“I Married a Dying Homeless Man With Only One Month to Live, Thinking It Was an Act of Charity – Then His Lawyer Called Me the Day After His Funeral and Told Me Who He Really Was”

“That sounds like Larry.”

“What does that mean?”

She hesitated. “Come with me.”

She led me down a hallway into a small civil ceremony room.

I recognized the wooden arch against the wall.

“This is where we got married.”

“Come with me.”

“I know.”

“You were here?”

“No. But Larry was, the afternoon before.”

I turned toward her.

“Why?”

Margaret crossed to a cabinet and unlocked the bottom drawer.

“I asked him the same thing.”

“You were here?”

She pulled out a thick binder and placed it on a table.

“He sat right there for almost an hour.”

She pointed to a chair beside the wooden arch.

“What did he want?” I asked.

“Nothing.” Margaret smiled faintly. “He said he was nervous.”

“What did he want?”

I almost laughed.

“A man who worked around weddings for 28 years?”

“That’s what I told him.” She rested one hand on the binder. “He looked at that arch and said, ‘Tomorrow I’m standing on the other side of the desk.’”