Page 103 of Married in Michigan

Finally, we land, and the now-familiar Pullman is waiting. We make the drive from Pellston to Petoskey in record time, and when we pull up in front of an all-too-familiar nursing home, my heart seems to leap and break at the same time.

The car stops, but I don’t get out. I stare at Paxton, my eyes watering. “Pax?”

“Are you ready for ourrealwedding?”

“Real wedding?”

“That scene in New York? That was for Mom, and for the media.” He waves at the nursing home. “This is for us.”

22

2Liam opens the limousine door, hands me out, and Paxton follows; together, him in his tux and me in the antique, heirloom wedding gown, we go inside. The hallways are so familiar, smelling antiseptic, quiet, our shoes squeaking and clicking. Heads poke out, white hair and wrinkles, eyes watching, smiles.

There is a courtyard, and it’s one of the reasons Mom chose this place—her nurses bring her out to the courtyard every day unless it’s raining or snowing. It’s small, just a square of open space created by the layout of the building, filled with box shrubs and Japanese dwarf maples, some brightly colored perennials wandering in rows between stone-lined walkways. It’s peaceful, quiet, and lovely.

Today, it’s lovelier than ever—Pax clearly had his people work their magic: white gauzy silk is draped from tree to tree, lit with soft golden light from twinkling strands, creating a heavenly canopy. A white, rose-wreathed arch stands in the center of the courtyard. Under the arch stands a pastor holding a leather-bound folder.

Off to one side, Mom. In a wheelchair, alert, awake, beaming. Dressed in a beautiful champagne gown, her hair in an elaborate updo, makeup perfect.

Paxton walks me to Mom. “For you, Makayla.”

I blink back tears. Hug Mom. “Hi, Momma.”

She grabs my hand in a fierce grip, squeezes three times. Blinks back her own tears. She wants to speak, but she can’t. She doesn’t need to, though—I see everything she’s thinking and feeling in her eyes.

“I’m here, Mom.” I laugh through tears. “Ready for this wedding?”

She squeezes my hand again, once. Smiles at me. Swallows hard, breathing deeply. “Love…you…Mack.”

“I love you so much, Momma.”

She extends a shaky hand to Paxton, who kneels beside her, taking her hand in both of his. “Pax…”

“I’m here, Mrs. Poe.”

She gives him a long, deep, searching look. “Love…her?”

He nods, and he’s moved, blinking back tears of his own. “Yes, ma’am. I do. I love Makayla very much.”

A small, weak nod. “Give her…everything.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Break…heart…and I’ll…I’ll haunt you. Forever.” Despite her weakness, Mom somehow manages to sound hard and threatening.

Paxton laughs. “I can’t promise I won’t ever hurt her, because I’m a man and I’m an idiot. But I love her with all that I am, and I will take care of her with everything I’ve got.”

Mom turns her attention to me. “Love him?”

I nod, brushing tears away. “I do. I really do.”

“Four months, Mack. Sure?”

I laugh. “I think sometimes, love at first sight takes a while to kick in.”

Mom nods, a wobbly bob of her head. Paxton’s hand in one of hers, mine in the other, she presses Paxton’s hand over mine, sandwiched between hers. “Bless you.” Her eyes search mine, his. “Love is work. Do the work.” We both nod and promise, and Mom lets us go. Juts her chin at the arch. “Get married, then.”

And so, we do.