April's Wedding Night June 15, 1956
April brushed the last tangle out of her hair. She examined the result in the bathroom mirror. You're stalling girl, she thought. She backed away and checked the nightgown. The plunging neckline exposed the creamy landscape of her flesh. The swell of her breasts showed at the edges of the lacy fabric. Damn, it's see-through. She bit her lower lip. OK Sister Anna. I waited ... now here goes. Truth be told, April didn't know what to do next. Sister Anna specialized in don'ts. Phoebe, the thrice married Englishwoman April worked with, hadn't given any hard information when asked, only encouragement and a tidbit of Victorian humor.
In the room, Joe stood at the open window that overlooked the Pacific. Waves thundered onto the rocks. A chill breeze embraced her.
"Oh, it's cold," she said.
"Sorry honey," Joe said and closed the window. She saw in the light of the candles that he wore striped pajamas.
The candles were Grandma's idea. "Put a candle in an ashtray. This is an important night. It won't do for either of you to trip in the dark and break a leg. And," she winked as she said, "you will look lovely by candlelight."
April sought her reflection in the dresser mirror. The nightgown caught the candle's glow enveloping her in a diffuse amber. Thank you Grandma.
Joe stood in front of her, head bent, forehead-to-forehead, nose-to-nose.
"We have champagne," he said.
"I've already had too much champagne. What I want is my husband." A hot flash like the Santa Ana wind washed over her. My husband. This the first time I called him my husband.
Their lips met, teeth parted, and tongues embraced.
Joe carried her to the bed, set her down gently as crystal.
