Epilogue

Acknowledgements 1

August 1966, Long Island, New York

As the representative of his Uncle George’s immediate family, Eron sat in the first pew on George’s wedding day. Thirty-two and a successful lawyer, Eron should have had his pick of the women from their pursuit of him. Reluctant to share too much about himself, his gut instinct to remain distant often ignored the resulting loneliness.

His girlfriend sat next to him. His mother, had she been alive, would burst with pride at what Mary Ellen Buchanan considered their pre-engagement. Maybe she was a bit older than most of the single women looking for husbands, but so was Eron. Most of his associates at the office were already married and had at least one kid. Once again, Eron longed for something similar to that, but changed the subject when conversation came around to such a commitment.

Eron looked over his shoulder. A nice looking man about his age walked into the sanctuary. Eron relished the tanned face, bordered by neatly-combed blond hair. An outdoor type, no doubt. A long time had passed since he concerned himself with a man’s build and how well he filled out a suit. Apparently uncomfortable, the tanned blond surveyed the room. He escorted a young-looking brunette, and an older man, presumably his father, to seats on the bride’s side of the church.

Stop it.

Eron shifted on the hard wooden pew as an unexpected ache settled in his groin.

“Are you all right?” Mary Ellen asked.

A putrid cloud of perfume enveloped him. “Yes, why?”

“For the last few minutes you’ve done nothing but cross and recross your legs. Do you want me to move down?”

Mary Ellen’s breath reeked of alcohol and no amount of perfume covered the fact that she’d had several drinks before he’d picked her up for the wedding.

“How much have you had to drink?”

Mary Ellen covered her mouth with her hand. “You can tell?”

Eron nodded. “You don’t hide it well.”

Chords blared from the pipe organ, signaling the start of the wedding. Eron stood, along with everyone else, and turned toward the aisle as Susan Emerson Smith, Uncle George’s bride, appeared in the doorway.

Mary Ellen leaned over and whispered in Eron’s ear. “She looks lovely in that dress.”

“Yes, I suppose she does,” he said. Eron checked out the mystery man again. He was closer now and Eron focused on Susan but moved his eyes to look the man over.

Throughout the ceremony, Eron stole glances at the handsome stranger and at the end, everyone applauded heartily when George leaned in to give Susan a kiss. Both blushed, George not accustomed to the public display of affection.

Eron followed George and Susan down the aisle, Mary Ellen on his arm. He took his place in the receiving line, greeting the wedding goers as they exited the church.

He enjoyed seeing and catching up with family members. Susan introduced him to each of her nieces and nephews and their children. He enjoyed himself, until he noticed the blond stranger waiting in the aisle to greet the couple.

“Eron are you okay?” Susan asked, her face contorted with concern.

“It’s just a little warm in here; do you mind if I step outside?”

“I do want you to meet my brother and his son, Garrett. You two are about the same age.”

“I really need some air.” Eron smiled. “Can you introduce us at the club?” Eron excused himself out of the line and headed for the door.

“Eron, darling, where are you going?” Mary Ellen whined, practically on his heels.

“I need a cigarette.”

“Don’t take too long, sweetheart. They’ll be doing pictures soon and George will want you in them.”

Eron ducked around the corner of the church and lit his cigarette. He leaned up against the side of the building and closed his eyes, enjoying the high that the burst of nicotine gave his system.

Not once in ten years had he thought about another man other than a handshake. He poured himself into his work. Mary Ellen came along after the sudden death of his parents and kept him occupied in the life everyone expected him to lead.

He squinted through the smoke at the sound of footsteps around the corner of the church. The sun blinded as the stranger joined him.

Well, look who it is.

Eron nodded and grunted “hello” as he took the cigarette out of his mouth.

“Hello,” the other man said. “You needed a break, too.”

“Eron Lassiter.” Eron put the cigarette back in his mouth and extended his right hand.

“Garrett Emerson.” Garrett transferred his pack of cigarettes to his left hand and shook Eron’s with a mighty grip. After Eron let go of Garrett’s hand, he took a cigarette then fumbled around in his pockets.