The homeless man I married drank his coffee black outside my subway stop. After his funeral, his last letter opened with an apology I couldn\u2019t understand and sent me back to the courthouse. There, a clerk opened a record book, found his name on hundreds of pages, and asked which Larry I had married.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSarah, I need to apologize before I thank you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I read the first line twice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Larry\u2019s letter had arrived six days after his funeral, in a thick white envelope covered in the shaky handwriting I\u2019d seen on his hospice forms. The postmark was dated the day before he died.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Larry\u2019s letter had arrived six days after his funeral.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I\u2019d smiled when I found it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I thought Larry had written a goodbye. The man couldn\u2019t accept a coffee without thanking me three times.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then I read the next sentence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNobody was going to bury me as a John Doe.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The blood drained from my face. I sat down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The blood drained from my face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
***<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Less than a month earlier, Larry had been outside my subway station holding a piece of cardboard across his knees.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
MARRY ME. I HAVE ONE MONTH LEFT TO LIVE.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I\u2019d known him for two years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I HAVE ONE MONTH LEFT TO LIVE.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Every weekday, I bought two coffees from the kiosk beside the station. Mine with cream. His black.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Larry never begged me for anything. Some mornings we discussed the weather. Other mornings he complained about pigeons or told me my office shoes looked designed by \u201csomebody who hated feet.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Larry never begged me for anything.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I usually stayed five minutes before rushing to work.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That freezing Tuesday, Larry looked terrible.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
His skin had a yellowish cast, and his hands trembled when I gave him his coffee.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat is this?\u201d I asked, pointing at the sign.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat is this?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThe clinic gave me about a month.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The traffic noise seemed to disappear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cLiver failure.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I sat beside him on the cold concrete.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cLarry, I\u2019m so sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThe clinic gave me about a month.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cDon\u2019t make that face.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat face?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThe one people make when they\u2019re already at your funeral.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Even then, he could make me laugh.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But the sign wasn\u2019t funny.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhy marriage?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But the sign wasn\u2019t funny.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
His eyes dropped to his coffee.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI don\u2019t want to die belonging to nobody.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThat\u2019s nice to say, Sarah. It\u2019s different on a form.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He explained that without legal family, strangers would eventually handle his remains.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIt\u2019s different on a form.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI just want somebody who can say, \u2018He\u2019s mine. I\u2019ll take him.’\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I was single.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He was dying.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And I had always been better at solving problems than walking away from them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
***<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Two days later, we went to the courthouse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He was dying.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Larry wore a clean blue shirt someone at the shelter had given him. I wore my navy work dress.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When the clerk asked about rings, Larry patted his pockets.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cKnew I forgot something.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I laughed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Eleven minutes later, I was his wife.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I wore my navy work dress.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Exactly three weeks after that, I sat beside his bed at the state hospice facility while his breathing slowly stopped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Now his letter was telling me I\u2019d married him for a reason that wasn\u2019t true.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I\u2019d married him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
***<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I forced myself to continue.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThe liver failure was real. The month was real. The lie was why I asked you to marry me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I set the letter down for a second, then picked it right back up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThe lie was why I asked you to marry me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMy arrangements were already handled. I knew somebody from hospice or the county would deal with the paperwork. I wasn\u2019t going to disappear without a name.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I stood so quickly my chair scraped backward.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat did you do, Larry?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI wasn\u2019t going to disappear without a name.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There was nowhere for the anger to go.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He was dead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I couldn\u2019t call him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Couldn\u2019t demand an explanation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Couldn\u2019t even make him sit through the expression on my face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I couldn\u2019t call him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I kept reading.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIf I gave you a problem you could solve, I knew you\u2019d solve it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That was the line that hurt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Because he was right.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I had spent two years offering Larry things.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Coffee.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Food.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Socks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Phone numbers for shelters.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That was the line that hurt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Once, when temperatures dropped below freezing, I\u2019d spent half my lunch break calling around for an available bed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Larry had thanked me every time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I\u2019d never considered that he might have learned exactly how to ask me for something.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Larry had thanked me every time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
At the bottom of the page he\u2019d written:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cBefore you decide what kind of jerk I was, go back to the courthouse where we got married. Ask for Margaret. Tell her you\u2019re my wife.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I nearly threw the letter away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cTell her you\u2019re my wife.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Instead, an hour later, I was standing in the courthouse lobby.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Couples filled the plastic chairs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A woman in a white jumpsuit fixed her lipstick while her fianc\u00e9 held her bouquet. A toddler crawled beneath two chairs while his father tried to catch him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I was standing in the courthouse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Three weeks earlier, Larry and I had sat in that same row.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He\u2019d rubbed his palms against his pants over and over.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou\u2019re shaking,\u201d I\u2019d told him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019m dying. I\u2019m allowed to shake.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou\u2019re shaking.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I\u2019d accepted that explanation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Now I wondered what else I\u2019d accepted because it was easier than asking another question.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
***<\/p>\n\n\n\n
At the records counter, a clerk pointed me toward an older woman in red glasses.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMargaret?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She looked up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYes?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I\u2019d accepted that explanation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019m Sarah. Larry\u2019s wife.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her hands stopped over the keyboard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cLarry?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I nodded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her chair rolled backward.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cOh, honey.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She came around the counter and hugged me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I stood there stiffly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019m Sarah. Larry\u2019s wife.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When she released me, her eyes were wet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhen did he pass away?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cA week ago.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She looked away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI knew he was sick. I didn\u2019t realize it was that close.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou knew Larry?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI knew he was sick.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Margaret frowned. \u201cOf course.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHow?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She glanced around the courthouse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHe worked here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I stared at her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHere?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cFor 28 years.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThen how did he end up outside?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHe worked here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHis health failed after he retired. Medical bills took his savings, and when he lost his apartment, he was too proud to call any of us.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat did he do?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMarriage licenses, mostly.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Margaret removed her glasses.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHe never told you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat did he do?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThat sounds like Larry.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat does that mean?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She hesitated. \u201cCome with me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
***<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She led me down a hallway into a small civil ceremony room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I recognized the wooden arch against the wall.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThis is where we got married.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cCome with me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou were here?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNo. But Larry was, the afternoon before.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I turned toward her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Margaret crossed to a cabinet and unlocked the bottom drawer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI asked him the same thing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou were here?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She pulled out a thick binder and placed it on a table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHe sat right there for almost an hour.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She pointed to a chair beside the wooden arch.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat did he want?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNothing.\u201d Margaret smiled faintly. \u201cHe said he was nervous.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat did he want?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I almost laughed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cA man who worked around weddings for 28 years?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThat\u2019s what I told him.\u201d She rested one hand on the binder. \u201cHe looked at that arch and said, \u2018Tomorrow I\u2019m standing on the other side of the desk.’\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cTomorrow I\u2019m standing on the other side of the desk.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The memory of Larry\u2019s shaking hands came back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I had blamed the illness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Maybe I\u2019d been watching something else.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
***<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Margaret opened the binder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cLook.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
An old marriage record lay beneath the plastic sleeve.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I had blamed the illness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Two strangers\u2019 names appeared at the top.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Near the bottom was a signature I recognized immediately.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Larry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Beside it was one word.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Witness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Margaret turned several pages.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Another couple.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Larry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Witness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then another.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Beside it was one word.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The dates jumped forward.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Different people.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Different years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The same handwriting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat is this?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cPeople sometimes came in without anyone else,\u201d Margaret said. \u201cLarry would step out from behind the counter and witness for them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The same handwriting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She turned another page.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHe hated the thought of somebody getting married with nobody standing there.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I touched one of his signatures.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It was strange seeing Larry\u2019s handwriting from decades before I\u2019d known him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Same narrow L.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Same crooked y.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHow many?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I touched one of his signatures.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Margaret shrugged.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHundreds, probably.\u201d She smiled. \u201cHe used to joke that he\u2019d attended more weddings than anyone in the building and never had to remember an anniversary.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A laugh escaped me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It disappeared when the obvious question arrived.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I touched one of his signatures.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWas he ever married?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Margaret closed the binder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She didn\u2019t answer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMargaret?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cOnce.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My eyes searched her face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cTo who?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She looked directly at me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I sat down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
***<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For 28 years, Larry had watched strangers enter that building as two separate names and leave legally connected.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWas he ever married?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Whenever they had nobody beside them, he stepped forward and signed as their witness. His name appeared again and again, but never beside the word spouse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Not until me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Margaret opened another drawer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Never beside the word spouse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThere\u2019s something else. Larry asked me to pull this after the marriage was recorded, in case you ever came looking for me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She removed a clear plastic sleeve and placed it in front of me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Inside was a copy of our marriage certificate.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My name.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Larry\u2019s.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And beside his:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
SPOUSE.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThere\u2019s something else.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I remembered how carefully he\u2019d folded his copy after the ceremony.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
How he\u2019d asked the clerk twice where to sign.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
How I\u2019d teased him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou\u2019re acting like this is a real wedding.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I\u2019d teased him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Larry had gone quiet for a second.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then he\u2019d smiled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cFirst marriage. Let me have my nerves.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I\u2019d laughed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Now I couldn\u2019t.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
***<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Margaret sat beside me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cDid Larry tell you why he wanted to marry you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I\u2019d laughed. Now I couldn\u2019t.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHe told me a reason.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I explained about the letter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The burial story.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The way he\u2019d admitted making the situation sound worse because he knew I would help.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When I finished, Margaret didn\u2019t defend him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThat wasn\u2019t fair to you, dear.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHe told me a reason.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I looked at her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHe knew you\u2019d say yes to a problem,\u201d she said. \u201cLarry was always better at asking for practical help than asking anybody to choose him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Margaret closed the binder, but I kept looking at Larry\u2019s signature.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat was I really saying yes to?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I kept looking at Larry\u2019s signature.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Margaret looked at the certificate.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThat isn\u2019t my story to tell.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I wanted to demand an answer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then I remembered the remaining pages of Larry\u2019s letter in my purse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He\u2019d told me to come here first.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He wanted me to see this.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I wanted to demand an answer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The witness signatures.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The certificate.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The word spouse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I left the courthouse and took the subway toward home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But when the train reached Larry\u2019s old stop, I got off.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
At the coffee kiosk, the woman behind the counter recognized me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cTwo?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The woman behind the counter recognized me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I almost said yes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then I looked toward the empty place beside the station entrance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYeah.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She handed me my coffee with cream and Larry\u2019s black.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I carried both outside and sat in his usual spot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For two years, I\u2019d never stayed there long enough to finish a cup.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I almost said yes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I put his coffee beside me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then I unfolded the next page.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Larry had written only one sentence at the top.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI didn\u2019t need a wife to make my life matter, Sarah.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Underneath it was another.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I unfolded the next page.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cBut I did want to know what it felt like once to have somebody choose that word with me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I stopped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The black coffee beside me steamed in the cold air.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then I read the next line.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI knew if I\u2019d told you the truth, you might still have said yes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I read the next line.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My eyes filled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSo why didn\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Larry\u2019s answer was waiting directly underneath.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cBecause then I\u2019d have to hear you decide whether being lonely was a good enough reason.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And suddenly, two years of mornings with Larry began to look different.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSo why didn\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Larry\u2019s next line read:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI made it easier for you to say yes by turning loneliness into paperwork. You had the right to know. I\u2019m sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I stared at the page.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou should\u2019ve told me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A train rumbled beneath the pavement.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou should\u2019ve told me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The letter continued.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou always wanted to fix things for me. I liked that about you, even when you drove me crazy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I almost smiled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
During our three weeks of marriage, I\u2019d bought Larry better socks, a phone charger, a new blanket, and enough toiletries for six months.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I almost smiled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Every hospice visit began the same way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I\u2019d walk in carrying something.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Larry would say, \u201cSit down, Sarah.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I\u2019d answer, \u201cIn a minute.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There was always another nurse to find. Another form to complete. Another problem I could solve.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSit down, Sarah.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
His letter said: \u201cI didn\u2019t need better socks as much as you thought I did.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I laughed through my tears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou\u2019re welcome, Larry.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then I read the next line.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI needed you to sit down.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I looked at the empty place beside me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI needed you to sit down.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Our last Tuesday together, I\u2019d brought his usual coffee.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou staying?\u201d he\u2019d asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cFive minutes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cBig spender.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I\u2019d stayed 12.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Maybe 12 minutes had been the gift.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The final paragraph began:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cDon\u2019t turn me into one more person you failed to save.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Maybe 12 minutes had been the gift.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My fingers stopped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Since his funeral, I\u2019d done exactly that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
If I\u2019d noticed sooner.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Found better doctors.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Found housing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Done more.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Larry had written beneath it: \u201cYou were not my failed rescue. You were my wife for three weeks. I liked it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
If I\u2019d noticed sooner.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A laugh broke out of me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIdiot.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I folded the letter around the copy of our marriage certificate.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For decades, Larry\u2019s name had appeared beside one word.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Witness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For three weeks, it had appeared beside another.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Spouse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A shadow crossed the sidewalk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cExcuse me. Is this seat taken?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For decades, Larry\u2019s name had appeared beside one word.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A man with a worn backpack nodded toward the space beside me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My hand automatically moved toward my purse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then stopped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He sat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I nearly asked whether he needed coffee.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He sat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Instead, I remembered Larry\u2019s final instruction.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNext time you start fixing somebody\u2019s life, ask them what they actually want first.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For a moment, we simply watched people hurry toward the station.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then I held out my hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019m Sarah.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The man looked surprised.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cJeremy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNice to meet you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I remembered Larry\u2019s final instruction.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I took a sip from the second coffee.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Black.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I made a face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Jeremy glanced over.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cBad?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I looked at Larry\u2019s empty spot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cJust not mine.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I walked back to the kiosk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The woman behind the counter saw me coming.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cJust not mine.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAnother black?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I shook my head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cActually, could I get some cream?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When I sat down again, Larry\u2019s letter and our marriage certificate rested beside me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For once, I wasn\u2019t rushing anywhere.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And the coffee in my hands finally tasted like mine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For once, I wasn\u2019t rushing anywhere.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The homeless man I married drank his coffee black outside my subway stop. After his funeral, his last letter opened with an apology I couldn\u2019t understand and sent me back to the courthouse. There, a clerk opened a record book, found his name on hundreds of pages, and asked which Larry I had married. \u201cSarah, …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":20746,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-20745","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/cehre.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20745","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/cehre.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/cehre.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/cehre.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/cehre.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=20745"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/cehre.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20745\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":20747,"href":"https:\/\/cehre.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20745\/revisions\/20747"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/cehre.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/20746"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/cehre.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=20745"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/cehre.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=20745"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/cehre.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=20745"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}