The Song Two Hundred Guests Finished

The cord

Paula was still standing by the DJ table. She had the plug in her hand.

Her face had gone very still, the way a face goes when somebody has just watched a thing happen that she cannot undo.

Whit got to her. He did not yell at his mother. I have never once heard him yell at anybody.

He put his hand on her shoulder, and he said something low that I could not hear, and she shook her head without looking at him.

Then he gently took the plug out of her hand. He looked across the lawn at me, and he held it out.

I understood. That was Whit. He was not going to plug it back in himself and make the decision for me.

It was my wedding and my dad’s song, and whatever happened next was mine to choose.

I had run that power that morning myself. A hundred and fifty feet of twelve-gauge cord from the outlet in the barn, across the yard, under a rubber mat so nobody would trip.

I fix tractors for a living. I know a plug.

I walked across the grass in my white gown. People stepped back to let me through. My hem was soaked from the evening dew and I did not care.

I took the cord from Whit and pushed it back into the reel. The speakers gave that little pop.

Alonzo looked at me with his eyes wide, and I said, “Hold the next one for a second, please.”

Then I turned to Paula.

She was standing maybe four feet from me, in the sea green dress she had shown me in July, the one she bought at a shop in Columbus and had taken in twice.

Her hands were empty now and she did not know what to do with them.

Everyone was watching her. Everyone was watching me. I could feel two hundred people waiting to see if the bride was going to make a scene.

Here is what I was thinking. I was thinking about my dad, and how he would have handled it.

My dad was not a pushover. But he believed you could not fix a person by shaming them in front of a crowd.

He used to say, “Kiddo, you can win the argument or you can keep the neighbor. Most days, pick the neighbor.”

I had been married to this woman’s son for three hours. I was going to know her for the rest of my life.

I did not know why she had done what she did, but I knew she had a reason, because Paula did not do anything without one.

So I held out my hand.

“Dance with me,” I said.

Her mouth opened. She looked at my hand like she was not sure it was meant for her. Behind me, I heard my mother let out a breath.

“Eloise,” Paula said, very quietly, “I don’t think…”

“One song,” I said. “Please.”