Sarah reached the front and stood beside me, bouncing slightly on her toes.
"You look scared, Uncle C," she whispered loudly.
"I'm not scared."
"Your face is doing the thing."
"What thing?"
"The nervous thing. Like when the bees are angry."
"The bees aren't angry."
"They were that one time. You made the same face."
"Sarah."
"Oops."
Emma appeared, and everything else ceased to exist.
She was wearing a simple white dress that flowed around her like water, comfortable and elegant and perfectly her. On her feet were her hiking boots, the same ones she'd worn when she climbed this mountain for Sarah, when she faced her worst fear and chose love anyway. In her hair was a crown woven from blue columbine and bear grass, the same wildflowers that bloomed across these slopes every spring.
She was walking toward me, her hand tucked into her father's arm, and she was crying and smiling at the same time.
My vision blurred. I blinked rapidly. High altitude. Definitely the altitude.
"You okay there, son?" the officiant murmured.
"Fine," I managed. "Something in my eye."
"Both eyes?"
"It's very dusty up here."
Emma reached me. Tom kissed her cheek, placed her hand in mine, and stepped back. Her fingers were trembling. So were mine.
"Hi," she whispered.
"Hi." My voice came out rough. "You wore the boots."
"They just felt right."
"I love them."
"I knew you would." Her smile was radiant, tear-streaked, absolutely beautiful.
The ceremony was short. Neither of us wanted anything elaborate. We'd written our own vows, and now, standing before our small gathering of loved ones, I had to actually say mine out loud without falling apart.
I took a breath. Then another. Sarah tugged on my jacket.
"Read the paper, Uncle C. Like we practiced."
"Thank you, Sarah."
"You're welcome."
I pulled the folded paper from my pocket. My hands were still shaking, so the words blurred slightly, but I knew them by heart anyway.
