Heather Burch - One Lavender Ribbon

After the vows, Pastor Vernon closed his Bible. “I now pronounce you man and wife.” With a half-grin, he gestured to Pops. “You may kiss the bride.”

“Now, turn and face the congregation while I present you,” Pastor Vernon said, gesturing toward the audience. “Ladies and gentlemen, please congratulate Mr. and Mrs. William Bryant.”

William and Sara made their way to the back, a shower of flower petals cascading over them as they passed each row.

Adrienne and Will came together in the front.

Pastor Vernon gestured toward Will. “I can run a fifty percent off special if you two would like to go ahead and tie the knot,” he joked.

“I’m sorry for the interruption earlier.” Will put an arm around Adrienne.

The preacher, who’d known the family since Will was old enough to get into fights on the church baseball field, smiled. “Never apologize for love. I think you gave your grandfather a terrific present by ruining his wedding.”

His joke was lost on Will as he stared into the deep, brown, sultry eyes he loved. “No thanks on the offer. Adrienne’s wedding is going to be for her alone. Whatever she wants, wherever she wants.”

And he pulled her into his arms, burying his head in the soft throat that was truly, finally his.

Much later that evening, Will and Adrienne sat on the beach, still in their wedding attire. The warm embrace of love surrounded them, shielding them from the coolness of the air that danced off the Gulf water. Her toes were dotted with sand, as were his. Their shoes had been discarded nearby. The sun played on the sea, causing it to look like diamonds spread on silk.

“What about Hawaii?” She tipped her head so that she could look at him.

“What about it?” he teased.

“For a wedding?”

“I’d love to go!” He threw her a sidelong glance. “Whose wedding is it anyway?”

“Ours.”

His heart jumped at those words. Ours. Adrienne would be his wife. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry, Miss Carter. But I’m afraid we can’t possibly get married.”

“And why is that?”

“Haven’t you heard? We aren’t even dating. It would be completely scandalous.”

“Yes,” she agreed, and left her chair to kneel in front of him. Her hands slid over his thighs, a sly grin on her face. “It would.” She nuzzled her head into the deep hollow of his throat. “Didn’t we agree that neither of us have enough scandal in our lives?” She forced out hot breath with each word—purposely—and the action had the desired effect.

His body shuddered. “Well,” he growled, catching a handful of her hair in his hand. “For the sake of scandal.”

Present day

Will pulled his daughter closer into the circle of his arms, drawing as much strength from her as she drew from him. A funeral wasn’t the place for a three-year-old, but he’d insisted. “Will Great-Grandma Sara wake up?” Her eyes flitted to the casket once again.

They’d tried to explain, but death in terms of toddler life experience was impossible. When her toys died, Daddy put new batteries in them and they were good as new. Adrienne took Will’s arm. “We should have left her with Sammie,” she whispered.

He shook his head, gave his wife a sad smile. “No. She’ll remember this—not all of it, but some. It’s important for her to experience and to remember.”

Adrienne slid her arm through his and squeezed. “How is Pops, really?”

Will glanced over her head to his grandfather, who stood between Will’s mom and dad. As if knowing his grandson sought assurance from him, Pops looked over and winked. But the light had left Pops’s eyes, and Will tried to resist the truth that he wouldn’t have him much longer. “He’s strong.”

Three-year-old SaraAnn squirmed in her daddy’s arms. “Can I go to Grandma Peggy?”

Peg heard and reached her arms out to take her grandchild.

Will’s hands were now empty, and he wasn’t sure what to do with them, so he pulled his wife closer and gently rubbed his fingers along her arm.

Pastor Vernon began to speak. “Seven years ago, I joined a man and woman in matrimony. They had the most endearing love story I’ve ever heard. Though they spent most of their time right here in Florida, during their seven years as man and wife, they visited three continents and countless countries. Sara Ambrosia Bryant was born July 11, 1928. Like Sarah of the Bible, she was gifted late in life with a family. Sara is survived by her husband, William Bryant; a son and daughter-in-law, Charles and Peg Bryant of Bonita Springs; grandson and wife, Will and Adrienne Bryant of Naples; and a great-grandchild, of the home. Sara loved fishing in the Gulf of Mexico. She and William would often take off on a fishing excursion early Saturday morning and not return until late that night. She caught a trophy sailfish last year, one her husband swears only bit on her line to torture him.”

The pastor talked on, but Will turned his attention to Pops, who’d stood stoic throughout the service. When the memorial ended and they stepped outside, Will noticed Pops fumbling with something in his pocket.

“What have you got there?”

Pops stared down at the boat key. “Thought I’d go out for a bit this evening.”

Concern drew Will’s brows together. A cold wind whistled up his pant leg, setting his flesh on alert. Will stared up at the winter sky. “It’s supposed to be cooler tonight, Pops. Why don’t you wait and I’ll go with you in the morning?”

Pops turned to face him fully, and something, some deep-seated reserve, caused the chill to pass through Will’s entire body. “Nope. Going myself this time.”

Will had fought the onset of tears and wasn’t sure why now they insisted on burning his nose and stinging his eyes. “Really, Pops. I’d like to go. I’ll go with you tonight. The grass will be slick when we get home.”

But there was peace in his grandfather’s voice as he spoke. “I’m eighty-eight, Will. I’ve lived through a war and buried the love of my life twice. I’m not afraid of a little wet grass.” Quietly, he added. “I’m not afraid to live. And I’m not afraid to die.”

Panic caused the sobs to tighten in Will’s throat. He tried to speak, but fear so thoroughly froze him, no words came. Finally, he was able to say, “Pops. The dream.” And this broke him. His tortured voice matched the terror inside his heart.

“How many times have I told you that’s not the way I go?” He looked up at the sky, filled with encroaching clouds. “Me and the good Lord had a long talk about this some time back. One night I’ll close my eyes and . . . ”

He waited for Will to finish it for him. “And awaken in Glory.”

Pops smiled.

But whether that day was today, a week from now, or a year from now, Will wasn’t ready for it. There seemed so many things he should say. “I love you, Pops.”

But his grandfather had already turned and started to walk away. “Love you too, boy.” When he threw the look over his shoulder, Will saw it, the glint of a younger man looking out from Pops’s eyes. “Take care of Adrienne.”

Will’s fist pressed hard against his mouth.

“And don’t let SaraAnn forget about me, okay?”

Pops was a blur through the tears. Will couldn’t answer. His head gave a shaky nod.

Later, much later that night, he heard the whine of the boat motor as he smoothed the hair from SaraAnn’s face, tucking her into bed. “Tell me a story, Daddy?”

Somehow, Will found his words. “Once upon a time, there was a very brave soldier named William Bryant . . . ”

He’d barely gotten into the story when Adrienne came running into the room. “Will, I hear the boat.”