How to Talk to a Widower

compartment next to the stereo and selects an old KISS anthology. And soon the bass drums are pounding and the guitars are riffing, and there’s nothing to do but sing along to the crude lyrics, purging our collective nerves in the thunderous, throbbing music.
I want to rock and roll all night, and party every day! / I want to rock and roll all night, and party every day!
And even Stephen joins in, bouncing his knee and nodding to the beat as he does, and we’re all singing, at full volume, rocking in our seats and banging on upholstery, trying to empty our bellies of every last bit of nerves. The song ends too soon, before anything transcendent can occur, before we can be saved by Rock and Roll. None of us knows the words to the next one, I mean, it’s KISS after all, and who really knows more than one or two KISS songs? So Russ turns it down and we go back to looking out the windows as the limo cruises up the interstate, three lost, confused, well-dressed men, hurtling northward toward uncertain salvation while outside the last clinging tendrils of sunlight slowly disintegrate in the evening sky.

40

    THE COCKTAIL HOUR HAS ENDED, AND THE GUESTS have all been herded outside, where five hundred folding chairs have been set up on a bluff overlooking the beach, facing a canopied platform through which you can see the sun setting over the ocean. Moths fly kamikaze missions into the bright standing lights that ring the area, and the sharp, recurring thwack of golf clubs hitting balls is faintly audible from the club’s driving range about fifty yards over, behind the tall wooden fence. By the time we make it down, the quartet is finished playing, the processional is over, and Debbie and Mike are standing under the canopy, flanked by her bridesmaids in elegant black gowns and Mike’s diminished pool of groomsmen. He should have chosen some alternates. I’m relieved to see that Dave Potter is not in attendance, because that would be somewhat awkward for all concerned, I think.
    Rabbi Gross, the rabbi of my parents’ temple and my mother’s go-to guy for all religious occasions, is officiating, and he’s just stepped up to the microphone and cleared his throat. Since there don’t seem to be any empty seats, Russ, Stephen, and I stand at the back of the aisle, comfortably out of view.
    “Friends,” Rabbi Gross begins in his soft, gurgling voice. He’s a tall, angular man with silver hair and a Vandyke that makes him look like Sigmund Freud. “We are all honored to be here on this joyous occasion, coming together with Deborah and Michael as they celebrate their love. And before I perform the ceremony, I’d like to just take a moment and read a passage from Psalms that I think encapsulates all that we wish for these two wonderful people.”
    The rabbi clears his throat again and starts to read, and I’m watching so intently that it takes me a minute to realize that Debbie has spotted me. Her eyes grow wide and she leans over to whisper urgently into Mike’s ear. Mike turns to look back at me as well, and then Debbie grabs two fistfuls of her bridal gown, steps down off the bandstand, and starts running up the aisle. There is an audible gasp from the crowd, and the rabbi stops his reading in midsentence. And I have to admit, I feel a little self-conscious about being here. The brother of the bride has fucked another man’s wife and everyone here has indubitably been brought up to speed on all the salacious details, weddings being much more entertaining when there’s some juicy backstory. But my baby sister is getting married, so I mutter an impressively comprehensive slew of disjointed expletives under my breath to calm my jangling nerves, and start limping down the aisle to meet her halfway. When we collide softly, she’s laughing and there are tears in her eyes as she throws her arms around me.
    “You look great, Pooh.”
    “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she whispers into my ear. “I can’t believe you came.”
    “I wouldn’t have missed it,” I say, suddenly finding myself short of breath.
    She grabs my hand and leads me down the aisle, back to the raised canopy. I can’t quite do the step up on my own, so Mike leans down to help me—“Hey, buddy, glad you could make it,” he says—and there’s a moment of excruciating pain as my torso stretches, I can feel the raw edges of my pierced tissue pulling and fraying, but then I’m up and Claire steps out of line to give me a hug. “I was