged himself into it. He felt like he oughta pinch himself-he was having a hard time getting used to the sight of his truck-driver brother in a suit and tie.
“These jitters of yours,” Jimmy Joe said, checking out his tie in the mirror one last time. “They wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that you’re about to come face-to-face with a certain good-lookin’ maid-of-honor, would they?”
Troy let out a breath in a short laugh. “You know somethin’? Findin’ the right woman, that’s one thing. Gettin’ her to realize it-now, that’s somethin’ else.”
“Oh, yeah,” Jimmy Joe said with a chuckle, “Mirabella, now…she took a
Troy gave him a curious look. “That right? How’d you do it?”
His brother’s smile would have been smug on anybody else but him. “Refused to take no for an answer.”
“Yeah, well…it’s not always that easy,” Troy said, frowning.
“Hey, I never knew you to give up on a fight.”
“It’s not a case of giving up. It’s more like…the ball’s in her court, now, you know? I’ve done about all I can do.” Troy paused with his hand on the doorknob, thinking about it, looking for the words. Finally he cleared his throat. “She’s got…some issues.”
“Yeah,” said Jimmy Joe, putting his arm across his brother’s shoulders, “Marybell mentioned that.”
“I think she’d like to say yes,” said Troy gruffly. “But she doesn’t think she deserves to.” He gave his brother a hard, intent look. “You know what I mean?”
Jimmy Joe gave his back a slap. “Yeah, man…I believe I do.”
Troy opened the door, and they went through it together. They could see the minister waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs. Just as they started down, Jimmy Joe nudged him in the ribs and whispered, “Don’t give up on her.”
Then the minister had him by the arm and was hustling them both through the French doors and out into the backyard, down the aisle between rows of folding chairs that had been borrowed from the Methodist church and set up last evening on the lawn. When he got to the rose arbor at the far end, the minister turned and faced the congregation, Jimmy Joe on his left and Troy right behind him.
It was a beautiful day. The line of thunderstorms had moved on, so the humidity was about normal for June in Georgia, the sky a pale, hazy blue and a hum of bees and the smell of flowers in the air. The friends and relations gathered in the folding chairs were fanning themselves, the ones unlucky enough to be in the sunny patches turning red in the face anyway, but nobody getting too unhappy about it, since it was pretty much to be expected, that time of year.
Troy stood beside his brother, drowning in his own sweat and his heart going like a freight train, and watched his family and Mirabella’s come down the aisle-the kids first, Jimmy Joe’s boy, J.J., pushing Amy in her stroller, his cousin Sammi June beside him, the two of ’em nudging and poking one another with their elbows. Then Mirabella’s sister Summer holding her two kids by the hands, and after that, the other sister, the older one- Eve, her name was-the globe-trotting TV producer, both of them tall, blond California girls, real knockouts. And then all the rest of his and Jimmy Joe’s brothers and sisters: Roy and Jessica, Calvin and Rhonda, and Joy Lynn, who’d already done this twice herself and hadn’t managed to figure out how to get it right yet.
So there they all were, gathered around the minister and Jimmy Joe, and all laughing and smiling just like it was a family picnic or something. And then they all watched as their parents came down the aisle, Mirabella’s dad with her mom on his arm, Jimmy Joe’s mama helping
The parents and Granny Calhoun took their seats in the front row of chairs. The organist from the Methodist church struck some chords on the old upright piano-which Troy and his brothers had hauled out onto the patio last night-and then launched right into “Here Comes the Bride.” A rustle of anticipation ran through the crowd, and Troy felt the same shiver in his insides. Everybody turned to look. Troy was looking, too, but his vision was starting to go shimmery on him.
And then here she came.
She came down the aisle toward him, looking straight ahead, walking with assurance in spite of the grass and the high-heeled shoes, with those incredible legs of hers going on forever. He thought she seemed thinner than when he’d seen her last, but it could have been the dress, which was the soft green of new leaves, with a skirt that stopped just above her knees, and a top that left her throat and arms bare. Her skin was pale as wax, and she had her hair slicked back and up in that way that reminded him of Audrey Hepburn, or maybe a prima ballerina, and topped with yellow roses. She was holding a yellow rose, too-he happened to know they’d been picked this morning from this very garden.
Troy thought she was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen in his life.
But that wasn’t what had his throat swelling up and his eyes misting over. What did him in was the way she carried herself-head high, shoulders back, and a “Go ahead, make my day!” look to her chin-that took him straight back to the first time he’d ever set eyes on her, that night he’d watched her come toward him down that hallway in the Mourning Spring jail. Bravado. Sheer bravado.
As the maid of honor took her place on the minister’s right, Troy could hear Bubba barking out in front of the house, where he’d been tied to a tree to keep him from getting in the way. At least, he thought, he’s not howling.
And then the organist started the wedding march all over again, and it was Mirabella’s turn to make that long walk down the aisle. Troy knew he should be watching her along with his brother and everyone else, but he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off Charly.
Troy could hear his brother’s voice as clear as if he’d just spoken the words aloud. And right then and there he vowed he never would, no matter how long it took.
