Slowly, he folded the pages again.
And placed them back in his pocket.
“I wrote everything down,” he began.
“Because I was afraid I’d forget.”
His voice trembled.
“But standing here looking at you, I think I can say what matters.”
He took my hands.
“Twenty-six years ago, I told a girl I’d known for eight days that I was going to marry her.”
Several guests laughed.
“She told me I was crazy.”
He smiled.
“She was right. I was crazy about her.”
He looked into my eyes.
“And I still am.”
Then his expression grew serious.
“Lee, my doctors have told me there may come a day when I don’t remember this lake.”
His voice cracked.
“Or this dock.”
He looked briefly toward Sophie.
“Maybe even our daughter’s name.”
I felt tears sliding down my cheeks.
“And someday, I might forget your name.”
He swallowed.
