Jasper spent years mourning the loss of a woman who disappeared without a trace. But any stop at a gas station 1,300 miles from home led him to meet a stranger who was too familiar, running too fast and having the first real clue about a life that Jasper didn’t even know he had lost.
Seventeen years ago, I married the woman I thought I would spend the rest of my life with.
Her name was Nina, and at that time, to pronounce her name was like having sunlight in her mouth. He was 23 years old, young enough to believe that love could overcome anything, but old enough to know that he had found something exceptional.
Nina was 22, with the dark hair that always lay behind an ear when she was nervous, and a laugh that made people unintentionally turn.
Our wedding was perfect.
It was not expensive, nor luxurious in the sense that the rich understand it, but perfect in what really mattered. The church smelled of lilies and old wood.
My mother was already crying before Nina even reached the hallway. My father grabbed my shoulder and whispered, “Quiet, Jasper,” though his own voice trembled.
Then the doors opened.
Nina was there, in a simple white dress, with her hand intertwined in her father’s arm. He looked at me like there was no one else in the room. No guests. No flowers. No music. Just us.
I remember thinking, “This is where my life really starts.”
During the vows, Nina was trembling with her voice.
“I promise to choose you,” he said quietly, looking me straight into the eye. “Even in the difficult days. Especially on the tough days.”
I squeezed his hands and smiled like a fool.
“I promise to come home with you,” I said. “It doesn’t matter where life takes us.”
She laughed through tears, and everyone around us also laughed, but, for a second, something was reflected on her face. It was fast. A shadow. A fear. At the time, I thought it was just emotion. Wedding nerves, maybe.
I spent 17 years thinking about that look.
At the banquet, we laugh, dance and talk about the future well into the night. Nina took off her heels before dinner was over. I made fun of her for that, and she lifted her dress just enough to show me her bare feet under the table.
“You’ve married a practical woman,” she said.
“I’ve married a beautiful woman,” I replied.
He rolled his eyes, but his cheeks blushed.
Our friends toasted and shouted at us to give us a kiss every ten minutes. My cousin Winston gave such a shameful speech that I still remember half the guests covering their faces. Tessa, a friend from Nina’s university, caught the bouquet and announced that she was “totally committed, but willing to negotiate.”
All night was full of life.
Later, when the guests started to leave and the music came down in volume, Nina and I went out to get some air. The parking lot was quiet, silver under the moon. Her hairpins had been released and she leaned on me as if she were tired to the bones.
“Are you happy?” I asked.
She looked at me. “More than I thought I was allowed to be.”
That answer made me stop for a moment. “Was it allowed to you?”
Nina blinked and then smiled too fast. “You know what I mean. I think it’s unreal.”
I accepted it because I wanted to.
Because I was young, married and I was stupidly happy. I kissed him on the forehead and told him we had our whole lives to get used to it.
He hugged me harder.
That night, in the little honeymoon suite that we had booked to two villages away, we sat on the bed still with half of the wedding clothes on. I was wearing a missing tie. She had the veil on her lap and straightened it with her fingers.
“We should look for a house with a porch,” he said.
“A porch?”
“Yes. Big one. With two rocking chairs.”
I laughed. “We are 23 and 22 years old. The rocking chairs can wait.”
“Okay,” she said, smiling. “A rocking-free porch until we’re at least 40 years old.”
“We can do that.”
“And maybe a dog.”
“A dog?”
“Two. So that the first one does not feel alone.”
I leaned on my elbows and smiled at him. “You thought it through.”
“I think of everything.”
There he was again, that strange nuance in his voice. As if words meant more than she wanted them to mean.
Before I could ask him anything, he bowed and kissed me. “I love you, Jasper.”
“I love you too, Nina.”
Those were the last words I heard from my wife.
