That wasn’t unusual, either.“Come with me!” she said, excitedly. “I just have to show you what I did!”She pulled me upstairs to her “studi...”, which is what she’d started calling the guest bedroom. There were two easels set up. One of them had a partially finished oil painting of a landscape on it. The other was covered by a drape. I was used to the clutter of art stuff in the room. All I did was sleep there, occasionally, and didn’t spend a lot of time in that room.“Stand over there,” she said,. But on this particularchallenge, we had been in unison. Our love had prevailed over everythingelse. I understood her and she understood me. "Be true to yourself," wehad often said to each other and to our children.At the second to last pew, I stopped.The person whose arm I held stopped too and looked at me, puzzled.I stared at the bridal party.I stared at the groom, the best man, and the groomsmen.I turned and stared at the congregation. They began to softly murmur.All of them stared back at. More

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