Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe - Marriage - Dave and the Duck & Margaret Gets Married

Episode Date: April 5, 2024

“There is nothing like a wedding to addle people’s minds.” Today on the pod we have two hilarious stories about marriage and proposal. In the first, Dave loses his wedding ring and fears it may have been swallowed by a duck! In the second, Dave’s mom Margaret surprises everyone by agreeing to marry again. And Jess shares her own experience of wedding rings and proposal. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

From the Apostrophe Podcast Network. Hello, I'm Jess Milton and this is Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe. Welcome. Today on the pod, we're talking about marriage. So without further ado, or I do, get it? We're going to get right to it. This is Dave and the Duck. One idle morning last month, Dave was sitting behind the counter in his record store,

fiddling unconsciously with his wedding ring when he realized, first with mild interest and then with growing alarm, that he couldn't get the ring off his finger. Not that he wanted to. Until that is, he noticed he couldn't remove it and then he wanted to very, very much. He tugged and he twisted the ring until his finger turned red and puffy, and then he put his finger in his mouth and he tried to pull the ring off with his teeth.

And that was the moment, the moment when Dave was sitting alone in his store with his finger in his mouth, that he entered the world of irrational fear. In the blink of an eye, his store felt airless, as if all the oxygen had been used up, as if there was no air left to breathe. And in the blink of an eye, Dave was overcome with the need to move, as if the only way to get air into his lungs was by moving. And still, the ring wouldn't budge. He locked up and he flipped a sign into the record store window that read, be right back. And he hurried down the street, twisting the ring as he went. Well, he didn't have a clue where he was heading. He was too overwhelmed by a sense of the world collapsing in upon him,

too overwhelmed by the need to get going to pay any attention to where he was going to. He called Morley from a pay phone about 15 minutes later. I can't get my wedding ring off, he said. Not that I want to, added Dave into the silence, or need to or anything, said Dave. The knowledge that he was talking to his wife was calming him down. It's uncomfortable, he said later that night as they sat in the kitchen after supper. It's like an itch you can't reach. Morley took his hand in hers hers and Dave felt the panic returning, looming like a swamp monster

over some swamp horizon that he thought was far away but turned out to be right there in his kitchen. Most of all, he needed to get the ring off his finger or he was going to go crazy. You're not the shape you used to be Morley was saying there's there's been movement this happens you could have it sized said Morley they can make it bigger he went to a jeweler before he went to work the next morning it's a nice ring said the jeweler we had it made said Dave it's one of a kind the jeweler. We had it made, said Dave. It's one of a kind. The jeweler said, you can have it back in a week. That night, Dave showed Morley the indentation on his finger where the ring had been. It was like a phantom ring.

Feels good to have it off, he told Morley. They had been married 23 years. Morley's eyes narrowed, but only imperceptibly. I've had that ring on my hand almost as long as I haven't, Dave said. It felt like it was squeezing me. Oh, said Morley. Oh, was all she said. Then things shifted again.

It started to bother Dave that it bothered him. He said, I'm so set in my ways that all it takes is a stupid ring to throw me off kilter. I'm fat and I'm almost 50 and every morning I have orange juice and cereal for breakfast at more or less the same time and more or less the same place. And I take the same three sandwiches to lunch every day. And look, he said, pulling his sweater up over his stomach. Every time I wear this shirt, I wear this sweater. Morley didn't say anything.

But what she thought was, stupid ring? It's a stupid ring? she thought was, stupid ring? It's a stupid ring? By the week's end, Dave wasn't talking about the ring anymore. He knew enough to keep quiet about it. By the week's end, he had noticed that every time he brought up the ring, Morley would get cranky. He got the ring back a week before he left for Nova Scotia. His sister Annie had called and said Elizabeth had a stroke. His father's sister, Elizabeth. Annie said, I have to go to Boston for a week. I think you should come. He went the following Monday.

Morley drove him to the airport. As Dave reached into the back seat for the bag, Morley noticed the ring on his finger and she smiled. I love you, she said. Look after Elizabeth. He checked into the Lord Nelson Hotel and he went right away to the hospital. Elizabeth was confused. At first she recognized him, then she had no idea who he was.

The doctor said, it's early, don't worry. She's going to be okay. The next morning, coming down in the elevator, he realized he had locked his key in his room. He would get one at the front desk later. It was early. He went for a walk and bought a book at one of the bookstores near his hotel,

and then he wandered into the public gardens. He sat on a bench for a while near the bandstand, and then he boughtered into the public gardens. He sat on a bench for a while near the bandstand, and then he bought a bag of peanuts in a plastic bag, and in a preoccupied, not paying attention sort of way, he began to feed them to a duck who was hanging around his bench. Before long, Dave had a fluster of ducks squabbling for peanuts. It made him happy just to be sitting there feeding ducks. He was trying to be fair about it. He was trying to spread the nuts around so all the ducks had a chance, not only the aggressive ones. And there was one tentative duck on the edge of the circle, constantly being cut out. Dave reached down into his bag of nuts and threw some to the duck on the edge of the circle, constantly being cut out. Dave reached down into his bag

and nuts and threw some to the duck on the edge, and the other ducks turned and charged furiously towards it. And in the middle of the commotion, Dave caught a brief flash of metal in the sunlight amongst his peanuts on the ground, and he thought some poor sod has lost a ring. And he thought, some poor sod has lost a ring. And then he felt for his own ring. And to his horror, he felt only finger, and he realized he was the poor sod. That was his ring glinting in the sun. And he looked again, and he realized to his horror that his ring had just been gobbled up by the hungry left-out duck. horror that his ring had just been gobbled up by the hungry left-out duck.

Dave stared at the duck in dumb disbelief. The duck was staring back at him. Dave dropped his bag of nuts and he lunged at the duck. The duck squawked in outrage and fluttered about five feet in the air. It landed in the middle of a new group of ducks on the other side of the path. Dave knew that if he looked away for even an instant, he wouldn't be able to tell his duck from the other ducks. The duck stood up on its legs and began to flap its wings. It looked like it was going to take off.

In desperation, Dave pulled off his jacket and flung it in the air. For an instant, the jacket hung in the air like a shadow, and then it enveloped the bird. And there was a moment of confusion and feathers and squawks, and then Dave was standing in the park with a duck wrapped in his jacket. A duck tucked under his arm like a loaf of bread. He looked around to see if anyone had noticed. There was a woman holding the hand of a small boy. She was staring at him in horror. What are you going to do with that duck, she said. Dave had no idea what he was going to do with a duck. Ro the park as quickly as he could.

The duck was surprisingly quiet as they crossed South Park Road. Surprisingly well behaved. The duck seemed relatively happy under the coat. Dave made it all the way to the hotel and across the hotel lobby and almost to the elevators before he remembered he didn't have his room key. He lined up at the front desk, remembering that this wasn't the first time he had stood in front of a hotel clerk with a bird under his arm.

The clerk looked down to check his name on the hotel computer, and Dave tried to rearrange the duck, and the duck quacked. The clerk looked up abruptly. Dave said, I beg your pardon, excuse me. He squeezed the duck against his body as he walked across the lobby. Apparently he squeezed too hard. Now people sometimes use the expression as loose as a goose. Not, however, people who know about these things. People who know about these things know that a goose dingleberry comes out pretty well packed.

A duck dump, on the other hand, comes out well as loose as a goose. Once the elevator doors had closed behind them and Dave and his duck had a moment of privacy, Dave opened his jacket to see what was going on, which is something he wouldn't do if he was able to do it over again. As soon as the duck saw the elevator lights, it began to beat its wings furiously. In an instant, the quiet duck became a wiggling mass of kicking and quacking feathers. It became a scratching and biting duck. When the elevator doors opened on the fourth floor, Dave was barely holding on to the duck by its little duck feet

while it beat him mercilessly with its wings. The elderly couple waiting for the elevator didn't say a word. Not to Dave, not to each other. They didn't step forward into the elevator, nor did they step back. They just stood motionless and speechless. They stood staring as the feathers flew and the elevator doors first opened and then closed. Two floors later, when the elevator doors opened again,

the duck gave Dave a mighty whack with a wing, and Dave lost his grip for an instant, and suddenly the duck was loose. Suddenly it was flying down the corridor with Dave in pursuit. He rounded the corner at the end of the hall, and he had already taken three steps before he stopped, and he gasped, and he spun in the air and headed back the way he had come. The tables had been turned.

The duck was coming towards him with fire in its eyes. Dave lurched back down the corridor, bouncing off a fire extinguisher, glancing over his shoulder, looking for an open door, thinking as he heard the back down the corridor, bouncing off a fire extinguisher, glancing over his shoulder, looking for an open door, thinking as he heard the beat of the wings that this was closer than he ever wanted to get to the running of the bulls in Pamplona, Spain. It took 12 minutes of utter madness before he got the duck under his arm and into his room, and then the duck bit him and the chase was on again. Around and around the bedroom, Dave after the duck, the duck after Dave, the two of them

with enough adrenaline coursing through their bodies to fuel a British soccer riot. When Dave had finally corralled the duck into the bathroom and the bathroom door was shut behind it, there were feathers and duck muck everywhere. It took Dave almost an hour to clean up. He checked each duck defilement for his ring, and then he collapsed into the wingback chair in the corner of his bedroom, and he stared at his empty finger. He looked at the closed bathroom door. It was eerily quiet in there. He got up and he cracked the door to see what was going on. The duck had pushed one of the hotel towels up against the edge of the tub and had fashioned a sort of nest.

It seemed content as Dave slipped into the bathroom. It's nice in here, isn't it, said Dave. Wah, said the duck. Dave checked each doo-doo in the bathroom, but there was no ring there either. He filled up the tub with water and he lay on the bed wondering what he should do next. The duck seemed to have settled comfortably ever since it had made its nest. Dave cracked the bathroom door and he shrugged as the duck waddled into the bedroom. It began pecking at the carpet. Dave got some corn chips from the minibar and left them in a pile near the television. He could feel a wave

of panic building again. Morley would be furious if she knew where the ring was, he thought. He got up and he looked at the duck. This isn't about us, he said. It's about my wife. If I feel like this, he said, imagine what my wife would feel like. I'm doing this for her. He put the duck back in the bathroom and a do not disturb sign on his door. And he went to the hospital. And when he came back at dinner time, there was duck slop everywhere, but still no ring. He opened the bathroom door, and he phoned room service and ordered himself a beer and a half a dozen oysters on the shell. When the duck saw the oysters, she ran across the room and sat at his feet.

So we ordered her a dozen, and they watched the early news together. ordered her a dozen, and they watched the early news together. After the news, he went through the latest mound of duck dirt. Her production was beyond belief. At this rate, he figured the time from bill to butt couldn't be more than 24 hours. He ordered another dozen oysters, and they watched The Simpsons. Dave had seen the episode, but the duck seemed to like it. After supper, he went to the library,

and he learned that everything a duck ingests goes into its crop before it goes into its stomach. And he read that the crop is a muscular processing plant full of little stones which grind the food before it's digested. According to the book he read, Dave's ring would be ground to gold dust before he'd ever see it, or more likely it would just stay in the duck's crop until the duck died. He went back to the hotel room and he wrapped the duck back up in his fouled jacket, and he took her across the street to the public gardens, and he let her go. And when he put her down on the path, she flapped her wings a few times and then waddled away without a backward glance. Good luck, said Dave. She didn't seem to

want it. As he watched her slip into the brush, Dave wondered where his ring would end up, and who would find it, and how long from now, and what they would think, what story they would make up when they found the ring. He didn't sleep well, wondering what he would tell Morley about the ring, worrying about what she would say. Early in the morning, he took his jacket to the front desk and asked the concierge if he could have it cleaned. The concierge stared at the foul jacket and his lip began to curl. It's clam chowder, said Dave. Of course, said the concierge, flicking a feather off the counter with disdain. He visited Elizabeth.

She was getting clearer each day. The doctor told him she would go to rehab for at least a few months. Dave told Elizabeth he had to go home. I'll be back in a month, he told her. At lunch, he went to a jewelry shop not far from the hotel and with a heavy heart bought an extravagant silver bracelet for Morley. He'd never bought her jewelry in his life. The store, the clerk, and the enormous quantity of jewelry overwhelmed him.

He almost fled without buying anything. But the clerk was fussing with him with such attentiveness that Dave didn't want to disappoint him. He finally chose a silver bracelet. It cost a small fortune, but if he was going to go home empty-handed, he couldn't go empty-handed. He thought it was a pretty bracelet, but he wasn't sure.

Morley would have to tell him. He went back to the hospital to see Elizabeth one last time, but she was asleep, and he didn't wake her. He went to the hotel to pick up his jacket. He had two hours before his plane took off. When he got there, he couldn't find his ticket stub, and he looked at the concierge hopelessly. It's all right, said the concierge with a smirk.

I remember you. you clam chowder he handed Dave the jacket on a hanger in a small envelope the cleaners found a ring in your pocket he said I imagine you'd want to wear it home. Dave had time to take the hotel bus to the airport. As they pulled by the public gardens, he put the ring back on his finger and stared at it. 23 years was a long time.

He didn't have any regrets. He had a window seat on the plane, and he was served a surprisingly good meal. He had two glasses of wine with his supper and a drink later. He flew the final hour with his face pressed to the window, watching the sun setting ahead of them and holding his bracelet in his hands, thinking nothing happens without a reason. He was holding the bracelet as the wheels bit into the runway. It made him anxious to hold it, but it was a new kind of anxiety. It felt fresh and exciting. He had never done anything like this before.

It made him happy just to hold it. Thank you. That was the story we called Dave and the Duck. I wasn't around when that story was written. That story was written before my time on the show, so I don't and the Duck. I wasn't around when that story was written. That story was written before my time on the show. So I don't know the backstory. But I do have sort of a, I don't know what you'd call it. I guess you'd call it a post script backstory.

And it's something that Stuart used to tease me about mercilessly. When I first started wearing my engagement ring, I felt similarly to Dave. I had my engagement ring sized five times in the first month of wearing it. I remember after the third time, Stuart laughing and saying, Are you sure this is about the ring? It took me a long time to find it comfortable, which said a lot about where I was at at the time. But it was a beautiful ring given to me by someone I loved, so I loved it too. It just took me a while to adjust, not only to the ring, but I think to the idea of being married.

I wasn't one of those people who dreamed of their perfect wedding. I never really thought about getting married. It just wasn't something I daydreamed about or really thought about at all. And I certainly did not care about a ring. I know that proposals, especially lately, have become a bit of a thing. Like the way you propose to someone can be almost a creative outlet, a way to express who you are as a couple, and a way to show that person how much you love them and how well you understand them. I don't remember if proposals were a thing back when I got engaged. I don't think so. And neither Josh nor I are people who are into grand gestures. Don't get me wrong. Josh does lots of little thoughtful things to show me how much he loves me

and how well he gets me. Every Saturday morning, he brings me a coffee and bed and the paper. And he puts gas in my car because I really don't like going to the gas station. And he always makes sure that my bike has air in the tires because I never, ever remember to check before I head out on my bike. But I can't imagine him planning, well, anything, actually. Certainly not the perfect proposal. But his proposal was perfect for me, for us. I think it horrifies people when I tell them the story. This is what happened. Josh and I lived apart. We lived separately. We lived long distance. He was living in Ottawa, doing his PhD, and I was living in home. It had a leaky roof and a leaky basement and one single bedroom that was so small that you had to move the double bed if you wanted to shut the bedroom door. But it was mine and I loved it. It had a beautiful front porch and I put a flower garden in in the front and a veggie garden in the back.

The highlight for Josh was definitely the laundry. We had a washing machine in the kitchen. And neither one of us had ever had a washing machine before. It was such a treat to be able to do our laundry at home rather than hauling all our stuff to the laundromat. Josh used to come back to visit about every two weeks or so. He'd come from Ottawa to Toronto, and he'd always bring his dirty laundry with him. All of it, two weeks' worth. The day I want to tell you about was a Friday, I think,

and it was January. It was definitely winter. I had been working late, and Josh beat me home. By the time I got home at the end of the day, he was already there. He was already at my house. Or I thought he was there. I remember walking in and seeing his boots at the front door. He'd taken them off. And when he'd taken them off, he hadn't put them on the mat, you know, like the boot mat at the front door. And I remember this because there was water and salt everywhere, like all over the hardwood floors, seeping into the hardwood floors. I saw his boots. I saw the water.

I saw the salt, but I didn't see Josh. down the long corridor into the kitchen. And down there, I saw mountains of laundry, like five or six loads piled up and no way to tell. Was it dirty? Was it clean? It certainly wasn't folded. As you can tell, I was annoyed. I mean, even 15 years later, when I'm talking about it, I'm annoyed. My house had been taken over by dirty laundry and a boy who didn't put away his shoes or clean up his mess. I had Josh's wet boots. I had Josh's dirty laundry, but I didn't have Josh. He was nowhere to be seen. And then I heard him laugh and I wandered into the living room and he was there like lounging on the couch luxuriously talking on the phone. He barely even looked up when I walked in. I was fuming. hours earlier, it was perfectly clean and perfectly organized. And then he arrived and changed everything. He dropped laundry on the floor. He dropped his wet boots at the front and

there was water and salt everywhere. I was mad. I went into the kitchen and I got a mop and a rag and I went back to the front hall and I got down on my knees and I started tidying up the shoes and wiping up the water. And I could hear him get off the phone. I could hear him walk over behind me and he said, hey, hey, I said. I didn't look up because I did not want to give him the satisfaction of my attention. Jess, he said. I knew what he wanted. He wanted me to like turn around and look at him. He wanted me to say, it's so nice to see you. I did not want to say those things. I didn't want to do that because I was annoyed. I wasn't angry.

I was just, you know, irritated. And I knew I needed to calm down a bit and remind myself that none of this mattered. But he was so damn persistent. He would not let me ignore him. So finally, I turned around, and I turned around ready to tear a strip off him. And then I saw him and something looked different. He was standing there and he had this little blue box in his hand. And his face just looked, I don't know, different. He had this huge smile on his face. And I am literally down on my knees. And he says, will you marry me? my knees, and he says, will you marry me? And that right there is the perfect proposal.

Me mopping up boot juice at the front door. It's not romantic, but when you think of it, neither is marriage. In my experience, and maybe I just don't have a great marriage, but in my experience, marriage is less rose petals and more mountains of laundry. But if you can say yes while you're mopping up a salt puddle, if you can say yes when you're tired and really annoyed, if in that moment you still feel like this is the person for you, then that person is probably the person for you. It was a perfect proposal for someone who didn't want a perfect proposal. Things are no longer always in their place in my home or in my life. I now share my house and my life not only with Josh, but with the family that we created together, with a six-year-old and a four-year-old and a rambunctious dog. It is chaotic and never exactly the way I want it to be,

which is exactly the way it should be. It keeps me growing. It keeps me flexible. Compromise in a relationship is almost always a good thing. And perfect is rarely perfect. And perfect is rarely perfect. I did get up off that boot juice floor eventually. And I put the ring on. It didn't fit. It was way too big. And like I said, it took me, I think, five fittings before I finally got it right.

I just kept changing it over and over and over again, trying to get the perfect fit. It still doesn't fit perfectly. It's a tiny bit too big in the winter and a tiny bit too small in the summer. But I got used to that feeling. I got used to the feeling of things being not perfect. I've been wearing that ring for 15 years now. And these days, it feels weirder off than it does on. And that's why I sympathize with Dave in that story. And why I love that ending scene so much. The one on the plane. When he's coming home from Halifax.

The feeling of coming home. Coming home to the place where you're meant to be. Even if there are puddles on the floor and mountains of dirty laundry in the kitchen. We're going to take a short break now, but we'll be back in a couple of minutes with another story about marriage, so stick around. Welcome back. Time for our second story now. This is Margaret Gets Married. On the last Saturday in March, a gray and woolly day if there ever was one, Sandy Rutledge of Rutledge's Hardware Store on River Street

in Big Narrows, Cape Breton, stayed after everyone else had left for the day so he could organize the hardware store's first ever window display. Sandy graduated from business school last year, the first in his family to go to university. Ever since, he's been bugging his father to let him make some changes. Willard Rutledge finally relented. Sandy stayed late, and by Monday lunch, pretty much everyone had heard about Rutledge's new front window. People were making trips to town just to check it out.

What Sandy did was clean out the mess of doorbells, the bags of bird seed, the towers of toasters and kettles that had accumulated in the front window over the last 74 years, and he replaced the entire jumble with a solitary mannequin. It, or more to the point, she, was wearing a bridal gown. Sandy picked up the mannequin and the gown secondhand from a shop in Sydney. The idea, it being just a few weeks until spring, was to encourage the brides of Big Narrows to register at the hardware store. By the end of the week, much to Sandy's

delight, they had two brides and a third, Becky Michelle of Fletcher's Harbor, wavering under pressure from her fiancé, Cliff, who'd wanted a nail gun since he was seven. Dave's mother, Margaret, was one of the last people in town to see the window. Smith Gardner picks Margaret up every Thursday afternoon, and they go to the Elks meat raffle. On Thursday, as they pulled into Kerrigan's parking lot, Smith said, do you want to see the window? Margaret said, sure. As Margaret peered at the wedding dress, Smith said, I wouldn't want to go through that again. Margaret nodded and then they stood there awkwardly. That was the first time Smith and Margaret talked about marriage. When she got home, Margaret stared in her bathroom mirror.

Uh-oh, she said. It was the middle of April when Smith decided to propose. He drove to Sydney to get the ring. His late wife, Jean, had hated her wedding ring. She said it irritated her finger. Eventually, she took it off and wore the ring around her neck on a chain. Smith didn't want Margaret to hate her ring, so all he bought was a diamond. The jeweler said they could come back together and choose a setting. It was a modest stone, but it has good color, said the jeweler, holding it up to the light. Smith dropped the bag on the passenger seat of his pickup.

He pulled off the road as soon as he crossed the Seal Island Bridge. He shook the diamond into his rough hand, took a deep breath, and held it up in the sun. Didn't look like it had any color to him. Looked as clear as glass. On his way through town, Smith stopped at Kerrigan's and bought a tub of ice cream, Margaret's favorite flavor, maple walnut. He took the ice cream to Margaret's house for Sunday lunch. He set the diamond on top of her ice cream.

And then he set the bowl in front of her. He sat waiting, his heart pounding as she picked up her spoon. Margaret polished off the entire bowl and sat back. That was good, she said. Not knowing what to say, Smith didn't say anything. He drove to Sydney the next morning. I want another diamond, he said. A bigger one with more color so it stands out.

The jeweler put a blue velvet tray on the counter and showed him the stones. That one, said Smith. But this time put it in a ring. What kind of setting, asked the jeweler. Comfortable one, said Smith. What size, asked the jeweler. Medium, said Smith. The first warm weekend in May, they went to Ignish to visit Smith's son.

On the way home, Smith said, let's go back the long way through the bay, Irish Bay, where Margaret grew up. Margaret almost said, it's getting late. Instead, she said, that'd be nice, Smith. They pulled off the highway at the gas station and came into town at the south end, past the Stinson Farm and Dr. Sandberg's old place. It had been dark for an hour when Smith pulled up in front of the house where she grew up. Margaret said, so long ago.

Smith said, let's go see if the iris are up. Margaret felt anxious. She didn't know the people who lived there anymore, city people. But Smith was already walking around the front of his pickup. Smith said, there's no one home, just a peak. Against her better instincts, Margaret followed Smith across the damp lawn, the dew chilly on her feet. She was nervous, but she was also intrigued.

She heard the click as he slid the gate latch in the darkness, and she followed him into the yard, the yard where she and Elizabeth had played when they were girls. It was so strange to be there again. She sighed. Then she smiled at Smith and turned to go. Smith didn't move. Slipping a ring on Margaret's finger under the moon in the garden where she had been a girl and had probably dreamed of such things had seemed like a good idea. In the abstract.

But here in the garden, it didn't seem like a good idea at all. Smith was feeling lightheaded and woozy. His legs were shaking. Smith, said Margaret. Smith had slipped the ring out of his pocket. He lurched forward and grabbed Margaret's hand. And Margaret, who hadn't seen the ring, could sense his unsteadiness. But it was his face that gave him away.

It was written on his face. It was as clear as day. Smith was about to tell her that he was dying. Oh, Smith, she said. No. No. No, said Smith. Margaret glanced down and saw the ring for the first time. She started to laugh.

Smith had gone over this moment many times in his mind. He had imagined many responses, but never laughter. Margaret said, oh Smith, but before she could say anything else, a light flicked on upstairs and a window banged open. Smith swore and he tugged her and Smith and Margaret ran out of the back garden and tumbled into his truck like a pair of teenagers. They ripped down the street, around the corner and all the way to the church before they stopped. My heart, said Smith, resting his head on the wheel. Margaret waited for him to saddle.

When he did, she said, Smith Gardner, did you just ask me to marry you? Smith didn't lift his head. He said, yes. Did you just refuse? And Margaret said, no, Smith. The ring was too big. So they went back to the jeweler the very next morning and they had it sized. On the way out of the store, Margaret stopped, took it off her finger and slipped it into her purse. Smith said, why'd you do that? Margaret said, Smith, people are going to see it if I keep it on my hand. Smith said, we certainly wouldn't want that. For a week, Margaret didn't tell a soul.

She fretted instead. Truth was, the whole thing embarrassed her. In her heart, she wished that she and Smith could do what the young kids do and move in together. After a week of fretting, she picked up the telephone. It was a Sunday afternoon. Smith had already told his kids. She couldn't delay any longer. Smith had already told his kids. She couldn't delay any longer. She had to phone her daughter, Annie, in Halifax.

And David. Hi, she said. How are you? She had been working in the garden. She was wearing her gardening slacks and an oversized cardigan that used to belong to her late husband, Charlie. She was standing by the kitchen window. Her hands still had dirt on them. She took a deep breath. She said, David, I have something to tell you. You're sick, said Dave.

Worse, said Margaret. Smith asked me to marry him. Dave shouldn't have been so surprised. He knew that this was coming. Smith had as good as asked his permission that afternoon in the graveyard. When was that anyway? Two years ago. He shouldn't have been surprised, but he was. So when Margaret blurted it out, Dave was not his best self.

Margaret said, Smith asked me to marry him. And the very first thing Dave said was, where will you be buried then? There's supposed to be a spot beside dad. Margaret said, I honestly hadn't considered that. Dave was as amazed as she was at what had just come out his mouth. He said, I suppose the fact that it doesn't really matter to me where you're buried won't stop you from telling everyone that that was my first reaction. And Margaret said, probably not. Dave didn't really want to talk about it, which was fine because neither did she. They talked about her garden instead. And then they said goodbye. When Margaret hung up, she shrugged. It was the first time she'd

said it out loud, I'm getting married. That wasn't so bad, she said. She waited five minutes before she phoned Annie. Oh my God, said Annie, where will you be buried? There was a stunned silence. And then Margaret said, David called you. And Annie snorted and they both laughed and laughed. When they stopped laughing, Annie said, oh, Mom, I'm so happy for you. How did he ask?

And Margaret said, he asked me under the moon in the garden in Irish Bay. And Annie said, I want to know every last detail. Now that she'd spoken the words out loud, Margaret figured she might as well keep going. Next morning, she went to Kerrigan's grocery store, knowing that she'd bump into Winnie. Winnie always shopped Monday mornings. They met in front of the lunch meets. Winnie always shopped Monday mornings. They met in front of the lunch meets. Margaret took a deep breath and said offhandedly,

we're thinking about having the reception of the curling club. Winnie said, what reception? Margaret said, oh, didn't I tell you? She suspected that would do the trick. And she was right. Everyone in town knew by lunch. And it didn't go as badly as Margaret had imagined. It went worse than she had imagined.

When you're 84 years old, you don't want people treating you as if you were cute. Everyone thought it was cute. Everyone thought it was sweet. Makes me wish you had some sort of problem, she said to Smith as they were walking his dog along the gut. Couldn't you start drinking or something? And that was before Bernadette and Winnie were warmed up. That was before Bernadette and Winnie started up about what Margaret should wear. I don't want it to be a big fancy thing, said Margaret. I'm not advising a floor-length gown, said Winnie.

Bernadette nodded in agreement. In fact, said Winnie, I'd advise against it. You need a proper dress and jacket. I know a lady in Halifax who does a lovely job with seed pearls. They were at the post office. They were in front of the mailboxes. While Winnie was talking, Bernadette had pulled a tape measure out of her purse. Before Margaret knew what was happening, Bernadette was wrapping it around her middle.

We are not, said Margaret, pulling the tape measure from her waist, going to Halifax. There is nothing like a wedding to addle people's minds, especially, it turns out, if those people have spent too much of their recent years planning funerals. As April opened into May, everyone in Big Narrows, everyone of a certain age, that is, was fussing over the first big celebration that had come their way in decades. Patty Ann Madigan called to tell Margaret about a hybrid rose that she had read about in the Reader's Digest. It was named after Diana, the Princess of Wales.

It has such a beautiful scent, said Patty Ann, who had never actually smelled one. George McDonnell from the Legion ambushed her in the parking lot at Kerrigan's. We best be nailing down the reception, said George. Lots of other events happening that month. The Sausage Festival is on the 12th, you know. Now, have you been to book on the music now, Margaret? Said Alf McDonald when he zeroed in on her in front of the roving library. Sid should be home, you know. Alf's son, Sid, who DJs at a hip-hop club in Yarmouth.

He'll be in Halifax the week of the wedding, said Alf. He's getting his tattoo worked on. Sid has been slowly adding to his art as he can afford it. When it's finished, his tattoo will cover his entire body and tell the life story of Celine Dion with a lavish wedding scene covering most of his back. Margaret began to dread going out. Wherever she went, there was someone hovering with some sort of unwanted advice. She didn't leave her house for three days. On the fourth, she phoned Smith. She said, I can't do this.

We can't get married. She expected he would come over and try to talk her out of it, or more to the point, into it. He didn't try to talk her into it. He said, that's okay, I understand. That night, Margaret went up to the attic with a box of winter stuff. She wasn't planning on bringing any summer stuff down, but once she got up there, she began poking around. When she climbed into the far corner, she came face to face with Charlie's uniform from the war. It was hanging on a post. It was wrapped in a plastic dry cleaner's bag. dry cleaner's bag. According to the tag, it had last been cleaned in April 1963. There was a shoe box beneath it. She knew what was in it. It was filled with letters Charlie had written her from England. She flicked on an old lamp and sat in its orange glow for the longest time, reading those letters.

Dear Juan, we arrived here at 7 p.m., and I half thought there might be a wire. It's absurd to think I have only been away for a week. Her eyes flicked to the bottom of the page. Now, my dearest love, I must say good night. It's nearly 12. God bless you, my dear, dear girl. There was a box of photo albums somewhere. When she finished the letters, she took the first photo album and settled it in her lap. Pictures of the kids. David, maybe five years old. And there was their first car. It looked so ancient. She ran her finger across the page as if she could reach back through time,

as if she could touch the past by touching the little black and white photos, the white borders, the serrated edges. There were titles under each picture, printed in white ink on the black paper in Charlie's hand. Annie at the Beach. Hungry Dave. Bath Time. She opened the next book. It was her wedding pictures. She slammed it shut. She stood up and started for the stairs, and then she took a deep breath, and she sat down and she opened the book again. It was past midnight when she left the attic.

She drove to Smith's house first thing the next morning. She let herself in through the side door. I was getting worried, said Smith. I'm sorry, she said. That's okay, he said. No apology necessary. She was carrying a pile of books in her arms. She dropped them on the kitchen table. The photo albums.

Sit down, she said. I'm going to tell you everything about me. And that is what they did. They sat in the kitchen and she told him the story of her life. He already knew most of it, but he never heard it all in one piece like that. From the very beginning to the end. They looked at the pictures. They read the old letters from Charlie.

When she was finished, she said, Now you know everything. Now I have no secrets from you. You know it all from beginning to end. Not quite to the end, said Smith. There's still a bit more left. They were married on July the 10th. There were only 20 people at the ceremony, but most of the town came to the reception. Many of them were kids that she had taught.

They held the reception in the school gym. Smith's idea. Dave gave the toast to the bride. He said the nicest things. Oh, the dress. Margaret finally agreed to go shopping in Halifax. She got the ivory suit from the lady who did the pearl detailing. Well, she didn't exactly get it. Winnie and Bernadette did. Winnie said it was perfect. Bernadette agreed. Winnie said it was perfect. Bernadette agreed. Margaret thought otherwise.

Makes me look like one of those real estate ladies from the city. She said that to Dave one night on the phone. I'm sure you look just fine, said Dave. And he was right. She did look just fine, but she never liked it. And so on that Saturday, on their way to the church as they were driving down River Street, Margaret turned to Dave, who was driving her, and said, Pull in there and park. Dave glanced at his wristwatch. Margaret frowned at him and said,

You don't think they'll start without us, do you, David? Dave knew better than to answer that. So he parked Smith's truck, which he was driving, and he followed his mother into Rutledge's hardware store without saying a word. Margaret winked at Dave as they marched up to the counter together. Sandy Rutledge, he heard her say, how much for that wedding dress in the window? She paid $29 for the dress. Tax in. She changed in the staff washroom. They were in and out of the hardware store in under 15 minutes. When they pulled up to the church, Dave put his hand on his

mother's arm and stopped her from getting out of the car. He smiled at her and he said, I'm happy for you. Margaret said, me too. Smith threw his head back and laughed when he saw Margaret in the dress. He was beaming as she walked down the aisle on Dave's elbow. Winnie and Bernadette looked horrified. But they got over it. How could they not? Margaret looked radiant. She barely left the dance floor. She danced with all the young men she had taught all those years ago. And she danced with Dave and with Sam and Arnie Gallagher

and Rodney McTedell. She even danced with Smith, who told her when they had finished dancing that he loved her dearly, but that would be the last time he'd ever dance with her. Or anyone, he added. Never again, he whispered in her ear. She just laughed and kissed him on the cheek and whispered, We'll see about that. As he left the dance floor laughing. She danced the night away. It was her wedding, after all. She'd already had for better or for worse.

For richer or for poorer. In sickness and in health. This was the part that she had given up on. This was happily ever after. applause Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe is part of the Apostrophe Podcast Network. The recording engineer is Boot Juice Greg DeCloot. Theme music is written by Danny Michelle and played beautifully today by Rob Carley.

And the show is produced by Louise Curtis, Greg DeCloot, and me, Jess Milton. Let's meet again next week. Until then, so long for now. 한글자막 by 한효정