Ringing Changes by Matt Brooks

A year and a half after Marco disowned Gary flew past like leaves in the wind. Gary and Hal transferred to U.C. Davis and finished business degrees with distinction. Now they were poised to mount the stage and receive their diplomas with parents, grandparents, and Nick and Tony, beaming at them from the audience. The photographer from the Coastside Light was prepared to immortalize them as well.

After congratulatory hugs and photographs, the new grads invited the families to their house for a late lunch. Most of their belongings were boxed and ready to return to Coastside, but they had prepped a meal that morning and everybody was quickly seated and eating.

As the plates emptied, Silvio Molinari stood with his glass and said, “As Gian-Andrea’s grandfather, I would like to propose a toast.” Knives and forks came to rest, and everyone’s eyes turned toward his place at the big oval table.

“Gian-Andrea and Hal, you have worked hard and steadily, and your graduation comes with extra honors. You have focused and persevered, two necessary qualities of successful business owners, along with a third, the intelligence you have demonstrated here. We are proud of you, your grandmother and I, and I know Pete and Carmela are just as proud. We wish you long life, continued success, and most of all happiness as you make your way in the world.” He lifted his glass and tipped it slightly toward the young men sitting at opposite ends of the table. “Gian-Andrea . . . Hal . . . Buona fortuna!” The rest of the table repeated “Buona fortuna!” and drank to the boys’ good fortune.

Hal quickly cleared the table and brought in fruit plates and cheese for dessert. When everyone had chosen, Gary stood smiling, his own glass in hand. “Hal and I could not possibly have made it through the last couple of years without the love and encouragement you have all given us. We thank you from the bottom of our hearts.” He lifted his glass and drank to the table.

“We have another announcement to make,” Hal said, rising. “With your permission and approval – we hope – Gary and I want to get married.” He lifted his glass. “To the man who makes me happiest,” he said, saluting Gary before raising the glass to his lips. He sat down quickly, a blush rising.

Pete’s glass hovered in the air for a moment before he set it down. “Are you sure, son?” he asked. “I know you and Gary are more than devoted boyfriends, but aren’t you a little young to be making a decision like this? Aside from your age, I’m thinking about your lives in Coastside.”

“Seeing Uncle Tony and Uncle Nick and other gay couples who’ve married really inspired us to think about this,” Gary said quickly. “We figured if they could do it and thrive, then we could too.”

“They don’t live in a small country town,” Mr. Molinari said. “They visit frequently, yes, and they have the support of most of our family – not an insignificant consideration – but they’re not living together in Coastside. Have you thought about the difficulties? Nearly every pastor in town has preached against gays at some point, and most of them come back to it over and over again. That’s bound to cause problems with many churchgoers. Including your father, Gian-Andrea.”

“Marco's out of my life, Nonno,” Gary said sharply.

“And there’s your business plan to think about, too,” Pete added. “You want to open a bed and breakfast or a small inn. What if you can’t get services or supplies? What about vandalism? Or threats and violence to you personally?”

“Won’t we have the Central Coast’s best insurance agent handling our coverage?” Gary asked, looking at Pete. “We were planning on keeping the policies in the family, after all.”

“You could find yourselves facing much higher premiums than you projected,” Pete replied. “Especially if there were more than one incident. Then what would you do?”

“We’ll deal with it if it happens,” Hal said. “Worst comes to worst, we’ll sell the business and move somewhere more welcoming.”

“I worry about you boys,” Carmela put in. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Mom, it’ll be okay,” Hal reassured her. “Really. We’re big guys. And we have the whole team on our side.”

“Carmela has a point, though,” Mrs. Molinari chimed in. “You boys weren’t born then, but I’m sure Tony remembers the fire at Larry and Aline’s gift shop in… what was it, dear? 1965 or so?”

“Sixty-six,” Mr. Molinari said.

“Yes. It turned out to be arson. Someone had seen Larry going into one of those bars in San Francisco, and the news spread on the wind. They had to move to Monterey to get away from the wagging tongues.”

Gary and Hal exchanged a look down the length of the table. “Nonna. Mrs. Rayburn. We still want to get married,” Gary said as Hal nodded agreement. “We’ve already talked about a lot of what you've brought up. Not all, but we know we want to spend our lives together, and we want to acknowledge our commitment formally. If it will make you feel better, we’ll include a specialized security inspection and recommendations in our business plan. We can take it out of the furnishings or cut back somewhere else. We do really appreciate your concerns, but we’re more interested in your support for us as a couple. That’s what we value the most: your approval and permission, and your loving support.”

Silvio and Pete looked at each other across the table. “Of course you have our permission,” Pete said slowly. “Your mother and I were wondering when you’d get around to it, actually.”

Silvio echoed him. “You will have an old man’s blessing,” he said, gazing at his wife fondly. “And may you be as happy as my Angelina and I have been. Tanti auguri, mi figli.”

“Does this sound familiar, babe?” Tony said, winking at Nick. “Just a little bit?”

Nick laughed and turned to Gary. “You guys don’t waste time, do you?” he said. “I’ll bet you have the whole thing planned out.”

Gary laughed. “Well, yeah, we’ve talked it over, Uncle Nick,” he said. “I guess you could say we have a good idea of what we want to do.”

* * * * *

The announcement appeared in the Coastside Light the following Thursday:

Silvio and Angelina Molinari and Peter and Carmela Rayburn

are very happy to announce the engagement

of their sons

Gian-Andrea Silvano Molinari and Harold Esteban Rayburn-Villaroel

Both men graduated this year from the University of California, Davis, Business School with degrees awarded cum laude. The wedding will be celebrated at Rancho Colibri in late May.

* * * * *

When the telephone rang, Tony and Nick were still asleep. Tony groaned and tried to burrow into the pillow.

Nick squinted at the caller ID. “Hey, babe, wake up. That’s the Coastside area code.”

“Who? Wha’?” Tony mumbled, still burrowing.

“I don’t recognize the number. And the phone’s on your side. Pick it up, sweetheart. It could be the hospital. What if something’s happened to Pops?”

“Nothing’s happened to Pops. I’d know, if it had. Must be a wrong number.” He turned over and wrapped his arm around Nick’s shoulder. “Wanna play a little, kid?”

“I want the phone to stop ringing.” Nick sighed in exasperation, swung his feet out of bed, and walked around to Tony’s bedside table. “Hel—”

“Tony! What the fuck are you . . .” Marco’s voice broke in, loud and agitated.

Nick angled the receiver away from his ear. “Not Tony. Nick. Just a minute, I’ll get him.”

“. . . doing encouraging . . .”

“NOT TONY, Marco. I said I’ll get him. Hold your damn horses.”

“. . . Gary to . . .”

“Marco, it’s 5:13 A.M. I’ll put Tony on in a minute.” He shook Tony’s shoulder roughly. “He’s your brother; you talk to him.” He thrust the phone into Tony’s hand, lifted both to Tony’s ear, and went into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly.

When he emerged a few minutes later, Tony was sitting up in bed, a grimace on his face, the receiver away from his ear. Marco’s voice could be heard squawking angrily. Tony looked up and rolled his eyes.

“Not done yet?” Nick asked as he stopped short.

Tony shook his head and stuck out his tongue. Marco continued to rail, a tinny echo in the chill of the room. Nick went to the closet, grabbed a robe, and shrugged into it. “I’ll make coffee,” he said. “Want a bagel?”

When Nick returned, Tony was coming out of the bathroom, talking. “Marco, shut up for a minute and listen to me. No, I said listen to me. Nick and I had nothing to do with it. Gary and Hal decided on their own, like adults. They surprised us all.”

There was more squawking, and Tony broke in again. “They are adults, Marco. They’re free and independent, and over twenty-one. And I didn’t see you at their graduation – did you have a church picnic you had to go to?”

Nick giggled, set the plate on the lamp table in the window, and handed Tony his coffee mug.

“The last I heard,” Tony continued, “he was no son of yours. Isn’t that what you said, Marco? ‘He’s no son of mine.’ So what are you so upset about?”

Tony sipped at the steaming coffee, smiled up at Nick, and listened for a minute. “I don’t think you have any say in the matter,” he said calmly. “He doesn’t live under your roof and you’re not supporting him.” He set the mug on the table and leaned back in the chair. “I’m not interested in what Krissie has to say. Or your pastor. And frankly I’m not interested in your opinion. You washed your hands of him two years ago. You’re out of the picture, as far as I can see.” He reached for a bagel and bit into it, closing his eyes as the cream cheese melted on his tongue.

Nick settled into the chair opposite him and took a bagel off the plate.

“Marco, you’re being a jerk. I tell you none of us had anything to do with it, and they’re adults who can decide for themselves what they want. If you don’t like it, that’s rough, but it’s the way the world works. You don’t have to come to the wedding.”

There was more squawking on the line as Marco continued his tirade.

“No, I don’t know what their plans are. We haven’t talked about it.” He picked up his coffee, sipped it, set the mug down, picked it up and sipped again. “Marco,” he sighed. “No, I haven’t seen the paper. I live in San Francisco. I only read the Light when I visit Ma and Pops. Are you playing dumb or is your native stupidity just coming out? Why should I care what the rest of Coastside says? He’s my nephew and I’m glad he’s found someone to be happy with. Any intelligent person would think the same. If you’re having trouble with that, read your New Testament and find the place where Jesus preaches against homosexuality. Pay particular attention to Luke, Chapter 7 while you’re rooting around in Scripture.”

Tony moved the receiver farther from his ear and shook his head. Marco’s voice was as loud as ever. “Marco, tell you what. You gather the rest of your brood and settle in for a long siege. Nick and I approve of the match, Pete and Carmela approve, and Ma and Pops approve. I’m betting the majority of our friends do, too. And if Gary and Hal have any trouble at all finding an officiant, I’ll bring a priest down from the City. Now, I’m tired of listening to you tell me that Gary and Hal – and Nick and I – are second-class Americans. Find a sympathetic ear somewhere else. You can call me when you calm down, but don’t bother if all you want to do is rant.”

Marco’s voice was still going when Tony set the phone back on the hook. “Sheesh, what a way to start the day,” he sighed. “Good coffee, though.” He took a mouthful, savoring it.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Nick said admiringly. “Where did you learn such patience and courtesy? Really. You amaze me sometimes. If I’d been on the phone with him, the conversation would have been much more vulgar. Much more vulgar.”

“The other half of the conversation was. Besides, look who brought me up,” Tony said, smiling. “Have you ever heard either of the folks curse? Even when they were pushed to their limits?”

“Not in English. But I’ve seen how you bury stuff, too. Not always a good thing. Sometimes you gotta let it out.”

“There are times I just ground it,” Tony said wearily. “But it does get tiresome, especially when it’s your own flesh and blood. Marco can be such a jackass. Nothing seems to have loosened him up in all these years. I wish he would let it go.”

Nick glanced at the clock. “It’s just 6:00,” he said. “The alarm won’t go off for another hour and a half. Let’s go back to bed. I think you could stand a little snuggling. What do you say?”

“You’re not going to attack me, are you? Try to ravish my exhausted body?”

Nick loosened the tie on his robe. “Not unless you ask politely,” he said. “And even then I’d have to think about it. Listen. I’ve fed Bobo and calmed him down, so he won’t come crying for breakfast. Let’s just spoon up and nap, okay?” He reached for Tony’s hand.

* * * * *

They met Gary and Hal for dinner at the Charthouse the next night. After they’d slid into the booth and their drinks had arrived, Nick asked what they’d planned so far for the wedding.

"Not rustic but not formal, either. Catered, with tents or at least marquees. Hal’s mom has been using this particular place for years, for business and for family – he’s related to half of Coastside.”

“And you’re related to most of the other half,” Nick laughed. “Not to mention your family in San Francisco.”

“Well, we want to keep it under a hundred guests, not the whole town. Close family and friends,” Hal said. “I don’t like those enormous weddings with five hundred people all trying to think of something nice to say before they attack the food. You can’t talk to anyone for more than thirty seconds and you can’t remember the next day who was there even if you didn’t drink anything but the toast. It’s not worth it.”

“You could elope to Iowa,” Nick offered, straight faced.

“Uh, no.” Gary rolled his eyes.

Hal looked at him for a moment, then at Nick, and back at Gary, his mouth curving into a grin. “He’s yankin’ you, sweet cheeks,” he said. “If he were serious, he’d have said Massachusetts.”

Tony laughed. “Or Spain.”

“Okay. That doesn’t solve our problem, though,” Gary continued, all seriousness. “We need to settle on a plate count and get quotes from the caterer. We’ve been thinking an afternoon ceremony followed by a small champagne buffet. If we set the wedding for 2:30, we can leave for our honeymoon by 6:00.”

“Which we’re looking forward to at least as much as we’re looking forward to the wedding,” Hal added.

Tony and Nick had arranged a night at a hotel in Santa Barbara for them, complete with a midnight service of oysters and champagne, and then a week at one of the more low-key resorts in Palm Springs, as a wedding gift. It would be the boys' first real vacation in years.

“And you’ve decided on your wedding party?” Tony asked, trying to sound casual.

“We’ll have the soccer team for groomsmen, five on each side. We want Gary’s grandparents and my parents to walk us down the aisle.” Hal grinned. “We’re gonna ask my little brother Larry and his Aunt Daisy’s youngest, Dominic, to be ring bearers. And we want Mariachi Los Chupaflores to play the whole thing.”

“We’re telling the ushers to seat everybody just as they arrive,” Gary said, “none of that one side for the Molinaris and one for the Rayburns. They might as well mix it up and get to know one another if they don’t already.”

“What about security?” Tony asked, picking up his fork.

“What about it?” Gary responded. “We’re not celebrities. This isn’t the first gay wedding in the family, either, or even the second, to hear Nonno tell it. We’re not afraid of paparazzi.”

“No, but there’s your dad to consider. Your former dad, if you like. He’s just obsessed enough to try something stupid.”

“You think so?” Gary asked. “What . . .?”

“He called me at a quarter past five yesterday morning, going on about the announcement in the Light, accusing me of putting you two up to it, as though you were malleable infants in thrall to my Svengali. I finally hung up on him after three-quarters of an hour. It was a nasty start to the day. Good fish tonight, by the way.”

“Whoa!” Gary said. “That sort of changes things, doesn’t it?” He turned to Hal. “Whatcha think, chulito? Get some security in?”

Hal paused to consider the idea; Nick jumped on it.

“Tony makes it sound easier than it was,” Nick said. “Marco was so loud I could hear him in the bathroom with the door closed. All about sin and damnation and eternal fires, and then he got onto his reputation in town and what this would do to Krissie, and how the Bible says this and his pastor says that. Foaming-at-the-mouth crazy. He even got Bobo upset.”

“Your dad’s not playing with a full deck, Gary,” Tony said quietly. “But he’s turned into such a fundamentalist fanatic that I’m really afraid he’s not playing, period. I mean, he really means business. I’d hate to see either of you get hurt because Marco went off the deep end, and a wedding like this is just the sort of glory point someone that crazed would love to latch onto. Even if he got hurt or killed himself, he’d know he was doing ‘God’s work’, whatever that means. That’s why I’m concerned about security.”

“There’s an outfit Tony’s firm uses,” Nick explained. “He’s thinking you ought to contact them, hire some trained muscle.”

“Well, I hate to say your dad’s nuts, babe, but he sure seems to be skating in that direction,” Hal said slowly. “And Bishop Reynolds gets pretty wound up when he preaches Sodom and Gomorrah over there at Blood of the Lamb.”

“Recurring theme, is it?” Nick asked.

“Yeah, I hear he gets on it pretty regularly.”

“You’ve heard a lot, working at the store?” Nick mused. He was enjoying his steak, but paying close attention.

“You’d be surprised. Well, maybe you wouldn’t. It’s a small town; things get intense.” Hal shrugged. “But it’s a great way to keep up with what’s happening.”

“Okay, but we’re still at the question – what do you think about hiring some muscle?” Tony nudged.

“Uncle Nick? What do you think?” Gary asked.

“Well, after Marco’s performance on the telephone. . .”

“Okay,” Gary said. “Now you’re convincing me, too. Hal?”

“Yeah, let’s. Like Uncle Nick says, better safe than sorry.”

“Good,” Tony exhaled and leaned back. “I’ll call LezLee on Monday.”

“You want dessert, guys?” Nick asked, mopping the last of the steak juices off his plate and reaching for his wine.

“Hal baked a peach pie this afternoon,” Gary said proudly. “Why don’t we have dessert at our house?”

“Yeah, we want you to see the place anyway,” Hal added. “Maybe give us some ideas about fixing it up?”

“Sounds good to me.” Nick leaned out of the booth, caught Anita’s eye, and signaled for the check.

* * * * *

“We’re wearing charcoal suits,” Gary said, the phone cradled against his shoulder. He hung the dish towel on the rack and caught the phone just as it slipped from under his ear. “The boys can wear blazers or suits, but we’d like them both to wear the same thing. What does Dom have?”

“Oh, he’s outgrown the last suit we bought him. I’ll take him downtown and get him something in navy,” Daisy said. She laughed. “That’s going to be the hard part. He hates shopping for clothes, especially with his mother. You know what teenagers are like. Everything either bores or embarrasses them. Thanks God he’s my last.”

“Maybe you and Carmela can make a day of it and share the pain,” Gary suggested. “Larry’s probably going to need a new suit, too.”

“Well, of course! Good idea. Do you have her number handy?”

“Memorized, Aunt Daisy. You forget where Hal’s been living all his life.”

“Oh, my. Yes, I did. Well. Hold on. Let me get my book.”

She came back on the line. He gave her the street address and telephone number.

“Good. I’ll call and make a date. Vince and I are so happy for you, dear. Looking forward to the wedding. I’ll give you a call when Carmela and I have everything set. Take care now. Love you.”

Hal strolled in from the garden, dropped his gloves on the counter, and reached for a glass. “Getting too warm out there,” he said, running the cold water tap for a few seconds and then filling his tumbler. He took a deep gulp. “Who’s on the phone?”

“Aunt Daisy. She’s going to organize a shopping day with your mom and the boys, get them suits for the wedding.”

“Good. Larry’ll hate that.”

Gary moved to pin Hal against the edge of the tile. “You’ve been sweating. You need a shower?” He sniffed at Hal’s neck, then his left arm pit, pulling the damp muscle shirt away from the skin delicately. “Hm. Smells like healthy male to me. Slight notes of chocolate and leaf mold, with perhaps a hint of fishing lure and maybe some cage-aux-poules. Been spreading manure?”

Hal set his glass down. “That’s what I love about you – you’re so subtle.” He took Gary’s face in both hands and considered it for a moment before leaning in and planting a firm kiss.

Gary reached down and ran a hand across the front of Hal’s short cutoffs, outlining the hardness he found with his thumb and middle finger.

“What’s this?” he asked, pulling back in mock surprise. “Are you hard down here?” He sighed. “Jeez. Can’t leave you alone for a minute, can I?”

“It’s obvious you can’t. And you know how horny I get when I’m out in the sun.”

“Is there anything that doesn’t make you horny, stud?”

“Parsnips.”

Gary chuckled. “Parsnips, he says.”

Hal grinned, pulled Gary back against himself and pressed their lips together. They stayed locked in place for several seconds. “Honest to God, I can’t wait to marry you,” Gary finally said, breathing hard.

Hal stripped off his shirt and slapped Gary on the butt. “C’mon, sweet cheeks, let’s shower. I’ll wash your back if you wash mine.”

* * * * *

A week before the wedding, Tony's sister Daisy slipped and fractured her left ankle. She made light of it when Tony called to check on her. “It’s not the first bone I’ve broken,” she said. Her voice was sharp with irritation. “The doctor wants me to stay off it for a few days and it hurts like hell, but I have a blue boot and I’ll certainly be at the wedding. Wouldn’t miss it.”

“I’m sure the boys would miss you, Dee,” Tony said.

“They don’t have to worry. I’ll be there. With bells on. And all my kids.”

“Glad to hear it. Then I’ll see you Friday. Take it easy. Love ya.”

* * * * *

“You’re worried about something,” Nick said over breakfast.

“What makes you think that?”

“You’re not reading the paper. You turn the pages but your eyes never move. You’ve been like this all week. What’s bothering you?”

“Marco,” Tony said simply. He folded the paper and put it down. “I can’t get that phone call out of my head. I have a really bad feeling about the wedding.”

“Does he even know when it’s going to be?” Nick asked. “The boys didn’t send him an invitation.”

“No need. In a town the size of Coastside, nothing’s secret. I’m sure he knows the date and time, what Ma’s going to wear, how much the band is charging, and who’s officiating.”

“Then he knows we’ve hired a security team.”

“That may be the one thing that isn’t common knowledge.”

“You’re afraid he thinks the ceremony’s going to be wide open and he’ll try something? What can I do? Can I do anything? To make you feel better?”

“Just be here now. That’s all you can do. It’s all either of us can do. That, and hope for the best.”

“Well, we’re prepared for the worst.” Nick smiled encouragingly. “And maybe I can take your mind off things tonight? Just a little?”

“Yeah,” Tony laughed. “You probably can. Slut.”

“Hey, not a slut. Randy, perhaps, but not a slut.”

“Okay. Randy. Yeah. We can try that.”

“Good. Now finish your breakfast. We have two more days and two nights before we go down to the ranch. I plan for you to wake up Friday morning so exhausted you couldn’t be apprehensive if your life depended on it.”

* * * * *

The caterers arrived at 10:30 and began putting up the marquees: the pavilion for the ceremony at the top of the first rise in the field, service tent to the east, a shade and backdrop for the mariachi to the west. By 12:30 the platform was in position, flowers had been arranged, the carpeting for the aisle was ready to be rolled out, and chairs were being set up.

Gary and Hal were everywhere, armed with clipboards and checklists: talking with the caterer, reassuring the Molinaris, primping flower arrangements, tasting hors-d’oeuvres, calming the Rayburns, discussing music with the band leader, packing ice on cases of wine, tying bunches of brightly colored balloons to the fenceposts at the driveway entrance, outlining the plan to the video team and photographer. At 1:30, the soccer team arrived, navy suits pressed, white shirts starched, their jackets and ties on hangers, and took over the third floor of the house, pulling Larry Rayburn into their rowdy midst. At 1:40, Gary and Hal locked themselves into the bathroom to shower and shave. Nick and Tony, the latter's eyes dark-ringed with fatigue, kept the team occupied with jokes, boutonnieres, and tie-straightening.

Nick heard noises and looked out the window toward the road to see what looked like a demonstration. He found Tony and told him what was going on. Tony’s face hardened. “We’ll see about that,” he said, reaching for his cell phone. He dialed quickly and spoke into it behind a cupped hand, snapped the apparatus shut, and went back to entertaining the groomsmen.

At 1:55, a dark green Sheriff’s Department vehicle could be seen coming up the County road. The car rolled to a stop at the ranch gate, blocking the view for the protesters walking back and forth with their signs promising doom and damnation and their bullhorn underscoring the message. The doors opened and Sheriff Pereira himself stepped out, followed by his deputy.

The Sheriff ambled casually across the road and stood looking at the demonstrators with his hands on his gun belt. “Which one of you has the parade permit?” he finally asked, moving his gaze from one lurid placard to another. Getting no answer, he asked again, “Who has the permit here?” Again, he got nothing but blank stares from the protesters. He sighed.

“You’re going to have to break this up, folks,” he said. “Without a parade permit, you’re blocking County roadways illegally and I’ll have to cite you for that and for using the bullhorn. So, you want to go along to your homes and go quietly, or you’ll appear in County Court Monday morning. What’ll it be?”

There was some grumbling among the demonstrators until Vanda Parfitt stepped forward. “You can’t infringe on our First Amendment rights, Sheriff,” she said, planting her large feet firmly on the pavement. “We have a right to be here. We have a right to witness for the truth. You can’t stop us.” She smiled brightly, revealing teeth as false as her smile, before snapping her mouth shut like a bass taking bait.

“Vanda,” the Sheriff said patiently, “you’re breaking the law here. Unless you can show me your parade permit, you can’t take over the road like this and you can’t use your bullhorn. You’ll have to witness somewhere else.”

“Well, then, we’ll just get off the road and witness on the field side.” She turned to her cohorts. “Come on, everybody, step across the ditch here,” she said, shooing the group away from the shoulder.

“Uh uh. Won’t work, Vanda. You move off the road here, you’re on private property. Unless you have permission from Pete Nelson, you’re trespassing.”

“I’m sure Pete won’t mind,” she retorted, still urging her troops back from the shoulder.

“I believe you’re wrong, Vanda,” Pereira said, a faint smile slowly developing. “I talked with Pete on the way over. He doesn’t want you on his land – particularly along this pasture. He’s got young beeves out here and he’s not interested in them getting riled up. You better go along back to town. There’s plenty of demonstrating space around Memorial Fountain.” Memorial Fountain had been dry for years; no one ever went near it.

Vanda shot him a look of pure hatred and pursed her lips. “All right, Sheriff, if that’s the way you’re going to be about it. We’ll go back to town. But you haven’t heard the last of us.”

“I’m sure I haven’t, Vanda,” the Sheriff replied wearily, stepping back toward the patrol car. “I’m sure I haven’t.”

The protestors dispersed in the cars and trucks they’d parked along the road while Pereira and his deputy watched. Then the two men got back into the patrol car, pulled away from the entrance to the ranch, and headed inland.

At 2:05, Gary and Hal emerged from the bathroom in matching silk boxers, greeted by wolf whistles, just as Father Williams pulled into the now unobstructed driveway. Pete Rayburn waved him to a parking spot and ushered him into the house, where Carmela and Mrs. Molinari gave him coffee and biscochos. The security team arrived, two men and two women, and Nick quickly went over the plan with them. Tony herded the ushers downstairs, reminding them that there was no “groom’s side/groom’s side” for them to keep track of. Larry stayed behind to wait for Dominic.

At 2:10 the band began playing soft waltzes, with muted trumpets and the harp prominent. Gary's Aunt Susan arrived with her husband and children, followed almost immediately by his Aunt Daisy and her family. They went into the house briefly to greet their parents, then returned to the meadow to take seats, Daisy leaning on her cane and moving carefully. Tony made sure Daisy was on the right side of the aisle, so she could extend her leg if the ankle began to throb. Susan took a seat in the next row in case Daisy needed help, and Dominic went into the house with Tony.

Pete and Carmela’s brothers and sisters were arriving with their families; the chairs were filling with guests who nearly all seemed to know one another. The hum of conversation rose as people settled into their seats.

At 2:25 Mrs. Molinari and Carmela Rayburn went into the master bedroom to powder their noses and pin their hats in place, while Mr. Molinari and Pete smoothed their ties and pulled on suit coats. Tony brought Larry and Dominic downstairs and handed them their ring pillows. He led Lucky and Sally from the kitchen, checked to make sure the bows on their collars were straight, and took them out to their stake chains. Gary and Hal came downstairs hand in hand, bright and smiling, their boutonnieres fragrant, ties shining silver against the charcoal of their suits. Nick gave each of them a kiss on the cheek and slipped outside.

At 2:31 the Molinaris and the Rayburns stepped out of the house, followed by the ring bearers, Tony, and the wedding couple. Nick caught Tony’s eye and waved to the band, who segued smoothly from the waltz they were playing to the romantic duet Hal had picked, “Todas las Mañanitas” – At Every Dawn.

The soccer team paired up and began to move forward. Tony positioned Larry and Dominic at the end of the carpet and gave them the go-ahead as the priest moved to the center of the dais. Pete Rayburn gave his arm to Mrs. Molinari, serene in a dark peach silk dress and matching hat, and escorted her toward the front row, followed by Mr. Molinari with Carmela Rayburn on his arm, smiling in soft yellow linen with a golden straw hat ribboned in primrose.

Gary and Hal stepped onto the carpet and began walking up the aisle hand in hand. The band brought the volume of the music up a notch, with the mutes out of the trumpets and the guitarrón throbbing. The cameramen and photographer moved around discreetly, getting clips of everyone there.

Settling into his chair, Nick thought he heard a late arrival pulling into the driveway. He turned and saw a fading cloud of dust, but whoever it was had already parked. He brought his attention back to the ceremony as Gary and Hal reached the platform and Father Williams began his ceremonial. “Friends, we gather today to witness the love and commitment of two of God’s children.”

There was a rattle of gravel and Nick turned again to see Marco at the end of the carpet, sweating, disheveled and red in the face. One of the guards was right behind him. Marco was staggering but moving fast, his gaze fixed on the two young men on the dais. He began to shout, “No! No! Not God’s children. Satan’s spawn, damned!” He was still moving fast as he reached the halfway point, next to Daisy, pulled a gun out of his jacket and began waving it wildly. “I’ll kill the faggot. I’ll kill them both. Sinners! Homo cocksucking little shits. Mock God’s law, will they? I’ll kill them.” Lucky began barking as Gary turned to see his father attempting to aim at him and Hal. He stepped in front of Hal, his expression grim.

The security man dropped a heavy hand on Marco’s shoulder, jerking him to a stop and reaching for the gun.

Susan was out of her chair at the same time. “Put that down, Marco, you ass” she hissed. “You’ll hurt someone.”

Marco looked at her as though he’d never seen her in his life. “Damned, I tell you,” he yelled. “Fucking faggot perverts. Unnatu—”

Daisy slid her hand to the center of her cane, raised it, and brought the stick down on Marco’s wrist with a crack that could be heard all over the meadow. The gun went off twice as it fell from his hand, and he sank to his knees with a cry of pain, cradling his broken arm. Susan shoved past him, dropped her handkerchief over the gun, and stowed it in her handbag.

Two of the security team grabbed Marco by the armpits and hauled him back to the house, while a third dialed the Sheriff’s Department. The congregation had erupted in panicked babble. The priest could be seen speaking quietly to Hal and Gary, whose face was scarlet with anger. Gary was taking deep breaths, composing himself, while he listened. Father Williams eventually raised both hands in a gesture for calm and waited for quiet. After a few minutes, everyone did settle down and he began again.

The ceremony went as planned from then on. When he was about to finalize the union, Father Williams lifted his gaze to the assemblage and asked “Who will support these young men as they embark on their new life together?” As if rehearsed, the entire group responded with a heartfelt “We will.” And then he spoke the magic formula: “By the power vested in me by the State of California, I now pronounce you married men.”

Hal took Gary’s hands and leaned forward, kissing him softly but thoroughly, before turning to the congregation and lifting their newly ringed hands together. The band struck up a joyous two-step and the newlyweds strode down the aisle, breaking to say “Thank you” to Susan and Daisy, then going on to the house. The waiters snapped to attention and corks popped on the wine bottles as the band switched to a slower dance rhythm.

Father Williams stepped down from the platform carefully and moved toward the front row, but stumbled, blanched, and grabbed the back of Mrs. Molinari’s chair to support himself.

“Oh, dear,” she said, standing up and putting her hand on the priest’s shoulder. “Are you all right, Father? Is there anything I can get you?”

“I’m afraid I need to sit down for a moment, and then if there’s a doctor . . .? I think your son may have shot me in the leg.”

With the reflexes of a lifetime spent raising children and grandchildren, Mrs. Molinari had the priest sitting in her chair, sent her husband off to get a glass of water, and was conferring with Carmela Rayburn on the other side of the aisle. “Carmela, where’s your brother Diego?” she said urgently. “Father Williams needs help. It seems Marco shot him.”

“Dear God, no,” Carmela cried, rising to scan the crowd. “I don’t see him. Wait. There he is. Pete! Go get Diego. Quickly. Tell him to bring his bag.”

* * * * *

“I don’t want to see him, and I don’t want to hear him,” Gary said firmly to the security chief, a small woman with steely eyes and light, curly hair. “Keep him in the front parlor until the Sheriff gets here. Tie him up if you have to. I’m going up the back stairs to wash my face. C’mon, Hal. Fat lady hasn’t sung yet.” He turned on his heel and began climbing the stairs. “Call me when the Sheriff arrives,” he said over his shoulder.

“You’re pressing charges?” Hal asked, three steps below Gary as they climbed.

“Damn skippy,” Gary said, his voice cold. “I will if Nonno doesn’t. Trespass, assault with a deadly weapon, carrying concealed without a permit, attempted murder, hate crimes enhancements, and anything else I can think of. He’s not playing? I’ll show him ‘not playing’! I want him behind bars, I want it to be expensive for him to be there, and I want it even more expensive for him to try to get out. He’s going to have to hire a Monterey lawyer, and by the time I get done with him I hope it puts him and Krissie in the fucking poorhouse. We’ve got video evidence to lock him up for years.”

They’d reached the second floor. “Whoa, sweetheart. That’s harsh,” Hal said.

“Yes, well . . . What I’d rather do right now,” Gary answered, turning to smile at his new husband, “is going to have to wait. I need to take a leak, I want to wash my face, and we have guests.”

* * * * *

“Is there anything in the hors-d’oeuvres that Daisy doesn’t like? Or Susan?” Nick asked Tony.

“Not that I know of, and if they don’t like something, one of us can eat it. I'm famished. Just take an assortment.” As they made their way toward Daisy and Susan, they could hear Daisy clearly although she hadn't raised her voice.

“He’s not sane,” she insisted. “He’s always been a bully, but this went way beyond that. And if he is sane, then he’s an even bigger asshole than I thought. Either way, I’m not going near him. I don’t want to lay eyes on him.”

“Dee, it’s all over now. I’m sure he’ll be taken care of, one way or another. Don’t let it get to you,” Susan said.

“He almost killed Gary and Hal,” Daisy said vehemently. “Or a bystander. He came that close. It’s going to take more than a little deep breathing to get over that, Sissy.”

“Thanks God he’s my brother and not my kid,” Susan exclaimed. “Pop can deal with him. Or the D.A.”

“Which reminds me, Sis,” Tony said, coming up to them. “You have the gun?”

Susan lifted her handbag. “Right here. Ready for the Sheriff.”

“Good. I’ll let Pop know. We’ve brought you both something.” He turned to Nick and lifted plates and glasses off the tray. “To keep your strength up.” He laughed. “Or your spirits.” He and Nick sat down.

“I’m willing to bet there’s not a soul in Coastside who’ll ever forget this wedding,” Nick said. “Actually, now that it’s over, it’s almost kind of funny.” He lifted his glass and said mock-seriously, “To survival!”

“Funny in the hysteria of relief sense, perhaps,” Daisy said, “but not funny in the ‘Oh my god that was hilarious’ sense.”

“Exactly. Although, any good reporter could turn it into a front-page hook without much effort. Can’t you see the lede? ‘New Twist On The Shotgun Wedding. Groom’s father tries to stop marriage. Story, photos, page A2.’ ”

Tony’s jaw dropped as he looked at Nick, and he seemed to be struggling for words. Finally he said, “Honey chile, you ain’t right. You just not right.”

Susan was giggling.

“You have to admit it was pretty operatic,” Nick defended himself. “Like a mashup of Girl of the Golden West and Ballad of Baby Doe, with some Merry Wives of Windsor thrown in. All it really needed was either a transformation scene or a laundry basket. Marco’s certainly big enough to play Falstaff without a fat suit.”

Susan threw her head back and guffawed. Her hat wobbled dangerously and she made a grab for it before recovering her poise. “Is he always like this?” she asked Tony through her laughter.

“Worse, sometimes,” Tony said gravely. “You should hear him when he lets loose on the social effects of musical comedy chorus costumes on fashion in the 1960s. The boy moves fast when he’s on a roll.”

“I guess we don’t have to worry about a divorce in your family, then,” she said, still laughing.

“Oh, no. We’re in it for the long haul. Took us too long to get together. Besides, if I ever mentioned divorce to Nick, he’d probably kill me before I could call a lawyer.”

“You got that right, Sherlock,” Nick said. “I’d be poor and in prison, but at least I wouldn’t be a woman wronged.”

Daisy gasped and looked closely at Nick.

“Don’t worry, Dee,” Tony said. “He isn’t off the rails like Marco. He’s just channeling Gracie Allen without writers. I doubt he even knows how to shoot a gun.”

“Let’s not go there,” Nick said tersely.

Tony turned toward the driveway in time to see the Sheriff arrive. “Sheriff’s here,” he said. “Again.” He turned back to Susan and Daisy. “You ready to walk back to the house?”

“Of course.” Daisy got to her feet and began to limp down the aisle.

“Where’s the video guy?” Tony asked.

“One of them’s over by the band,” Nick answered. “Getting long shots, it looks like.”

“The other’s with Ma,” Susan said, pointing. “See over there? With Carmela.”

“Ah. Yes. I’ll go talk to the one by the band; Nick, you check the one with Ma. One of them has the record of Marco’s grand entrance. I’ll catch up with you in a minute, Sissy.”

* * * * *

Sheriff Pereira set up in the kitchen, tape recorder on the table, notepad in hand. Their statements were quickly given. Nick came in with a flash drive in one hand and a handkerchief in the other as Susan was finishing her story. Gary and Hal followed him.

The Sheriff looked up. “You’re . . .?”

“Nick Molinari,” Nick identified himself. “Tony’s husband; Marco’s brother-in-law – and Susan’s and Daisy’s; Gary’s uncle – and . . .”

“Okay. And what’s this?” He frowned as he looked at Nick’s hands.

“Flash drive from the video team showing the incident. And one of the bullets.” He opened the handkerchief to reveal the bullet in his palm.

“Good. Save the video for your lawyer. I’ll take the bullet. You didn’t find the other?”

“It’s lodged in Father Williams’s left thigh. Dr. Villaroel is trying to get it out, but they’ll probably have to take him to the clinic to do it properly. I just found out when I went looking for the video guy.”

Tony shook his head in exasperation, went to the pantry and returned with two plastic bags. Nick dropped the bullet into one. Susan opened her handbag and put the gun into the other. “Be careful with that,” she said, sliding it in. “It’s still loaded, I think.”

The Sheriff grunted and handed the bags to his deputy.

“You have a statement to make?”

“Probably no different from what anyone else told you,” Nick said, sitting down.

“Let’s hear it anyway.” The Sheriff spoke into the recorder, took Nick’s full name and address and printed it on his notepad. “Okay. Talk,” he said.

Nick went over the sequence of events efficiently. He was used to dealing with the police from his job, and kept it simple. When he was finished, he looked up and said, “That’s it. The security team got hold of Marco and took him into the house here. After everyone calmed down, the ceremony went ahead.”

“Thank you. That’s all for now. Gary? Hal? You want to make a statement?”

“I can’t imagine there’s anything I could tell you that everyone else hasn’t told you already,” Gary said through clenched teeth. “Marco showed up just as Father Williams was beginning the ceremony. He was raving bug-eyed, carrying on about God’s law and perverts and homo faggots, shouting about how he was going to kill us both. He pulled a gun out of his jacket pocket and started waving it around, and it looked like he was aiming it at us. I stepped in front of Hal, but Aunt Daisy whacked him on the arm with her cane and he dropped the gun just as he was firing it. Uncle Nick found the one bullet pretty quickly because it popped a hole in the carpeting. Aunt Susan picked up the gun and put it in her handbag, and now you have it. What else is there to tell?”

“You want to press charges?”

“Isn't that up to Nonno? If it was my decision, absolutely. He crashed the wedding; he tried to kill us both; he used every anti-gay slur he could think of; he shot Father Williams. He was shouting and foaming at the mouth like a mad dog. I want him locked up. He’s dangerous.”

Nick looked over at Tony. “The phone call,” he said.

“Add premeditation to the list,” Tony said. “He phoned me before dawn the morning the announcement was printed in the Coastside Light and ranted at the top of his lungs for three-quarters of an hour about the wedding and how I’d probably put Gary up to it. That was the phrase he used: ‘put Gary up to it’. He barely let me get a word in. That was, what, six weeks ago.”

Gary looked at Tony in shock. “I’d forgotten that,” he said. “That’s why you wanted us to get security in here in the first place.”

The Sheriff glanced at his second and stood up. “I think we’re done here,” he said. He picked up the tape recorder and switched it off. “We’ll take Mr. Molinari into custody as soon as I read him his rights. I’ll discuss legalities with your grandfather once the booking’s complete. You can go back to your guests. Thank you, ladies, gentlemen.” He pushed open the swing door and headed for the front parlor.

* * * * *

The elder Mr. Molinari rumbled into the kitchen as the door to the dining room swung closed. His eyes were narrow and his mouth tight, but he moved at his usual pace toward the telephone. He clearly was not in a mood for conversation as he dialed.

“Bill?” he said calmly after a moment. “Silvio. Tell me what we need to do to get a restraining order on Marco.” He listened intently, occasionally grunting in assent. “However you write it, please set the farthest possible limit on him. Keep him well away from both the ranch itself and all of us individually: Gary and Hal, Tony and Nick, my Angelina and me.” He listened again. “Yes, if that’s the best we can ask for, go ahead. I’ll see you in your office Monday morning, first thing. All right. Thank you, old friend. See you then.”

There was silence after he had hung up, as everyone digested the latest twist. Finally Daisy spoke up. “I guess I’m now officially the youngest?” She looked around the room. “At least I’m in good company. I’m sorry, Poppa. That sounds flip and I don’t mean it that way. Your heart must be breaking right now.”

“We’ve seen it coming, your Ma and I. We kept hoping, but . . .” His voice trailed off.

“But ‘Hope is the thing with feathers’,” Nick said quietly. He stood and hugged the old man, who suddenly looked shrunken and agèd. One fierce hug, and then he went out the back door and a moment later could be heard talking softly to Sally and Lucky.

* * * * *

Gary and Hal went upstairs at 6:00 to change into boots and jeans for the drive south. They were back among their guests in just a few minutes, and a few minutes more took care of farewells. Then they assembled the groomsmen and tossed their sleeve garters back overhead for luck. Larry just missed having one fall on his head – one of the soccer players snagged it out of the air a foot above his cowlick. Then the boys hugged and kissed parents and grandparents, jogged to the car, revved it, and took off waving, with Hal at the wheel.

As they cruised through Coastside, Gary picked up the clipboards and riffled through their lists.

“I think we’ve crossed everything off now, chico,” he said, running a finger down the margins. “You know, I’m really grateful Marco missed me with that shot. Not that I’m happy Father Williams took it, but I wouldn’t want to start married life . . . Oh, wait. What’s this on the last page?” He bit his lip, reading, then laughed. “We did miss one item on the list,” he said. “Ahem. ‘Make sweet love with new husband’,” he read. “ ‘Tell him at least three times a day how much you love him. If you quarrel, make up before you go to sleep. Remember, he’s not perfect – but he’s pretty close to perfect for you. There’s an extra piece of luggage – save it for Palm Springs. Best wishes and love from your uncles, Antonio and Nicholas’.”

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