“Good joints,” Grandpa said, running his hand along the edge. “Tight. No glue showing. You do good work, son.”
Daniel told me later that was the best compliment he’d ever gotten.
My parents had no idea Grandpa was coming. They’d told everyone he was “too far gone” to travel. That he wouldn’t even know it was a wedding.
So when he walked into that bridal suite, they’d looked at him like they were seeing a ghost.
My plan was simple. Get married. Go on our honeymoon. Let the lawyers do the rest.
I hadn’t planned on what Grandpa would do.
The organ was still playing out in the hallway.
Mom stood in the doorway with her arms crossed.
“Fine,” she said. “Let him walk you. Let everybody see what you’ve done. Dragging a sick old man out of his care home for your little show.” She turned to my sisters. “Come on, girls. Let’s go take our seats.”
