Only One

“I have an idea,” she says.

###

Reagan and Pete are supposed to get married today, in a beautiful ceremony on the beach, but at the last minute, women storm the house. They run Dad out amid his mighty protests, and I just grin and push him toward the Reed men, who take him out for an hour to go shopping, and I hope they’re telling him the plan.

Reagan drops down in a chair beside Mom and takes her hand. “So, I had this tiny little wedding planned,” she says.

Mom nods. “I’m planning to be there, even if they have to carry me.”

Reagan shakes her head. “But I decided I don’t want to do it today.” She motions Friday into the room, and Sky behind her. They’re carrying all sorts of makeup, and clothing in big bags. “Pete and I talked about it, and we decided that we’d rather watch you and John get remarried today.”

“What?” Mom’s eyes fill with tears. “I can’t,” she protests, just like we thought she would.

“You can. I won’t take no for an answer.” Reagan is adamant. Mom cries. I cry. Everyone cries.

“What if John doesn’t want to?” she asks.

Friday snorts. “I don’t think that’s the case.” We look toward the doorway and find Dad standing there, looking so handsome in a tux.

“Get ready, Pattycakes,” he says. “I’m carrying you down the aisle, if you don’t meet me at the end of it.” His voice catches on the last sentence, and he walks away rubbing his eyes.

Mom throws up her hands. “Well, I guess that’s a yes,” she says.

We do hair and makeup, and then Reagan drops her own wedding dress down over Mom’s head. It’s a little big because Mom has lost so much weight, but it fits well enough. Reagan’s Mom, who flew in with her dad and her little brother for the ceremony that now isn’t happening, tells Mom the dress looks much better on her than it did on Reagan. Mom laughs. It’s nice of her to say so. And even nicer that Reagan gave up her day.

Mom squeezes Reagan’s hand. “I’m so grateful.” Reagan wipes away a tear.

“Are you ready?” Matt asks from the doorway. “John is waiting down on the beach.”

Mom smiles. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

Matt pushes her wheelchair into the room.

“No,” Mom says. “I’m walking.”

“Mom,” I protest.

She holds up a hand. “I’m walking,” she says.

I nod and swipe a tear from my face. “Okay,” I croak out. I take her arm and let her lean on me, and we walk onto the deck.

She stops to stare at the beauty of it. Right in front of our deck they’ve set up chairs and an arbor of flowers. Dad is standing in front of it, and he holds out his hands and says, “All this is for us, Pattycakes!”

I walk down the aisle with Mom holding on to me, but then I hand her over to Dad and go sit with Nick. He takes my hand and smiles at me. I wipe the tears from my cheeks and concentrate on the beauty of the moment. Mom and Dad declare their love, and then Dad slips her ring back onto her finger, and she does the same with his.

There are camera crews there for the Reeds, but Matt assures me they’re making a video that will be just for us, something to look back on.

I watch the wind as it blows through Mom’s hair and a feeling of peace settles over me. Nick squeezes my hand and I kiss his cheek.

After they say “I do,” Dad picks her up and carries her to the deck, where he sits down in a lounge chair with her reclining against him. I hear him ask, “Are you okay?” She nods, and lies back against him.

Emily pulls out a guitar and begins to play. She plays her song, and suddenly Mom asks, “Do you know ‘I’ll Fly Away’?”

Emily nods and starts to sing about one fine day when this life is over and flying away. Mom sings too, and everyone else on the deck joins in. There’s not a dry eye on the deck when it’s over.

Mom is tired, but she stays awake until the sun sets, and we live and laugh and love. Then she asks me to help her change clothes. “I want to go to the lighthouse,” she says.

“Okay,” I say hesitantly. I go and ask Nick if there’s some way we can get her there.

He pulls his jeep down onto the beach and we get in. Dad carries Mom to the lighthouse, and then he and Nick leave us there for a while.

Mom and I talk. We talk about her and Dad, and life, and me and Nick. And it’s the best talk ever. A shooting star flashes across the sky and Mom whispers, “Make a wish.”

I close my eyes and wish. But I can’t say out loud what it was for, because then it won’t come true.

And I desperately need for it to come true.

Nick

Carrie’s mom died on Sunday. Carrie and I sat on the deck for hours afterward, not saying a word. She was devastated, but it was a good kind of loss, the kind where you have to be thankful because someone is no longer in pain. The kind that guts you, because you will never have them again, but it makes you relieved to see their pain end, when relief is the opposite of what you want to feel.

The Reeds hang out with us, bringing food and greeting guests. Matt and Logan sit down beside us on the porch finally as the sun is about to set. “It was a beautiful service,” Logan says.

Carrie nods. Carrie’s a little choked up, because her dad just gave her the video diary, and she’d played the “on the day I die” video. There’s a video for all sorts of occasions, and Carrie is determined she’s not going to look at them until she gets to those mile-markers.