I stopped reading.
For a moment, I just sat at my kitchen table, looking at Larry's handwriting.
Liver failure was real. His remaining time had also been real.
But the reason I had asked myself to marry him?
That was a lie.
Larry admitted that his arrangements had already been made. He knew that the hospice or county would eventually handle everything after his death. I wasn't really in danger of disappearing without a name.
Then why did he ask me to marry him?
The answer hurt.
“If I gave you a problem you could solve, I knew you’d solve it.”
I closed my eyes.
Because he was right.
For two years, I had always tried to help Larry.
I bought him coffee.
I brought him food.
I gave him socks and toiletries.
When the temperature dropped below freezing, I spent part of my lunch break calling the shelters to find a bed.
I had always thought I was just being nice.
But Larry had noticed something about me.
I couldn't get away from a problem.
And he had used that.
At the bottom of the page, I had written another instruction.
“Before you decided what kind of idiot he was, he goes back to the courthouse where we got married. Ask for Margaret. Tell her you're my wife."
I almost dropped the letter.
Instead, an hour later, he was standing inside the courthouse.
The same court where Larry and I had signed our marriage papers just three weeks earlier.
The couples were sitting in the lobby, waiting for their ceremonies.
Una mujer estaba fijando su lápiz labial mientras su prometido sostenía su ramo. Un niño pequeño se arrastró bajo una fila de sillas mientras su padre trataba de atraparlo.
I remembered Larry sitting next to me.
Había estado nervioso.
His hands had shaken.
At the time, I thought it was because he was dying.
I wasn't so sure now.
I approached the record counter.
“Estoy buscando a Margaret”.
An older woman wearing red glasses looked up.
“Yes?”
“My name is Sarah. Larry’s wife.”
His fingers froze on the keyboard.
Then he stood up slowly.
“Oh, honey.
He walked around the counter and hugged me.
When he stepped back, his eyes were wet.
“When did it happen?”
“A week ago.”
She looked away.
“I knew he was sick. I didn’t realize I was that close.”
“You know Larry?”
“Of course.”
I hesitated.
– How?
Margaret gave me a strange look.
“He worked here.”
I looked at her.
“Here?”
“For twenty-eight years.”
The revelation surprised me.
Larry, the homeless man who was sitting outside my subway station, had once worked inside this same court.
“What did he do?”
“Marital licenses. Mostly.”
Then she paused.
“Didn’t he ever tell you?”
I shook my head.
Margaret smiled sadly.
“That sounds like Larry.
He took me down a hallway to a small civil ceremony room.
I immediately recognized the wooden arch where Larry and I had been.
“This is where we get married,” I whispered.
“I know,” Margaret said.
I looked at her.
– How?
“He came here the afternoon before your wedding.”
My stomach squeezed.
“Why?”
Margaret unlocked a closet and pulled out a thick folder.
“He sat in that room for almost an hour.”
“What did he want?”
“Nothing.
She smiled faintly.
“He told me he was nervous.”
I almost laughed.
“Was a man who worked around weddings for twenty-eight years nervous?”
“That’s what I told him.”
