The Parting Glass. Emilie Richards

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      Josh obliged, turning over his end of the line to Tarek, another youth, who was dressed in neatly pressed slacks, a sportscoat and shining loafers. Tarek had told Niccolo that this was his first time in a Christian church, and he had made a carefully annotated list of what he should wear, right down to the conservative tie.

      “Where’s Winston?” Niccolo asked when Josh joined him in the narthex. “He’ll help keep them in line.”

      Josh didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Oh, he’s not here yet. He had stuff to do this morning.”

      Winston, Josh, Tarek and all the other kids in the pew, were part of Brick. One Brick at a Time had started out as a bunch of neighborhood pre-adolescents watching Niccolo renovate an old house in Ohio City, and now it was a chartered nonprofit organization that taught basic carpentry and plumbing skills, and remodeled old houses. Home repair and remodeling were secondary to the real skills the participants learned, though: self-control, self-worth, the importance of follow-through, and community service. Brick hobbled along on a knotted shoestring, but Brick hobbled forward.

      Niccolo’s collar was in danger of cutting off his air supply. He pulled it away from his throat. “Can you keep them in line long enough to get them to the reception?”

      “Sure, they’ll do what I say,” Josh promised. Niccolo didn’t doubt he meant it.

      Josh was Niccolo’s biggest success story. Although most of the Brick kids came from safe enough homes, Josh hadn’t been so lucky. He had moved in with Niccolo two years ago to avoid his father’s alcoholic rages, and had blossomed immediately. For the first time in his life his grades were excellent, and his self-esteem was growing. He talked confidently about college now, and Niccolo had no doubts he would do well.

      “Do you see the big guy at the end of the second pew?” Niccolo pointed through the doorway toward the front. “With black hair and the pretty woman in blue beside him?”

      “Uh-huh.”

      “That’s my brother Marco.”

      “He looks like you. How come he never comes to visit?”

      Niccolo tried to think of a kind way to phrase the unkind truth. “My family wasn’t happy when I left the priesthood. Marco’s been running interference—” He saw that Josh didn’t understand. “He’s been trying to help the others understand that making a change was the right thing for me. Particularly my parents and the grandparents who are still alive.”

      “I get it. He doesn’t want to alienate them by coming here while he’s working on their heads.”

      Niccolo liked the way “alienate” had just slipped from Josh’s lips. And of course Josh had understood the subtleties of his explanation. Josh was a natural psychologist.

      “You’ve got it. But he’s here today, and I’d like him to have a carnation for his lapel.” Niccolo motioned to the one in Josh’s. “Like yours. Will you take it up to him?”

      “Sure. Cool.” Josh took a boutonniere from the white florist’s box beside Niccolo. “Anybody else coming? From your family, I mean?”

      When Niccolo shook his head, Josh looked perplexed. “They don’t like Megan?” Clearly Josh couldn’t imagine such a thing, since he practically worshiped at Megan’s feet.

      “They wouldn’t like anybody I chose. Don’t worry about it. Marco’s here. That’s a start.”

      “So even good families can act crazy, huh?” Josh seemed to like that thought. He was smiling a little when he started back into the nave and up the aisle.

      “What are you doing out here?”

      Niccolo turned to see his best man coming through the door. Jon Kovats, Casey’s husband, was dressed in a dark suit, too, only on Jon it looked perfectly natural. He was a prosecutor, with quiet, clean-cut good looks that gave crime victims faith and an unwavering gaze that gave defendants shivers down their spines.

      “Aren’t you supposed to be hiding somewhere with Father Brady until right before the ceremony?” Jon asked.

      Niccolo hated to admit the truth, that after Jon had dropped him off at the side door, Niccolo had sneaked into the narthex for a look at the guests. He had hoped his parents would relent and attend, although he hadn’t said as much to Josh.

      “I was just getting some air,” he said, “and checking to see if anything had to be done out here.”

      “Nick, you can let go of everything for a while. Let the rest of us take care of the details. That’s why we signed on.”

      “Have you heard anything from Casey?”

      “Anything?”

      Niccolo tugged his collar away from his throat again. He had gone from a priest’s dog collar to a working man’s flannels. Ties felt unnatural. “Lately, I mean. In the last half hour?”

      “Not a word. Why? She’s helping Megan dress. I’m sure there hasn’t been much free time.” Jon frowned. “You’re afraid Megan’s not going to show up, aren’t you?”

      “It crossed my mind.”

      “Megan lives up to her commitments. To the point of mania, as a matter of fact. It’s something the two of you have in common.”

      Jon knew them both too well. Niccolo couldn’t stop a smile, but he sobered quickly. “She’s afraid everything will change, that I’ll wake up one morning and realize I made a mistake, only I’m too good a Catholic to admit it.”

      “Megan? She has a superhero ego. I can’t believe that.”

      “Strong ego, yes, but she’s just not sure how to go about being married. And Megan hates being unsure about anything.”

      “Just Megan? Or you, too?”

      Niccolo thought the question was insightful, but he wasn’t surprised. He and Jon had become close friends in the two years they’d known each other, and Jon was a master at uncovering secrets.

      “I’ve never been married, but I plan to work hard at it,” Niccolo said.

      “Whoa there. Not too hard, or you won’t have any fun. It’s not a job, it’s a relationship.”

      “She deserves the best. A hundred percent. Two hundred.”

      “She deserves a man who’s enjoying himself.”

      There was a commotion at the door, and Niccolo turned. A distinguished-looking man with silver hair was helping a plump, attractive woman through the doorway. For a moment Niccolo stood absolutely still; then he turned back to Jon. He cleared his throat. “Jon, come with me, will you? I’d like you to meet my parents.” He glanced at the doorway again. “And my grandfather.”

      Jon was a good enough friend to understand the significance of those words. He clapped his hand on Niccolo’s shoulder. “Do you believe in omens?”

      “I’m too Catholic not to.”

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