Spare Change Read Free Page B

hardly
noticed the heat, she felt the beads of perspiration settling on the back of
her neck but attributed it to the anxiety of a first time bride; as other women
blew tiny puffs of breath downward to cool their bosoms, she clasped a bouquet
of scarlet roses and marched down the aisle alongside Charlie.
    The first clattering boom came just as Pastor Perkins asked if anyone
knew of a reason why these two people should not be joined in holy matrimony. Oh
dear, Olivia thought, I hope it’s not going to rain. Any other time
she might have considered it an omen, but on this particular day, with nothing
but thoughts of love floating through her head, such a notion was nonexistent.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” Pastor Perkins said, and a second roll
of thunder erupted; this one so loud it rattled the church windows and set the
steeple bell to chiming. “You may now kiss the bride,” the Pastor told Charlie,
but before the couple could lock themselves into an embrace a barrage of hail
began pelting the building. As the scattering of people who’d been standing
outside to escape the heat pushed into the vestibule, a ball of ice came
barreling through the stained glass window and shattered a scene depicting the
birth of Baby Jesus.
    “You don’t suppose…” a wide-eyed Olivia asked.  Charlie smiled, shook
his head then went right ahead and kissed her. 
    “Hail’s caused by hot air rising up and colliding with cold air,” he
whispered as they turned and walked back down the aisle. “It’s a natural phenomenon,
nothing to worry about.” He gave a reassuring smile and tightened his hand
around hers.    
    Despite
Charlie’s seemingly logical explanation, Olivia checked both their wristwatches
to make certain the window hadn’t shattered during some lingering minute of the
eleventh hour; luckily, it was twenty-five minutes past twelve. She breathed a
sigh of relief and slipped back into the euphoric feeling of a woman in love. 
    After a reception of
champagne and wedding cake, they went back to Olivia’s apartment, loaded the
last few cartons of her belongings into the back seat of the blue convertible
and headed for Wyattsville.

Olivia Ann Doyle
    W hen people start prattling on about how marrying a man
with Charlie Doyle’s reputation is opening myself up to heartache, I feel like
laughing in their face. Heartache? A lot they know! Heartache would be seeing
him walk away. I don’t give a navy bean about the fact that he’s had dozens of
other women—all that’s done with now.
    I’ve done my own share of
dating; but let me tell you, there’s never been a man who makes me feel the way
Charlie does. I can say flat out, I am crazy in love with him. Charlie heats up
such a fire in me, I get red-cheeked just thinking how he stretches a line of kisses
down the back of my neck.  
    Still, such talk can make
any woman wonder whether or not she’s doing the right thing—so, two weeks
before the wedding I went and had my fortune told. 
    m about to marry Mister
Doyle, I said to the gypsy, and need to know if he’s a man who will love me
forever. Keeping that question in mind, she had me pull a card from the deck;
then laid a crisscross of other cards alongside of it. Right off, she said the
cards showed I had a terrible dislike of anything having to do with the number
eleven. Well, I was about to explain, it was with good reason, but before I got
a word out, she pointed to the card with a picture of eleven cups and said one
was tilted to the sky, which meant the number eleven would someday bring a
blessing. Not likely, I thought, but still, there was something about the
woman—the way her eyes looked right past me and focused in on things from
another time. It’s said that only gypsies have the true gift of looking at a
person and seeing their future, so I was happy as a red hen when she said a man
named Doyle would be loving me for the whole of my life and then some. 
    Could a woman ask for