Her voice on the phone was breathy, pitched higher than I remembered from the two Sunday mornings when I met them at the door. And this is my boy friend Tom she had said. His handshake was a bone-crusher, his grin goofy.
The reason I'm calling, pastor, is we'd like to come and talk to your about our wedding.
Oh, I see.
You know, I've always had my heart set on a church wedding. You know, in one like yours. Tom --
he's my boy fr. . . my fiancé . . . says he'll go along with it if I really want it.
So anyways, we could come this Sunday night. Around seven?
Well, I think that . . .
It couldn't be until after the football game. Tom's a big, big Redskins fan. He says he has his heart
set on having "Hail to the Redskins" for the music when we walk down the aisle.
Yes, well . . .
So. Sunday night at seven? For our talk?
Yes. I suppose so. I . . . I think we'll have a number of things we'll need to talk about.