Free After the Fall by Kylie Ladd

of the church so we could stand on the steps and greet our guests, I couldn’t believe the colors outside. The blue of the late-afternoon sky, the russet of the leaves just starting to turn, the gold of Cress’s hair and the unfamiliar ring on her left hand. I’d put that ring there, but I had no memory of doing so. The photographer called instructions, Tim jerked at my tie, and nothing seemed real. I was elated, triumphant, but everything unfolded as if I were an observer, not there at the center.
    Cary came over to offer his congratulations, kissing Cressida and complimenting her on her dress. At the time Cress was doing her fellowship project under his supervision, and we’d met a few times when I’d come to meet her after work. He’d never said much, but seemed nice enough. Cress, anyhow, was grateful for his assistance and had insisted we invite him to the wedding.
    “Really?” I’d asked when she told me. “But I don’t even know him.”
    “That doesn’t matter. He’s been such a help that I just want to thank him.”
    “Are you sure this is the best way? Most guys would prefer a case of beer,” I said—astutely, as it turned out. “Besides, after you’ve finished your research you’ll probably never see him again, and he’s hardly going to want to get all dressed up to spend the night with strangers.”
    “I’ll see him again,” said Cress, adding his name to the list we were arguing over. “I’ve known him since I was a student, on and off. That’s longer than I’ve known you.” She looked up and smiled, a happy smile full of excitement and plans and confetti. “And there will be plenty of people there from the hospital he knows. Plus his wife, of course.”
    Now the man in question was shaking my hand. We hardly knew each other, so it was a brief exchange, just time enough for me to glance at a dark-haired girl behind him and mentally process that it must be the wife Cress had mentioned. Then someone else was pushing forward to congratulate me and the church bells were ringing, notes splashing over one another like children playing in puddles. Cary and his wife had moved on, and I couldn’t hear what anyone was saying.
    Fortunately, as the night went on my numbness wore off, and after a few beers I was thoroughly enjoying myself. Cressida looked astounding, ethereal yet regal, the tiara that held her veil resembling a crown. If such a thing is possible she looked almost too beautiful, and I was afraid to touch her until after the photos were over for fear of disturbing the picture perfection of it all. Tim gave a mercifully bland speech, proposed the toast and then the dancing began. Five or so numbers in I was steering a bridesmaid around the floor when I spotted Cary’s wife dancing with a colleague of Cressida’s. She was wearing cream, which was perhaps why I noticed her. Women hardly ever wear white to a wedding—perhaps they think it’s reserved for the wedding party, or they’re afraid of being compared with the bride. Cary’s wife obviously had no such reservations. Her dress had a slit in the back, and the colleague, quite drunk, was trying to slip his hand into it. She was laughing and shaking her head, but not removing herself from his grasp, or even wriggling away from that hand. I don’t know where Cary was; I didn’t see him dance with her once that night.
    After the requisite five hours our reception was over, and the guests formed a circle to say their good-byes. I’d strenuously objected to this bit, but for once Cress had been adamant. She wanted to speak to everyone who had come to the wedding, she told me, and this might be her only chance to do so. I ended up doing the same thing, kissing all those maiden aunts on prickly cheeks, exchanging pleasantries with relatives and partners I would no doubt never see again. When I got around to the hospital side of the circle Cary did the right thing and thanked me for the invitation. His wife was a little less