In her purse, she carried Gracie and Paul's marriage certificate and her parents' marriage certificate. Her mission: find an expert who could shed light on her concerns regarding Gracie and Paul's certificate.
All around her, Gemma's town was coming lazily awake. The sky was sunny but so raw with chill that not a single cloud had ventured to disturb it. Light glimmered and slipped lovingly along historic storefronts and the shingles hanging above doorways.
Helen, owner of the paper store, called a greeting to ceramic-store-owner Ron. Two young twenty-somethings hurried past carrying to-go trays of coffees, likely for employees at their workplace more senior than they were. Don swept the landing outside his barber shop.
The stout breeze whisking against Gemma’s face carried a tinge of pine. By the smell of it, Cinnamon and Spice Bakery had blueberry muffins baking. The scent of tobacco lilted from the cigar shop, which made her think of Jude because his cologne included a tobacco note.
The days that had come and gone since their kiss had brought her to the conclusion that she was ready for more with him. Butonlyif he was definitively ready for more with her. She wasn’t sure that he was. Thus she’d found their text exchange delightful and, at the same time, slightly painful. Painful because he’d stirred a longing in her that wouldn’t quit or abate.
Upon entering City Hall, she informed the employee in the lobby that she'd come to inquire about marriage certificates. She was directed to the office of the municipal clerk where a young man wearing glasses glanced up as she approached. At the moment, only the two of them and the smell of lemon Pine-Sol inhabited the space.
He listened patiently, looking emaciated and in desperate need of carbs, as she filled him in on her discovery of her great-grandparents’ marriage certificate and her suspicions about its authenticity, especially as compared to her parents’ marriage certificate.
Gemma extracted both documents from her purse. “I'm wondering if this one”—she lifted Gracie and Paul's certificate—“is handwritten and missing the seal because of its age?”
“That's easy to check. Excuse me. I'll locate another marriage certificate from the forties.”
“Thank you.”
A few minutes later, he returned. “Here you are. This certificate was issued the very same month as your relatives' certificate.” He set it before her.
Gracie and Paul's certificate did not match. The one he'd brought out had the seal and only the signatures were handwritten. The decoration and fonts were different. The color and weight of the paper was different.
“Your certificate,” he proclaimed, “is a fake.”
Her world tilted slightly. Did this mean that Gracie and Paul had never been married? No,surelythey had been.
“Someone,” the employee pointed out, “went to a bit of trouble to make this look believable to the untrained eye.”
He was right. It wasn't the document itself that had caused her to doubt its authenticity. It looked official-ish. It was the date of their supposed wedding that had tripped her up. Had Gracie and Paul created the fake? If so, for what purpose?
“Do you have the ability,” Gemma asked, “to search your records for a valid marriage certificate for my great-grandparents?”
“Anyone may place an open record request for marriages that occurred fifty years ago or more. Which this one did.”
“Excellent. Here are their names.” She pointed them out on the fake certificate.
“Hang on.” He typed into his computer. Paused. Scrolled. Typed. “Your grandparents were married October 4, 1945, in Caribou, Maine.”
In October of '45, not January of '45.
Gemma remembered attending Gracie and Paul's sixtieth anniversary celebration. She'd been a kid in her late elementary school years at the time. Plenty old enough to remember the event well, even now. It had been held in January when the Maine weather was raw and cold, at their church. They'd chosen a winter wonderland theme for the party. The cake had been decorated with edible snowflakes and icicles. She recalled stealing a mini-icicle when no one was looking and taunting her brothers with it.
Gracie and Paul had told everyone, had always lived, as if their wedding had taken place on the January date specified on their fake certificate.
“Do any other marriages come up for either Paul or Gracie?” Gemma asked. While she was here, might as well be thorough.
More typing. “No.”
“Is it possible for me to get a copy of their real marriage certificate?”
“Certainly. For a non-certified copy you'll need to fill out a form and pay a small fee. You'll receive it in the mail.”
With his assistance, Gemma completed those steps. Then she exited City Hall, stopping halfway down its wide steps. She could breathe and think better here in the fresh air.
Gracie and Paul had actually married in October of 1945. But they'd gone to the trouble of forging a certificate saying they'd married in January of that year. What would have motivated them to make people believe they'd married earlier than they had?
Across the road, a man entered a Pilates studio. A woman strode by talking on her cell phone, a baby tucked into a carrier strapped to her chest.
