One Last Thing Before I Go

know why, and I don’t anymore. But on the subject of things you can and can’t change, you need to have that operation. I’m not going to beg you. But whatever it is you’ve lost, you still have a family.”
    “Thanks, Rich,” Silver says. “And I do hope you and Denise will be very happy together. You both deserve it.”
    Rich searches his face for any trace of sarcasm. Finding none, he nods and allows a small smile. “Thank you.”
    “And thanks for being so cool about me crashing your wedding.”
    “Thank the Xanax-scotch cocktail,” Rich says, holding up his glass as he backs away. “Do me one favor?”
    “Sure.”
    “Don’t fuck up my wedding.”
    Silver smiles. “You got it.”
    “Seriously, man. Don’t.”
    * * *
    The ceremony takes place in the courtyard. The guests sit in rows of chairs facing the chuppah, which has been rigged to four white columns festooned with roses. Silver sits in the back next to his mother, feeling highly conspicuous as he sweats into his shirt.
    “Breathe,” she tells him.
    The Scott Key Orchestra is playing. Silver saw them at cocktails, and he nods a quick hello to Baptiste, who is playing a standing bass for the small combo that will be handling the processional. The music starts and, as always, Baptiste throws him a quick little riff. Silver nods his thanks.
    They are playing Clapton’s “Wonderful Tonight,” a foolproof, if somewhat sappy, selection. Casey walks down the aisle with a poise that puts him on the verge of tears. She turns to look at him and flashes a wry smile. She will be OK, Silver thinks to himself.
    “Breathe,” Elaine whispers again.
    “I am,” he tells her, too loudly, and she shushes him.
    He can see Rich up front, greeting Casey with a hug and a kiss. He is jealous and grateful and flushed with shame, all at once. He failed, as a husband and father, and this better man has stepped in and cleaned up his mess. And it’s while he is awash in these feelings of shame and regret that all the guests rise, and Denise steps into the room.
    Silver looks at her, luminous in her white gown, her hair teased into unfamiliar, luxuriant curls that frame her face, her eyes as wide as her smile. He can see, beneath her makeup, the faintest trace of the bruise from where the door hit her what seems like a lifetime ago. She takes her first step into the room, and he can feel his face grow hot. The last time he saw her in that dress, a few days ago, she had fallen into his arms, and he’d entertained absurd notions of getting her back, of turning the last seven years into a bad dream. Now, looking at her face, filled with joy and purpose, he understands that that was never an option. Forgiveness has its comforts, but it can never give you back what you’ve lost.
    As Denise passes his row, Silver fades back, trying to confer on himself a form of invisibility, but something makes Denise stop and turn. Their eyes meet, and he feels his legs begin to tremble. She looks at him for what seems like an eternity, then she turns and steps out of the aisle and into his row. It’s happening, he thinks for one insane moment.
    The people standing between them in his row back up to make room for Denise, their chairs scraping noisily against the stone floor of the courtyard, and he is aware of small, hushed whispers breaking out in the crowd.
    Her ex-husband.
    I don’t know, he wasn’t invited.
    The Bent Daisies. The drummer.
    Silver.
    And then she is in front of him, and even now, here, knowing what he knows, he wonders if she’ll ask him to run off with her.
    She smiles, and puts her hands on his shoulders. “Silver,” she says.
    “You look beautiful,” he tells her.
    Her smile grows wider, even as tears form in her eyes. She pulls him into a hug, and he feels the skin of her back against his fingers one last time.
    “We need you alive,” she whispers to him, even as he feels things inside of him dying.
    And then she’s back in the aisle, although he can’t remember letting go of her. And then his father is chanting a blessing, and then rings are being exchanged, and then Rich stomps on the glass and kisses his bride as the courtyard erupts into applause and cheers. Denise is married. And even though nothing has changed, not really, in that moment he feels like he has lost her all over again.
    * * *
    The reception is in high gear, and the family has converged on the dance floor in a wild and sweaty horah. Silver watches from his seat as they go