Bride & Groom

isn’t interested. Let him stay downstairs.”
    “He wants to be with me,” Judith said gently. "All he wants is to be with me. It’s not too much for him to ask.” To me, she said, “He’s on every old-dog drug there is. He’s not in any pain.”
    "I’m sure he’s not.” Indeed, Uli wore a contented expression and softly wagged his white-tipped tail.
    The flight of stairs ended at a spacious landing. Two doors were closed, and three stood open. Pointing toward one of the open doors, Olivia said, “Mommy’s study. People always want to see where she writes.”
    Before I had a chance to get more than a glimpse of a computer sitting on a paper-laden desk, Olivia rushed into another room and announced, “Mommy’s bedroom. My gown is here because she has tons of closet space.”
    It seemed to me that the whole bedroom had tons of space. It was furnished with a king-size bed, two night stands, two dressers, a small easy chair, and a large dog bed that looked unused. Olivia opened a door to reveal a walk-in closet. “Wouldn’t you die for all this room?” Olivia exclaimed. “Mommy is so lucky.”
    Looking embarrassed, Judith said, “Uli and I both snore, and I have insomnia. And Uli gets restless at five in the morning. Mac can’t sleep through the noise.”
    The awkward topic of the separate sleeping arrangements ended there. Olivia emerged from the closet with what she told me was a Vera Wang gown. It was elaborate and lovely. I took care to exclaim admiringly about it. Then the three of us and Uli made our way downstairs. Judith and I helped Uli, whose progress was slow. As I held him, I noticed how extraordinarily clean he was. His coat felt as if he’d just been bathed and groomed, and he had not a trace of the old-dog odor that’s sometimes impossible to eradicate.
    When we reached the main floor, Judith and Olivia went to the kitchen, and I joined everyone else by the fireplace. Arrayed near it were a guitar, a violin, and a keyboard connected to a big speaker. In my absence, the others had been talking about our wedding music. Specifically, although neither Steve nor I was a particular fan of classical music, we’d felt obliged to have a solemn, highbrow accompaniment for the service. Ian had a better idea. “Why get married to music you don’t love? How’d you feel about jazz guitar?”
    Steve and I looked blank.
    Instead of regaling us with words, Ian picked up his guitar and began to play a medley of 1930s jazz songs. The sound was anything but solemn, and far more hot than highbrow. I was crazy about it. Steve squeezed my hand. Watching our faces, Ian smiled and began what it took me a second to recognize as the Wedding March.
    By then, Judith and Olivia were serving the chocolate soufflé and pouring coffee. Daniel moved to the keyboard, and he and Ian switched to music we might want at the reception, mainly country and old Motown. Daniel had been modest about his own talent, but he seemed to have no difficulty in following Ian, and they both played requests. Although Ian assured us that he’d have a great female vocalist with him, I’d liked his singing on his CDs, and when he and Daniel sang, they sounded good to me. Steve asked for and got “My Girl.” The chocolate soufflé, the upbeat music, and Steve’s flattery took me out of myself, and I almost lost my discomfort and suspicion until Steve, as seduced as I was, made the faux pas of requesting “Your Cheatin’ Heart.” I could feel my cheeks turn the color of the flames in the fireplace. Fortunately, Ian and Daniel immediately began to play the song, and I practically buried my face in my plate as I scraped up the last of the chocolate.
    When the song finally ended, I said, “We wondered about dog songs, but they’re probably too corny for you.”
    Ian’s response was sweet. “Nothing’s too corny for me. And I love dogs.” With that, he began a series of amazing guitar improvisations on “Hound Dog,” “Hot Diggity Dog,” and a few other sappy songs rendered unsappy by his good-humored brilliance.
    When he finished, Mac said, “Play your mother’s song."
    “’Uli’s Tune,’" Judith said. “It’s not mine. It’s Uli’s.”
    The instrumental was strong and melodic, with a theme that began simply and developed richly. It ended with soft, sad notes. Judith watched her old dog throughout it. At the end, she said, “My two good boys. Ian, thank you.”
    If Claire had yet again nagged Judith about