“You got me,” said Joe, turning over tiles for another mixing.
“So you gonna have a wedding now?”
Joe scoffed. “Not necessary. We’re married enough.”
“But in the eyes of the Lord…”
Joe closed his eyes and shook his head. “Nick. Just knowing that we’re free and clear is
enough.” He shifted to look down at Wheeler. “You want to see us married, old boy?”
Nick knew better than to argue, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it as th ey slapped
into the next game and the next.
He could understand Joe’s resistance, he thought. There had been too many hypocrites
here —preachers who stole, babies passed off on husbands who weren’t the fathers— for a
humanist to bear. Nick could even agree with much of Joe’s scorn for organized religion. And
yet there was the missing core that he believed Joe needed. He was a good man. All his actions
over the years showed it, from his honest work, to his quiet word that saved Nick from
alcoholic descent, to this story of stepping up to help Flora.
As soon as Nick’s mind formed Flora’s name, she appeared around the side of the
workshop. “Welcome back,” he said, rising. “Here, Flora, sit a while. I need to get something
from my van.”
He shuffled away before Joe could register surprise, leaving husband and wife — well,
almost — looking at each other over the half-done game. He hopped in the passenger side of the
church van and opened the glove box for The Roman Missal . What else? A small vial of holy
water. His head snapped up. People. He looked around, and saw Alpheus scraping his yard
next door. Gathering his things, Nick walked over and hailed the old man.
“You got time to visit Joe and Flora right now?”
25
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