I laughed so hard I almost cried. Maybe I should have known better.
By the time Lorie placed my hand in hers at the altar, all those tender memories had already made me cry.
Callahan stood there, Buddy at his side, sporting a black bow tie that one of his students had insisted on choosing. These same students were supposed to perform a love song as I walked down the aisle. Instead, they gave us a brave, if somewhat shaky, rendition riddled with off-key notes and forced effort. It was terrible, but in an incredibly touching way.
When the pastor asked me if I accepted Callahan as my husband, I answered yes before he had even finished speaking.
Then there were the hugs, the cheap cake, the cardboard cups filled with punch, the children running under the folding tables, and Lorie pretending not to wipe her eyes every time she looked at me.
For once, I wasn’t the woman marked by scars that everyone tried to hide. I was the bride.
Lorie drove us back to Callahan’s apartment after sunset. Buddy went in first, exhausted by all the attention, and collapsed by the bedroom door with the deep sigh of a dog who has done his duty.
My sister hugged me tightly on the doorstep. “You deserve it, Merry,” she whispered. “I’m so happy for you, my darling.”
Then she left, and suddenly, it was just my husband and me, lulled by the first moments of peace and tranquility of marriage.
I led Callahan by the hand to the bedroom. When we reached the edge of the bed, he turned towards me, and I felt even more nervous than when I had walked up the aisle.
Not because he could see me.
Because I couldn’t.
Part of me had always believed that Callahan’s blindness had made it possible for me; that with him, I would never again have to see that fleeting recognition on a man’s face and wonder if love had survived the first real look.
She slowly raised her hand. “Merritt… may I?”
I nodded.
His fingers first brushed against my cheek, then the scar across my jaw, and finally the marks on my throat, just above the lace. I almost stopped him instinctively. Years of concealment don’t magically disappear thanks to the kindness of others. But Callahan’s touch was so gentle that I let him continue.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured.
Those words broke my heart. I wept bitterly on his shoulder, almost breathless, because for the first time in my adult life, I felt seen without being seen. I felt safe in his arms.
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