Half the guests laughed. The other half were crying. Nate said, “Yes, sir,” very seriously, and shook his hand.
I glanced back once during the vows. Duane was still in the folding chair by the tree stumps. He had his head down and his big hands over his face.
The reception was under a white tent closer to the water. Corbin gave a toast. He’d written it himself on three index cards, and he read every word, including “Card two” and “Card three” out loud between the cards. It was the best toast I’ve ever heard.
Around six, while everyone was lining up for brisket, I noticed the folding chair was empty. Duane was walking slowly toward the gravel parking lot with that paper bag.
Before I could decide what to do, Corbin was already gone. He ran across the grass in his brown shoes, tie flapping, yelling, “Mister! Mister! Wait!”
