"Mixing the honey-hearted wine, Pontonoos;
went on his rounds and poured fresh cups for all..."

"The Odyssey," Fitzgerald Translation. Book 7, Lines 197-198. Used without permission.
 

FROHIKE:

Trying to finish all this up, as much as I possibly can...and there's a ton to do. We've barely gotten three pieces together for November, and it's supposed to go into publication on Monday.

Not likely, even if I were to slave away at it all weekend. Which I'm not going to do, because I have more important tasks at hand. Such as being the best man in Byers's wedding, which I am pleased and proud to be able to do. I really would not have minded if Langly had carried out the task-I understood why Byers asked him in the first place. But there's something so...Byers is like a son to me, and I'm so incredibly happy that he's found someone to be in his life with him. And I felt that Langly's asking me, right or wrong, was more than a mere accession to convenience for him.

This means that I'll be in charge of the wedding toast tomorrow, something I need to put together. Poor Byers forgot about that, and I forgot to remind him, when Langly and Allison were married.

Compulsively, I check the safe again, to make certain that Juliet's wedding ring is safe in there. It is. One slender, simple platinum band, a symbol for a commitment that is supposed to last throughout eternity. Paula, Juliet's best friend and maid of honor, will be in charge of Byers's ring for tomorrow, but for now it rests next to hers, a larger, but identically styled, platinum band.

I curiously check the interior of the bands, seeing if they have been inscribed. Sure enough, they have. His to her reads, "Life and Breath, You Are." To him from her, "My Life, My Joy." Each bears the initials of each, JFB and JPB. Tomorrow afternoon, just slightly over 24 hours from now, those rings will grace the hands of each, symbols of love and hope and
eternity and joy.

Once I wore one of these. Mine was simple, plain gold. Jan and I put our initials in each other's. I still have mine, somewhere.

I wonder if she still has hers.

I know that Byers still has his from Susanne, and hers as well-this is because I am in possession of them, which hopefully I will be the curator for for all time. I am pleased that he has never asked for them back since his near-fatal illness, which is how it was removed in the first place.

I remember removing mine. It was the day I went to prison. Although Jan and I were separated by that time, I continued to wear my ring, hoping, for whatever reason, that somehow this was all a bad dream and I would wake up someday.

It was no dream, and when I was processed, I handed over my ring. It was returned to me upon leaving, but I never put it back on again. No point by then-our divorce had been finalized.

Perhaps Byers is fortunate in having no memory of his being removed. He could wake to consciousness again and start life over.

And he did. He struggled, and hammered, and hesitated, and damn near blew it-but he's always been a bright boy, a good boy. And I'd like to think that I was able to beat a little sense into him.

More than I can probably do for my own son, but that's neither here nor there. I'm resigning myself to the probability that he and Kelly will get married, that this is not a frivolous whim on their parts, and in all likelihood, the next wedding I attend will be his. It was fun to be the father of the bride for Allison; when it was over, my responsibilities were complete, and I didn't have to live with the realization that I'm getting older.

It's different with your own children. Just as they keep you young in some ways, they are constant, unrelenting reminders of your mortality.

I think about my own life, my own failures. Much as I loved Dee and I have come to love Martha, part of me will always regret the failure of my marriage. The fact that I fell short is to me very personal and very damning.

What would happen should I marry Martha?

I almost fall out of my chair as this thought crosses my mind, involuntarily.

Martha and I have never discussed marriage as a possible eventuality. I'm not sure if she's thought about it, but I haven't in any specific terms. I've known for a while now that I want her to always be part of my life, the best part. But marriage? Were I to bring it up to her, at this point in time, she would probably scream and run.

We're nowhere nearly ready to make a decision of that magnitude.

Yet I study my short, stubby fingers-I'd always wanted long, powerful fingers like Langly, or graceful scholarly ones like Byers. No, I got stuck with these, a combination of genetics and bad luck.

Maybe a gold band would do wonders for it.

I've got the radio turned to the soft-rock station I listen to when I know I'm going to be alone. I don't dare play this music in the presence of the others-Byers would probably tolerate it without comment, but Langly and Michael would simply get up and change the station to something louder, angrier, and more to their liking.

I can hear Michael Bolton crooning "Once in a Lifetime."

'Once in a lifetime...you find the one you really love...'

Nice thought. But thank God he's wrong.
 

ALLY:

"Langly, go get your tux. It's getting late." I'm nagging him, in my best Jewish-mother tone, but I can't help it. He finished work over an hour ago. Right now he's sitting there playing Federation Trade Blockade with Patrick, complete with sound effects. I once read in a linguistics text that over 90 percent of sounds made by female children are related to conversation, but with male children, that percentage hovers around 60. I've concluded that the remaining 40 percent has to be devoted to various and sundry noises such as the ones they're making right now, and if 60 percent of their vocalizations right now are conversation, then I grew a foot overnight.

"Me and the dude are busy," Langly says, not looking up from crashing his fighter into Patrick's. They both shriek and howl as Langly successfully attacks his craft.

"The dude, as you so fondly label him, needs to get in the shower!" I point out.

"Don't wanna!" Patrick, true to form, protests loudly, but doesn't look my way.

"Langly, it's almost four o'clock, and the rehearsal's at 6!"

"So? I'll get it in the morning. Not like I gotta wear it to dinner or anything."

"What if it doesn't fit?"

"Then I'll wear my regular clothes."

I love him, I love him with all my heart, I cannot imagine my life without him...

I feel like smacking him.

I reach into the morass of Star Wars toys that litter the living room rug. "Langly, move your ass!"

"Hey, we spent a long time setting that up!" He protests as I grab a Naboo building.

"Mommy, no fair!" Patrick screeches at me.

They are taxing my patience.

"Put your toys away and start getting ready," I hiss through clenched teeth.

"Don't wanna!" They chorus in unison. Aargh. This is a nightmare.

"Langly, you need to get your tux, and you still need to get dressed for tonight."

"I'm dressed! I wore clothes all day today!"

I'm going to pull his remaining hair out by the roots.

Instead, I grab Patrick-I still have a size advantage here, and amidst his screams and howls, I drag him off to the bathroom. He is not going to be pleased about the fact that I'm going to wash his hair, either. I haven't revealed that part to him. I decide that if I put him in the tub, I'll have more control, so I start filling it with water, and this encourages him to yell even more.

This brings Miranda, newly home from school, into the bathroom. "What's going on? I thought you were killing him or something."

"No, but I am sorely tempted, with both of them," I admit to her.

She looks tired, worried, drained. She's so different this year. Her sharp, erudite wit remains, but there is an anguish to it that was never there before, not even when Eric died.

"Look, you want me to deal with him?" She offers.

"If you want." I never look a gift horse in the mouth.

She goes over to Patrick, puts her face close to his. "Shut up!" She yells.

Taken by surprise, Patrick quiets. He's not the only surprised one in the room.

"Now, feel like playing submarine?" She asks him.

"Yeah!" His mood just took a 180.

Not unlike somebody else genetically related to him.

I could use a drink.

I opt to get ready instead.
 

I didn't buy anything new for tonight. I have a black short skirt I like, and I'm going to pair it with a lace trimmed shirt, black tights, and black ballet slippers. It's comfortable, it's acceptable, and the skirt stretches in the waist, meaning that I can enjoy all of the available food and drink.

I'm also going to do my hair in curls, and tie it back with a black ribbon. Langly likes this style, and I wouldn't mind getting him all hot and bothered again.

He's at the computer-my computer-in the bedroom when I return.

"Thought you were going to get your tux."

"I'm getting it tomorrow."

"Fine." By the time I finish arguing with him about it, it'll be time for him to get ready-and there's no guarantee I'll win. "But I have to get ready."

This forces him to look up. "Do I get to watch again?"

I laugh. "You're such a voyeur, Langly."

"Oh, and you're not? I've caught you staring me down."

"Have not."

"Have too." He's grinning now-talk about moods that shift diametrically in a moment. "Yeah, you deny it, but I've caught you, Ally girl." He's giggling as he wraps his long arm over me. "Admit it, girl, you only love me for my body."

"I love you for your body. And other things, too." I giggle at him back.

I can hear shrieks of laughter and water being splashed in the bathroom. Whatever Miranda's tactic was, it will most assuredly involve a mess-but she is getting our little boy clean, and he's enjoying himself. Lately, Patrick is about the only person I ever see her laugh with anymore.

We kiss. His hand slips under my skirt, reaching up to my ass. "You gonna change your undies again?"

"Why? Do they need it?"

"Didn't say that...just like to watch you, that's all..."

Tongues dart against each others as the kiss deepens. I can feel myself quickly becoming aroused-again. Well, we have been out of commission for a while. Can you blame us?

I start to unbutton his jeans when we hear the buzzer. We break the kiss.

"You expecting anybody?" he asks me.

"No. Didn't you call the goons off for the rest of the day?"

"Did. But maybe they didn't listen.

"I'll get it." He reaches for his jeans buttons with his good hand, but I'm still fully dressed and hooked together.

"No, let me do it. If it's the goons, I'll be happy to tell them to go to hell."

And it doesn't matter at this point. He returns to work on Monday.

I check the video monitor.

It's not the goons. It's worse.

It's Julie, Langly's niece. Again.

"Yes, Julie?" I'd like to know what her business is before I let her in-we have things to see and people to do, and I don't need her interrupting us right now.

"Um, Ally, can I come in?" She sounds rushed, frantic.

"Julie, we're getting ready to attend a rehearsal dinner. Can you come back tomorrow morning?" I'm trying not to be a complete bitch. Just a partial one.

"Look, I really need to talk to you guys."

"Is someone bleeding or vomiting?"

"Well, not like that-"

"Fine, then you don't need to talk to us right now. Come back in the morning, we'll be around."

"Look, Ally, I know you hate me-"

"I don't hate you, Julie. I just don't think you can be trusted."

"That's not fair, Ally. You have no idea what I've been through-"

"And don't want to."

"Ally, please, let me in, just for a few, please? It's important."

"You know, if loverboy turned up, you can just tell me from there."

"Ally, please, just let me come in-"

"Hey, Ally, who's at the gate?" Langly's spotted me at the video-audio monitor, and he comes over to it. "Hey, Julie, what's up?" He's friendlier than I am-not hard-but still somewhat wary.

"Look, I need to talk to you guys, and Ally won't let me in-"

"We have to be somewhere soon," I point out, for both of their benefit.

"Okay, fine. A few minutes." Langly gently moves my fingers from the panels and buzzes her in.

He then turns to me. "Jesus, Ally, you gotta be such a bitch?"

"Look, we have to get ready, and she wouldn't tell me what it was about."

"So we'll find out and send her packing, okay? Take less time than you standing there arguing with her." He shakes his head in disgust. "And Ally girl, I'd like to point out, I ever did that to Jason or Rob, you'd fucking have my ass."

He has a point. And I am slightly chastened.

But just slightly.
 

If possible, Julie looks worse than she did the night before. I doubt she got any sleep.

Serves her right, in my opinion. You want sympathy, it's in the dictionary, somewhere near the end of the 's's.

"Look, you guys, you think I'm scum, and I know it, but I came to warn you about something, and if my dad ever finds out I was here-"

"Oh, fuck your dad." Langly rolls his eyes in disgust. "I got no sympathy for a guy who busts my nose less than a week before my wedding."

"He did that? What did you do?" Julie blinks at him.

This sets Langly off. "What the hell do you mean, what did I do? I didn't do jack. He came and tried to fuck up Joanie, fuck up my wedding, and you ask me what the hell I did? You're a fucking pathetic head case, Julie."

This forces her to break down into tears. I feel a little bit bad for her-Langly did come back harsh at her. However, everything he said was true. And she's a big girl, and sitting there crying at our kitchen table, she does look damn pathetic.

"So what's so important that it couldn't wait till morning?" I want this chick out of my house, ASAP.

"And make it quick," Langly adds. He's pissed at her now. The only reason he hasn't tossed her ass in the street is because she's Joan's daughter.

She takes a few gulps of air, then settles her voice enough that something other than tears come out. She's still quavery, though.

"Um...your little boy...Scott's little boy."

"What about him? We adopted him. He's ours." Langly's in defensive posture now.

"I know...but my brother thinks we should challenge the adoption."

"What?!" My voice comes out in a shriek. "He belongs to us, Julie."

"And he's gonna keep belonging to us, Commonwealth of Virginia says we're responsible for him, and your fucking brother even tries to get near this, I will, so help me, I will fucking kill him."

I've never seen Langly this pissed. His nearly colorless eyes are blazing black, and a flush of anger paints his cheeks. His voice has transformed into a hard, brutal whisper.

"Get the fuck out of my house, Julie. And tell your little brother, he tries to challenge us on this, we will make him wish for medieval torture, that's how bad we'll make his life."

She looks at him, disbelieving. "I came to warn you, you know!"

"Yeah, well, how do we know you're not plotting this whole thing with him?" Langly is beyond irritated. He is positively furious. "Now get out. And don't bother coming around here again. I don't care if you are Joanie's kid. Joanie'd be fucking ashamed of you."

"I'm trying to help you guys!" She starts crying again.

"Yeah, sure you are. I think you'd better go, Julie." I walk to the door, open it slowly, and watch as she stumbles out.

I turn to Langly. He's still trying not to punch out a wall, I can tell. "You all right?"

"Yeah," he lies. "Hey Ally. She comes around here again, she's not welcome. Got it?"

"Got it."

At this point, we're both intensely upset. And we have to leave in less than an hour. So I do the only thing I know how to do when we're both over the edge.

I pop two Coronas and we down them-rapidly.
 

Miranda manages to get Patrick out of the tub, then announces that she has her own beautification ritual to attend to. I tell him to get dressed, a task he can accomplish by himself these days. As long as time is not of the essence, that is. It's not that he can't do it quickly-most times, he simply chooses to ignore instructions.

"Was somebody here?" Miranda asks, wrinkling her lovely, perfectly shaped eyebrows.

Langly shakes his head. "Nah. Nobody important."

He's not going to be any more forthcoming on details, and she knows it, so she simply heads for the dungeon.

Patrick comes bursting out a few minutes later, clad in jeans and a Robocop T-shirt. Granted, it's not what you think of as attire for a rehearsal dinner, but at least the clothes are clean, and he put them on properly.

It doesn't matter.

All that matters is that he's with us, he's safe, and he's loved.

Langly scoops him up silently with his good arm, and Patrick looks up at him, grinning. Langly squeezes him tighter, and although he says nothing, it's all over his eyes.

Anybody that gets near this kid is taking his or her life in their hands.
 

BYERS:

That was the loveliest task I'd ever been forced into doing for an afternoon.

I think I'm ready to take on the relatives now.

I just hope my father will show up. He has not spoken with us since earlier this week.

Right now, I'm delightfully unwound, and getting ready for the rehearsal should be a relaxed affair.

Well, that is, as long as the relatives don't show up first.

No such luck. It slipped my increasingly addled brain that we had given Caroline a key. This would have been fine had it simply been Caroline. However, there are numerous rental cars parked near our property as well as on it.

I also forgot that Caroline is Italian. Juliet has indicated to me that this means an entourage of relations will be in attendance.

I figured she meant the wedding.

I figured wrong.

I'd been looking forward to taking my time and getting ready peacefully, but our entry into the house guarantees that it will be anything but. There must be twenty people in the living room. God knows how many others have invaded.

I'm introduced to a rapid succession of aunts and uncles and cousins and nieces and nephews, none of whose names I will be lucky enough to remember. I'm showered with hugs and kisses and congratulations and welcome to the family...for a WASP like me, this is a little disorienting. Not unwelcome, mind you. Just not something that my experiences have prepared me for.

There are people in our kitchen, in the dining room, in the hallways, out back...

"Jules? Did you ever tell me how many relatives you had?"

She looks at me. "No. Mainly because I have no idea how many I do have," she smiles broadly. For her, this love feast is something she relishes.

Caroline rushes over to me and wraps her arms around me, planting a kiss on my cheek. "I'm sorry, John, but they were all dying to meet you two...what was I supposed to say?"

The big smile on her face indicates to me that she's anything but sorry.

"No, no, I'm glad to meet them all...I'm just afraid I won't remember them all."

Her rich laugh, so like her daughter's, chimes out. "And you think I remember them all? That's not important. What's important, they're family, and so are you."

"That's...really nice." I'm blushing, and I don't even know why. I'm not sure I can get used to this open display of affection.

"Oh, Jeffrey, it took him time, but believe me, after a little while, he was as Italian as the rest of us," Caroline assures me, her smile never diminishing. "Just like you'll be."

Me, John Fitzgerald Byers, honorary Italian?

Well, stranger things have happened...

"The only thing was, dear, what's with the guards?" She looks a bit concerned about all this.

"Um...I'll explain that-"

I'm saved by the loud chime of the doorbell. Juliet says she has no idea how many relatives she has. I'm imagining another cordon of the cast of thousands standing at my door.

But there is but a lone figure at the door, with white hair, a tall, rather slender men with elegant bearing.

My father.

"Dad, you're here," I can't keep the surprise out of my voice.

"Well, of course I'm here! It's your wedding!" The tone of his voice suggest that I'm an idiot for even entertaining the possibility that he wouldn't show up. "Katherine says they'll meet us at the restaurant."

He turns his head towards the noise. "I'm assuming these are relatives of Juliet?"

"Yes, sir," I answer, a bit uncertain as to how to proceed.

"Well, aren't you going to make proper introductions?"

"Sir, I just met them myself-"

"Fine, then." He walks past me and into the house, where he is immediately assaulted by the onslaught of Italian relatives, in the same fashion I was attacked by the garrison.

I should introduce him to everyone, but it seems that they've taken on the task for themselves, complete with hugs...oh Christ. He's going to have a coronary.

Juliet joins me. "I see your father arrived."

"Uh, yes."

She looks at me. "I'd say things are moving right along."

I'm cringing. I'm completely wrecked at this point.

Now I know why bridegrooms get cold feet. It's because they have to deal with their in-laws.

"John," she leans over and whispers in my ear. "What do you say we go upstairs and have our own party?""

"Jules, we have a house full of people!"

"My point exactly. C'mon, handsome. We've got an hour."

She is so naughty.

"Think anyone will notice if we vanish?"

She laughs. "Get real, John. C'mon."

I follow her eagerly, if a bit nervously, up the stairs.

END OF PART 87