Fletch said, “Nice posies.”
“They’re forget-me-nots. Alston remembered them.”
Fletch looked across the field at the pickup trucks. “Someone arranged for caterers, too.”
“Alston.”
Fletch looked at Alston. “Guess I picked the right best man.”
Alston shrugged. “Didn’t have anything else to do. I’m an unemployed lawyer.”
“And,” Barbara said, “Alston has packed all your skiing things. And brought them to the airport. And checked them in.”
Fletch looked at Cindy. “I’m getting chewed out here.”
“Without Alston and Cindy…” Barbara’s voice trailed off in the wind.
Alston touched the Preacher’s arm as if searching for a starter button. “Sir?”
The Preacher smiled. “I’ve learned to wait until the bride and groom stop arguing. It makes for a nicer ceremony.”
Alston said, “The weather …”
The Preacher looked out to sea. “Ominous.”
The end of the allegory regarding rabbits was entirely blown away in the wind, despite the Preacher’s shouting. Fletch wondered if he would ever know where the rabbits finally set up hutch.
The wind abated enough so that the Preacher could be heard to yell, “With the powers invested in me by the State of California, I now declare you man and wife. What God has put together, let no man put asunder.”
A heavy raindrop fell on Fletch’s nose.
Immediately Linda broke between the bride and groom and kissed the groom on the mouth.
“What about woman?” Fletch tried to say.
Cindy was kissing Barbara.
Hand on the back of his neck, Linda said, “Next time, baby. You and me.”
The Preacher was kissing Barbara.
Alston shook Fletch’s hand. “I do divorces.”
“My vows seemed longer than her vows.”
“I’m sure it always seems that way.”
Barbara’s mother was kissing Barbara.
The middle-aged man dressed in khaki came through the crowd. He handed Fletch the envelope.
“Thanks,” Fletch said.
Immediately there were splotches of rain on the envelope.
Alston was kissing Barbara.
In the envelope were two passports, two thick airline ticket folders, a wad of bills, and a letter.
Fletch said, “Barbara?”
Frank Jaffe was kissing Barbara.
The man in khaki already was up on the road getting into a sports car. He had said nothing.
“Barbara …”
The rain was making the ink run on the page.
“Barbara!”
It was raining hard. Across the field, people were dashing for their cars. As Josephine walked, the flower blossom from her hat bobbed in front of her face. Men were throwing tarpaulins over the beds of the pickup trucks.
“What’s that?” Alston asked.
Hundred-dollar bills were fluttering out of Fletch’s hand and blowing in the wind. Alston scurried around picking them up.
On the road, Barbara was getting into a car with her mother.
“Where’s Nairobi?” Fletch handed Alston the dripping letter.
“Nairobi? East Africa? Kenya?” Reading the letter, Alston tried to protect it from the wind and the rain with his body. “Fletch! Your father!”
On the road, cars were going off in each direction. Josephine Fletcher was nowhere in sight. Even the pickup trucks went in different directions.
“Fletch, this has to be from your father. You always said he was dead.”
“He always was dead.”
Together they looked at the faint lines under the running ink of the writing paper.
“What the hell,” Alston said. “Your plane for Denver leaves at six o’clock.”
Peering inside the envelope, Fletch said, “These tickets are for a plane to London, leaving at seven- thirty.”
Only a few cars were left on the road.
“Alston, where is my mother staying?”
“At the Hanley Motor Court. On Caldwell, just off the freeway north.”
“Do you suppose that’s where she’s gone?”
“Of course.” Alston shivered. “We’re soaking wet.”
“Oh, yeah.”
Fletch took the illegible letter from Alston and stuffed it back in the envelope. “If you see Barbara, tell her I’ll meet her at the airport.”
“Where are you going?”
Rain ran down the faces of the two young men as they looked at each other.
Jogging up the slope to his car, Fletch slipped and fell. He landed on the envelope in the mud.
“Your father died in childbirth.”
“Whose?”
“Yours.”
They stood inside the door of Josephine Fletcher’s room at the Hanley Motor Court. She had changed into slacks, blouse, and open sweater. He was dripping wet.
He clutched the muddy envelope to his side.
“That’s what you’ve always said.”
