Rory

“Speak now.”

A rumble of chuckles emanated from the gathered family and friends, and Katie scrunched her head down and flashed a nervous half-smile at her husband-to-be, who grew her smile into a full grin with his effected eye-roll followed by a wink of his left eye. Tension eased itself out of Katie’s shoulders and neck and she knew, somehow, that all the stress leading up to this moment … this moment they had planned for, hoped for, looked for … was not going to overshadow the joy in her heart and the sheer excitement of becoming Mrs. Donald Parker. Mr. Donald Parker, who didn’t have to change his name, find the perfect dress, satisfy two sets of family regarding choice of venue and caterer, pick a color scheme, sample a dozen cakes, or make tough decisions about who not to include on the way-over-the-limit guest list largely populated by her extended family members, had spent the day before fishing and smoking cigars with his best man and other groomsmen. His greatest stressor, if it could be called that, had been making sure his dad’s 1969 Camaro was spotless, fueled up, and ready to serve as the “get-away” car on the big day. Even now, standing there next to her, all duded up in his rented tux with his hair gel-glued in perfect coif, he was a picture of ease and self-assurance. Katie loved that about him—his never-ruffled manner—and though it hadn’t help calm her nerves today, she was thankful no nervousness of his own had made hers worse.

           The minister had only mentioned the once-standard phrase while noting that everyone would be relieved to know it was no longer necessary to keep couples on edge anticipating such a question, fearing some legal abnormality might ruin their special day. Having broken the ice, the minister opened his mouth to speak the next part of the liturgy, smiling at bride and groom and appreciating the effectiveness of his casual aside on a noticeably less serious-looking bride.

“I want to speak!”

The overloud, somewhat high-pitched voice shattered the minister’s reverie and pierced the peaceful comfort of the room. The bride’s eyes got wide with near terror. The mother of the bride brought her hand to her mouth but remained silent. The flower girl dropped her bouquet, and a collected gasp morphed into unintelligible murmurings and whisperings among the congregants. The groom’s right eyebrow raised a half-inch, and he looked slightly to his right to the place occupied by the body that had uttered those atmosphere-transforming words.

Standing square in the middle of the line of black-clad, cookie-cutter groomsmen was a stocky, twenty-something, baby-faced boy with hair escaping earlier attempts to smooth it down and wearing a crooked bowtie with daffodils on it. From his back pocket protruded a ragged spiral-bound notebook that was unraveling on the end.

The boy (for though he was technically a man, all who knew him thought of him perpetually as a boy) had been quietly standing, up to the point of his outburst, not really paying attention to the service. He had walked in the side door, between the others, just like they told him to, just like the others, but without his otherwise ubiquitous toothy smile, and had stood dutifully on the bit of masking tape marking his spot. He checked the tape regularly to make sure it was still between his feet. When the bride came down the aisle, and everyone turned to watch her, he wanted to smile, wanted to yell hello to her, actually, but he had been given strict instructions not to say anything, and probably, feeling the way he was, that was good advice. What he wanted to say wasn’t very nice, wouldn’t make her happy. And he wanted her to be happy. He wanted to be happy, too, but there she was, getting married, and then, leaving. He tried not to think about it. “Think about how pretty Katie will look,” they had told him. He tried that, but his mind kept wandering back to home, to their home, his and Katie’s, and to Buster, their golden retriever. Katie’s golden retriever, actually, but she had promised to leave him behind when she left. The man in the black robe was saying something now, something about if anyone knew why Katie shouldn’t get married, speak now. Speak now! The words jolted him back to the wedding and he did as the man had asked.

“I … I want to,” the voice said again, this time not with quite so much enthusiasm, and looking around the room with more uncertainty now that he had brought attention to himself and held the gaze of, oh, too many eyes. Why were they all looking?

“I don’t want Katie to get married! I don’t want … Buster … good dog … Katie gone … just Rory.…” His voice was trembling now, and he felt the hot sting and wet in his eyes. He thought he couldn’t stand there anymore. He needed to touch Katie, hug Katie, never let go of her.

The minister had quietly closed his book, and looked helplessly from bride to groom to groomsman, willing his brain to come up with something but failing in the attempt. The mother of the bride was standing now, and her hand had fallen back to her side, but she couldn’t unplant herself and move … where? To her daughter? Her son? She waited, fearful, sad, resigned.

Katie’s nervousness was all gone now. She caught Donnie’s eye with a pity-full glance, squeezing and then releasing his hand as she turned wordlessly and handed her bouquet to her maid of honor. Gathering her dress to herself she walked the dozen paces or so over to where the boy stood and gave him a compassionate, yet somehow scolding, smile. Dropping the folds of her dress, she extended her arms towards him and instantly felt her body smothered by his crumbling embrace, her beautifully curled tresses smushed flat by the hug. He rested his head on her shoulder, turned away from her, eyes shut tight and mind emptying itself of pent-up anxiety and fear.

She allowed him a few more seconds of this comfort, and then began gently pushing him back so that she could look him in the face. He at first thought she was leaving, and tried to resist the separation, but she sent him a piercing, commanding look that he knew so very well, that spoke louder than words ever could. She had his attention now, and he felt a scolding coming. The nervousness that had been hers only moments earlier now filled his entire frame and he knew, no question about it, he was in trouble.

The audience (for they had, practically every one of them, begun to feel like they were spectators at a play rather than guests at a wedding) sat mesmerized, eager to see how this debacle would play out and secretly, many of them, thinking they had definitely gotten their money’s worth today.

“Rory Chapman. What did I tell you fifteen times already today, not to mention the past two weeks? ‘This is my special day. It will be your special day, too, to be a groomsman and wear fancy clothes. But it won’t be a time to talk. You mustn’t say a single word.’ Do you remember that, Rory? Do you? Remember what you promised? I let you wear the tie with daffodils, and you promised not to say anything. Remember?”

“I remember, Katie. I wore the daffodils. You wore the pretty dress. I didn’t tell Donnie about the pretty dress. You have daffodils in your flowers. I didn’t get to have a daffodil. Just on my tie. You had daffodils.”

“Rory! Forget the daffodils. You didn’t keep your promise.”

“I didn’t. I don’t. I … I don’t want you to leave, Katie. Don’t go with Donnie … leave Rory.”

“You like Donnie, Rory. Remember, he takes you horseback riding. He helps you hunt for arrowheads. He buys you Rocky Road ice cream. Don’t you love Donnie, Rory?”

“I love Donnie. Katie loves Donnie, too. Going to leave with Donnie and live in a new house. Rory can’t come. I can’t come, Katie. Can’t be with you and Donnie. Buster can stay.”

“Yes, Buster will always stay with you. He’s your dog now. Listen, Rory. I have to do something now, very important. We came here today so I can marry Donnie. See him, there? We can’t just leave him standing looking all silly and all with the minister. And look, there’s Mommie. See her? She wants you to do this, Rory. Can you try? Please? For Katie.”

“Don’t leave me, Katie. Don’t go. I don’t like it here, on this piece of tape. It’s dirty, and I messed up the corner. See?” Rory stared longer at the tape than was necessary to observe its qualities, and Katie gently lifted his head with her right hand, the hand that was supposed to be holding Donnie’s left hand right now.

“Rory, I have an idea. Will you take my hand? Will you trust me? This will all be over soon, and we can have cake and Diet Dr. Pepper. Tell you what: I’ll whisper it to you. It’ll be our secret, just like always. Secret sibbies, Katie and Rory. Okay?”

Moments later, the minister, clearly not yet possessed again of his place of authority and assurance, leaned toward the couple and softly asked, “Are you sure about this? It’s rather … unique.”

Katie leaned forward and looked at Donnie, who mimicked her actions in reverse, peering around a beaming Rory who stood like Moses parting the Red Sea between them. Their hands were clasped behind Rory’s back, who was greatly appreciating the confidence-inducing backrubs. Their eyes locked in sympathetic understanding, and Katie’s heart melted even more into a puddle of warm, abiding contentedness and, it could only be named … joy. If this precious soul of such unflusterable sanguinity could love her, love Rory as a result of loving her, in this sacred moment, let come what may: she was secure. She would be the bride who set the standard forevermore for happiness on her wedding day.

The rest of the ceremony went flawlessly: the charge, the vows, Rory belting out in monotone the wedding hymn (which words he knew exactly none of), the pronouncement of man and wife … even the kiss went off without the smallest glitch, thanks in no small part to the minister’s inspired spontaneous suggestion that the entire wedding party, Rory included, all make a big circle around the newly-married couple and shout and clap as they shared their first kiss as husband and wife.

At the reception, Rory danced, first with Katie, then with Donnie and Katie together, and then in a line with everyone doing the “YMCA” song. There was plenty of cake, and Diet Dr. Pepper for Rory, and sparklers for the going away, which came in very handy as Mommie distracted Rory with the intoxicating swirls and patterns made by the sparkler in the cool spring evening while the happy couple bounded into the Camaro and made their exit.

* * * *

Three months after celebrating her one-year anniversary, Katie received the call that she had been dreading. Even before pressing the button and hearing her mother’s voice, Katie knew what she would hear.

“The doctors confirmed the tumors are malignant. They think I have a good chance of survival, but it’s going to be a drawn-out journey of treatment and recovery.”

“Oh, Mom, oh, I knew it. I … I … oh, why do we have to be so far away? I want to be there. I want to be with you.” The tears were flowing, but Katie battled to keep them silent and not shift the attention to herself in this moment. She knew how this would resolve: Donnie couldn’t change jobs; they couldn’t move to be closer to her mom. They had discussed it long and often and both knew that it was neither possible or even what they should try to do. But acknowledging that reality, facing it here, when it was right in front of her, it broke her spirit and made her heart ache.

“Oh, I know that dear. Of course you can’t be, but that’s fine. When we lost your father all those years ago, of course I still had you and Rory, but I learned, too, how to be on my own, care for myself. We’ve already talked about this, remember, if this was the news I got? I’ve got plenty of means for in-home help. I’m surrounded by friends, and you’ll fly up and visit often, I know.”

“You better believe it. We’ll be there so much you’ll be begging us to leave.” She held the phone away to wipe the moisture from her face. “What about Rory? Have you said anything to him? How is Janet working out with him?” Katie thought she detected a sigh from her mother, and there was a moment of silence on the line.

“Janet quit. Rory wouldn’t listen to her, wouldn’t cooperate with her. I’ve never seen him so agitated and difficult. She couldn’t make any progress with him. I think he senses something is wrong with me. Then he bit Janet, and started screaming for her to go away. She just couldn’t handle it.” Another pause. “Honestly, he’s my biggest concern right now. You know how long it took him to get settled after the wedding; I mean, we still talk about where you are, what you’re doing, when you’re coming back … every single night before bed and sometimes during the day. And it’s gotten worse since I found out I’m sick. I didn’t say anything to him; I know better than that. He just knows, you know? He tried to leave home and go find you day before yesterday. He got as far as the Wilsons’ before I knew he was gone. I’m … well, to be honest, I fear not being able to help him more than I fear the cancer. Katie, I … I wondered …”

“Yes! Yes, a thousand times Yes! He can come stay with us as long as you need him to. Goodness, why didn’t I think of it before now? I guess I was so focused on your getting help with him there, and with us so far away, and it such an unfamiliar environment for him. But, it’s perfect. Donnie and I have long known that one day we would likely be the ones to care for Rory.” Her voice caught in her throat. “We didn’t think it would be this soon, but I know he’ll be fine with it. Please, let us do this. You’re right to suggest it. Oh, forgive me for not saying it first.”

* * * *

Katie knelt next to Rory, who was already on his knees, gardening trowel in one hand, his other hand holding mounds of dirt steady on the trowel, digging a deeper and deeper hole in the flower bed next to the Japanese maple under the kitchen window. He looked a comical figure—a grown man, covered in dirt, humming a melody known only to himself, contentedly filling the surface of the freshly-tilled bed with hole after hole.

His cares were many, but they were unknown to him, the burden carried silently by a loving sister and her affable hunk of a husband. He occasionally asked for Mommie, when she might come visit, but deep inside his heart—which more and more seemed to be compensating for the deficiencies left by his beleaguered brain, and subsequently seemed to be growing itself larger—he knew the truth. Katie said Mommie was in heaven, and he kinda liked the thought of that, because Katie said there was only happiness in heaven. But he also didn’t like it, because he didn’t know where heaven was, or how he might get there to see Mommie.

Overall, though, Rory was happy. Another person might have called that feeling inside him contentedness. But happy was what he called it. What he felt. Here, with Katie, and Donnie, and Buster. Mostly, though, he just liked digging these holes, distracted only from time to time by a falling leaf from the oak tree in the corner of the yard.

“Here you go, buddy. This is the last of them. I’ll stick them in these amazing holes you’ve dug, and you cover them up and pat them down. Next spring, with a little luck, we’ll have the most beautiful daffodils you ever saw.”