“So were you,” he said. “At looking, I mean. Eighteen months, you said?”
“Eighteen months.”
He held out his hand. I shook it.
“If you’re ever tired of whatever firm you’re at,” he said, “call me.”
My father’s business partner came next. He didn’t apologize. He just asked, very quietly, whether any of the money had gone through his company. I told him I didn’t think so. He looked so relieved he almost cried.
Then the editor of the local paper came over with a notebook.
“No,” I said, before she even opened her mouth. “Not today.”
She looked at me for a second. Then she closed the notebook and put it back in her bag.
“Fair enough,” she said. “Congratulations. It was a hell of a wedding.”
Grandpa gave a toast.
Nobody had asked him to. He just stood up during dinner, tapped his glass with his fork, and waited for everyone to get quiet.
