Inside the sleeve was an old fabric label.
At first, I only noticed the faded store logo.
Then I saw writing underneath it.
It was in black ink, a little smudged with age.
“Richard’s Wedding Suit.”
I looked at the words again.
Then at Claire.
Then at the suit.
My throat tightened so fast that it hurt.
“No,” I whispered.
Claire turned the cuff a little farther.
Beneath the older writing was newer stitching.
One word. “Danny.”
I covered my mouth.
Everything around me disappeared.
The guests. The photographer. The music. The whispers.
All I could see was the sleeve and that name.
My father’s voice came back so clearly in my head that for one insane second, I almost turned around looking for him.
I stared at Claire.
“Is this…”
She nodded.
“It’s your dad’s wedding suit.”
I broke.
There wasn’t any graceful way to describe it.
I started crying right there at the altar.
