Then the ceremony started.
I stood at the front with my best man while everyone took their seats.
The bridesmaids came down the aisle.
Everything looked completely normal.
Then the music changed.
Everyone stood.
I looked toward the back.
And I honestly thought there had been some kind of mistake.
Claire was standing there holding her bouquet.
Her hair was pinned up.
Her makeup was done.
She was smiling.
But instead of a wedding dress, she was wearing an enormous black suit.
An old one.
The jacket was so big that the shoulders stuck out past her actual shoulders.
The sleeves covered part of her hands.
The trousers were loose and bunched slightly at the bottom.
She was even wearing a dark tie.
For a few seconds, I just stared at her.
Then I heard people behind me whispering.
Someone actually said, “Is this a joke?”
I looked at Claire’s mom.
She looked just as emotional as everyone else, but not surprised enough for my liking.
And I could feel myself starting to get angry.
Not furious.
Just embarrassed and completely blindsided.
This was our wedding.
There were photographers standing there.
Our families were watching.
We had spent months planning everything, and somehow Claire had decided to walk down the aisle dressed like she had raided an elderly man’s closet without saying a word to me.
As she got closer, I kept trying to catch her eye.
She just smiled.
That almost made it worse.
When she finally reached me, I leaned toward her and whispered, “Claire, what is this?”
She didn’t answer.
Instead, she handed her bouquet to her maid of honor.
Then she reached across with her left hand and slowly folded back the oversized cuff of the suit jacket.
There was an old fabric label stitched inside the sleeve.
Claire held it toward me.
I read the first line: Property of Julian Vance — 1944.
