The Fall Line's
Happily Ever After
I’ve gathered up new memories now, memories that have nothing to do with winning or losing or falling. Unless, of course, you consider falling in love. I was headover-heels for Creech Creches and each day we spend together, the life we were building made that love deeper and stronger.
Winning a gold cup will always be a cherished memory. But winning Creech? That one is just as good. We’re married now, and our wedding day was nearly perfect. Neither of us wanted to wait, so in September, having given my mom just enough time to plan all the details, we got married in the garden at my parents’ inn. The day started out as cloudy, I remember a few raindrops on the windowpane in my childhood bedroom where I’d been too excited to sleep well. More excited, in fact, than I recall being before a race. The rain caused some worry, but by mid-morning, a southwest breeze had chased the grey clouds away, leaving the sun to peek out behind
puffy cumulous. The temperatures rose into the seventies, making it a picture perfect day for a garden wedding. I remember taking the vintage ivory colored gown Mom and I had purchased the week before out of the garment bag. It hung over the door as Mom
and Tin fussed over my hair. The sapphire necklace that had belonged to my grandmother, which Mom hung proudly around my neck, telling me it covered three of the basic four—borrowed, blue, and old. I remember looking in the mirror once zipped into the dress, the photographer snapping a few photos.
Tin, my best lady in all things, was dressed in a blue silk gown. She’d picked it out herself and thanked me again for not making her wear something hideous.
“I’m nervous,” I admitted to Tin as I peered out at all the guests seated in the garden. Then Creech stood at the gazebo set up for the occasion, looking good in a suit.
And Tin said, “You just march up there, take that man by the hand, and you’ve got
“Eyes on the prize,” I said, using the phrase we’d often used in our racing days.
“Eyes on the prize,” Tin repeated.
Then my dad, tears in his eyes, offered me his arm. The quartet in the garden began to play. And as I walked down the aisle, everything and everyone dropped away except for Creech. His eyes, green as the hemlocks growing on the hills, were filled with all the love I felt.
“Let’s do this thing,” he whispered to me when I’d taken his hand.
“Yes,” I said, “let’s.”
And we turned to the minister and we did.