One More Knight

He wasn’t sure when he’d stopped worrying and thinking about what he was going to do with himself now that he’d retired from the navy. He just knew it didn’t matter anymore what he did with the rest of his life; the only thing that mattered was whom he did it with. And he knew, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that the who for him was the woman standing across from him, the woman with the pain of unresolved issues in her whiskey eyes. It didn’t matter to him that she was an L.A. lawyer with some peculiar notions about what sophistication was, or that she’d made up her mind to hate everything about the South. He didn’t care that she had no real idea what it was like to be part of a family-he figured he had family enough for the both of ’em, and he couldn’t wait to make her a part of it. All he knew was, in her he’d found his soul’s compass, his life’s magnetic north. All the rest, as he’d heard it said somewhere, was details.

For the first time in his life he thought maybe he understood why it is that people cry at weddings.

“Dearly beloved,” the minister began, “we are gathered here in the sight of God and this congregation to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony…”

When he got to the part that usually goes “Who gives this woman to be married…” and so on, what he said instead was, “Who stands with this man and this woman?” That had been another one of Mirabella’s ideas.

Then all the family that was gathered around shouted out in joyful chorus, “We do!” And they scattered and took their seats, all but Charly and Troy, while Mirabella and Jimmy Joe came together face-to-face in front of the minister, and took hold of each other’s hands.

It was then, in the humming, rustling quiet, while everyone was getting settled again, that Troy heard Charly make a sound. A soft, choking sound.

Her face looked frozen, pale as marble. In it, her eyes seemed to glow like liquid fire. But she was gazing, not at him, not at the bride and groom, not at anyone in the seated congregation, but beyond them. At someone who was standing there, all alone. A young man, hardly more than a boy, with dark gold hair, a sensitive face and a certain proud jut to his chin.

Cutter.

He was holding something in his hands. A small book, bound in dark green leather.

My diary. Charly stared at it, uncomprehending. But…that’s impossible.

Then slowly, wonderingly, she turned to Troy. She knew that tears were streaming down her face, but she didn’t care. Through them she saw sunshine…rainbows. And she could see his face, more clearly than she’d ever seen anything in her life before.

“…and do you take this man…to have and to hold…to love and to cherish…from this day forward, as long as you both shall live?”

She heard the words, but they seemed to come from the sky and the air, the sunshine and breezes, from the grass and the flowers and trees. From deep inside her, from her heart…from her soul.

With her eyes clinging to his…to the most beautiful, incredible, miraculous pair of eyes she’d ever seen…she felt her own lips moving, forming the words as Jimmy Joe and Mirabella spoke them aloud.

And through the golden shimmer of her tears she could see Troy’s lips saying them, too, at the very same moment:

Yes! Yes…I do.

I love you.

Epilogue

From the diary of Charlene Elizabeth Phelps

Final Entry

(So much has happened between my last entry and this one, it would take a book to tell it all. Maybe I will do that someday-write a book about it-who knows? Stranger things have happened!)

October 5, 1998

Dear Diary: (Okay, it still seems hokey to me, this business of writing to an inanimate object as if it were a living, breathing person, but I suppose customs must be adhered to.)

I came home today. Home to-are you ready for this?-Mourning Spring, Alabama. That’s right, the very same place I ran away from over twenty years ago, swearing never to return.

Home. What an amazing thing. How could I not have known that home isn’t a place at all? But a state of mind-or perhaps I should say, of the heart-a safe haven created by the people we love, and that love us. Yes-love us. I, Charly Phelps, am loved! Is that incredible, or what? Even more amazing, I am loved even though I have done nothing whatsoever to deserve it! I am loved in spite of myself. This is a truly incredible and humbling thing, and I am having trouble even now believing that it is true.

But it is true, Dear Diary. Today, a few hours ago now, right down there in the backyard of the house where I grew up, where Colin and I used to play, I officially became something I never in a million years ever thought I’d be. Yup, I am now the wife of an honest-to-God Southerner. Who’d a’ thought, huh? Wow.

My wedding day. Could it possibly have been more beautiful? The sky was so blue and the sun so warm, and for a backdrop, the woods where Colin and I once hid notes to each other, looking as though they were on fire. (Poor Bubba just about had a fit because he couldn’t get loose and chase after the squirrels!)

It was a very simple ceremony. Naturally, we had Bella and Jimmy Joe stand up with us, although I sort of hated to impose on Bella, what with all the trouble and worry she’s having over her sisters (especially Summer with that no-good ex-husband of hers still missing-and if you ask me he’s probably dead by now-and Evie off somewhere in South America filming giant reptiles or who knows what.) But you know Mirabella. Not only was she my maid of honor, but she insisted on planning the entire wedding, down to the nth detail! All I can say is, it’s a good thing Jimmy Joe is a patient man.

I can’t believe how many people were there. All of Troy’s kinfolk came up from Georgia, which is a good-size bunch right there! And most of the town of Mourning Spring, it seemed like. (Kelly Grace bawled her eyes out, wouldn’t you know.) Anyway, I guess the town’s forgiven me, especially since the judge came through his bypass surgery and is out of the hospital and doing so well. He-my dad-was right there in the front row, and he looked pretty impressive, if you ask me, even without his robes. (Troy had the idea of having him marry us, but Dobie wouldn’t hear of it, and insisted on a preacher.) Anyway, he sat there the whole time holding Dobie’s hand, right in front of everybody. (’Brina, he calls her-my stepmom. Wow.)

He looked proud. PROUD. Of me. Can you believe it?

And right next to him was Cutter. Cutter, my beautiful, miraculous, grown-up son. Still very much a stranger to me, but then I can’t expect to make up for the twenty years I’ve missed overnight. At least we’re talking, getting to know one another little by little. Who knows? Maybe one day we’ll get to be friends. It’s getting easier, these days, to believe in miracles.

I walked my own self down the aisle. Hey-what did you expect? I’ve been on my own most of my life, it wouldn’t make much sense to have somebody “give me away” at this late date, would it? Anyway, I did it, walked down the aisle-which by the way was an actual white carpet, Mirabella’s idea, which she says she learned the hard way after trying to walk on grass in high heels at her wedding!-and down there at the other end, there was Troy, waiting for me.

Oh boy. I’m not sure I can find the words to tell what I felt then. What I still and will always feel, for as long as I live. I remember that I couldn’t feel my feet touching the ground. I remember that I felt as if I were flying, and at the same time like I wanted very much to cry. I’m still not sure I deserve to be so happy. But you know what? Dobie said all those years ago that God had something important for me to do, and I know now that she was right. It was this and only this: to love and be loved by this man.

Troy says that I am his compass, his magnetic north. I understand, now, what he means by that, because today I found out that he is mine as well. It was at that moment when I put my hand in his that I knew I had found