person. Then I went back to sleep and now I am in bed and
Henry and I are getting married today.
(7:16 a.m.)
Henry: The ceremony is at 2:00 p.m. and it will take me about half an hour to
dress and twenty minutes for us to drive over to St. Basil's. It is now 7:16 a.m.,
which leaves five hours and forty-four minutes to kill. I throw on jeans and a
skanky old flannel shirt and high-tops and creep as quietly as possible
downstairs seeking coffee. Dad has beat me to it; he's sitting in the breakfast
room with his hands wrapped around a dainty cup of steaming black joe. I pour
one for myself and sit across from him. Through the lace-curtained windows the
weak light gives Dad a ghostly look; he's a colorized version of a black and white
movie of himself this morning. His hair is standing up every which way and
without thinking I smooth mine down, as though he were a mirror. He does the
same, and we smile.
(8:17 a.m.)
Clare: Alicia is sitting on my bed, poking me. "Come on, Clare," she pokes.
"Daylight in the swamp. The birds are singing," (quite untrue) "and the frogs are
jumping and it's time to get up!" Alicia is tickling me. She throws off the covers
and we are wrestling and just as I pin her Etta sticks her head in the door and
hisses "Girls! What is all this bumping. Your father, he thinks a tree fell on the
house, but no, it is you sillies trying to kill each other. Breakfast is almost ready."
With that Etta abruptly withdraws her head and we hear her barging down the
stairs as we dissolve into laughter.
(8:32 a.m.)
Henry: It's still blowing gales out there but I am going running anyway. I study
the map of South Haven ("A shining jewel on the Sunset Coast of Lake
Michigan!") which Clare has provided me with. Yesterday I ran along the beach,
which was pleasant but not something to do this morning. I can see six-foot-tall
waves throwing themselves at the shore. I measure out a mile of streets and
figure I will run laps; if it's too awful out there I can cut it short. I stretch out.
Every joint pops. I can almost hear tension crackling in my nerves like static in a
phone line. I get dressed, and out into the world I go.
The rain is a slap in the face. I am drenched immediately. I soldier slowly
down Maple Street. It's just going to be a slog; I am fighting the wind and there's
no way to get up any speed. I pass a woman standing at the curb with her
bulldog and she looks at me with amazement. This isn't mere exercise, I tell her
silently. This is desperation.
(8:54 a.m.)
Clare: We're gathered around the breakfast table. Cold leaks in from all the
windows, and I can barely see outside, it's raining so hard. How is Henry going
to run in this?
"Perfect weather for a wedding," Mark jokes.
I shrug. " I didn't pick it."
"You didn't?"
" Daddy picked it."
"Well, I'm paying for it," Daddy says petulantly.
"True." I munch my toast.
My mother eyes my plate critically. "Honey, why don't you have some nice
bacon? And some of these eggs?"
The very thought turns my stomach. "I can't. Really. Please."
"Well, at least put some peanut butter on that toast. You need protein." I
make eye contact with Etta, who strides into the kitchen and comes back a minute
later with a tiny crystal dish full of peanut butter. I thank her and spread some on
the toast.
I ask my mother, "Do I have any time before Janice shows up?" Janice is going
to do something hideous to my face and hair.
"She's coming at eleven. Why?"
"I need to run into Town, to get something."
"I can get it for you, sweetie." She looks relieved at the thought of getting out
of the house.
"I would like to go, myself."
"We can both go."
"By myself." I mutely plead with her. She's puzzled but relents.
"Well, okay. Goodness."
"Great. I'll be right back." I get up to leave. Daddy clears his throat.
"May I be excused?"
"Certainly."
"Thank you." I flee.
(9:35 a.m.)
Henry: I'm standing in the immense, empty bathtub struggling out of my cold,
soaked clothes. My brand new running shoes have acquired an entirely new
shape, reminiscent of marine life. I have left a trail of water from the front door to
the tub, which I hope Mrs. Blake won't mind too much.
Someone knocks on my door. "Just a minute," I call. I squoosh over to the
door and crack it open. To my complete surprise, it's Clare. "What's the
password?" I say softly.
"Fuck me," replies Clare. I swing the door wide.
Clare walks in, sits on the bed, and starts taking off her shoes.
"You're not joking?"
"Come on, O almost-husband mine. I've got to be back by eleven." She looks
me up and down. "You went running! I didn't think you'd run in this rain."
"Desperate times call for desperate measures." I peel off my T-shirt and throw
it into the tub. It lands with a splat. "Isn't it supposed to be bad luck for the
groom to see the bride before the wedding?"
"So close your eyes." Clare trots into the bathroom and grabs a towel. I lean
over and she dries my hair. It feels wonderful. I could do with a lifetime of this.
Yes, indeed.
"It's really cold up here," says Clare.
"Come and be bedded, almost-wife. It's the only warm spot in the whole
place." We climb in.
"We do everything out of order, don't we?"
"You have a problem with that?"
"No. I like it."
"Good. You've come to the right man for all your extra-chronological needs."
(11:15 a.m.)
Clare: I walk in the back door and leave my umbrella in the mud room. In the
hall I almost bump into Alicia. "Where have you been? Janice is here."
"What time is it?"
"Eleven-fifteen. Hey, you've got your shirt on backward and inside out."
"I think that's good luck, isn't it?"
"Maybe, but you'd better change it before you go upstairs." I duck back into
the mud room and reverse my shirt. Then I run upstairs. Mama and Janice are
standing in the hall outside my room. Janice is carrying a huge bag of cosmetics
and other implements of torture.
"There you are. I was getting worried." Mama shepherds me into my room
and Janice brings up the rear. "I have to go talk to the caterers." She is almost
wringing her hands as she departs.
I turn to Janice, who examines me critically. "Your hair's all wet and tangled.
Why don't you comb it out while I set up?" She starts to take a million tubes and
bottles from her bag and sets them on my dresser.
"Janice." I hand her the postcard from the Uffizi. "Can you do this?" I have
always loved the little Medici princess whose hair is not unlike mine; hers has
many tiny braids and pearls all swooped together in a beautiful fall of amber
hair. The anonymous artist must have loved her, too. How could he not love her?
Janice considers. "This isn't what your mom thinks we're doing."
"Uh-huh. But it's my wedding. And my hair. And I'll give you a very large tip
if you do it my way."
"I won't have time to do your face if we do this; it'll take too long to do all
these braids."
Hallelujah. "It's okay. I'll put on my own makeup."
"Well, all right. Just comb it for me and we'll get started." I begin to pick out
the tangles. I'm starting to enjoy this. As I surrender to Janice's slender brown
hands I wonder what Henry is up to.
(11:36 a.m.)
Henry: The tux and all its attendant miseries are laid out on the bed. I'm freezing
my undernourished ass off in this cold room. I throw all my cold wet clothing out
of the tub and into the sink. This bathroom is amazingly as big as the bedroom.
It's carpeted, and relentlessly pseudo-
Victorian. The tub is an immense claw-footed thing amid various ferns and
stacks of towels and a commode and a large framed reproduction of Hunt's The
Awakened Conscience. The windowsill is six inches from the floor and the curtains
are filmy white muslin, so I can see Maple Street in all its dead leafy glory. A
beige Lincoln Continental cruises lazily up the street. I run hot water into the tub,
which is so large that I get tired of waiting for it to fill and climb in. I amuse
myself playing with the European-style shower attachment and taking the caps
off the ten or so shampoos, shower gels, and conditioners and sniffing them all;
by the fifth one I have a headache. I sing Yellow Submarine. Everything within a
four-foot radius gets wet.
(12:35p.m.)
Clare: Janice releases me, and Mama and Etta converge. Etta says, "Oh, Clare,
you look beautiful!" Mama says, "That's not the hairstyle we agreed on, Clare."
Mama gives Janice a hard time and then pays her and I give Janice her tip when
Mama's not looking. I'm supposed to get dressed at the church, so they pack me
into the car and we drive over to St. Basil's.
(12:55p.m.) (Henry is 38)
Henry: I'm walking along Highway 12, about two miles south of South Haven. It's
an unbelievably awful day, weather-wise. It's fall, rain is gusting and pouring
down in sheets, and it's cold and windy. I'm wearing nothing but jeans, I'm
barefoot, and I am soaked to the skin. I have no idea where I am in time. I'm
headed for Meadowlark House, hoping to dry out in the Reading Room and
maybe eat something. I have no money, but when I see the pink neon light of the
Cut-Rate Gas for Less sign I veer toward it. I enter the gas station and stand for a
moment, streaming water onto the linoleum and catching my breath.
"Quite a day to be out in " says the thin elderly gent behind the counter.
"Yep " I reply.
"Car break down?"
"Huh? Um, no." He's taking a good look at me, noting the bare feet, the
unseasonable clothing. I pause, feign embarrassment. "Girlfriend threw me out of
the house."
He says something but I don't hear it because I am looking at the South Haven
Daily. Today is Saturday, October 23,1993. Our wedding day. The clock above the
cigarette rack says 1:10.
"Gotta run," I say to the old man, and I do.
(1:42 p.m.)
Clare: I'm standing in my fourth grade classroom wearing my wedding dress. It's
ivory watered silk with lots of lace and seed pearls. The dress is tightly fitted in
the bodice and