Larry always thanked me.
But it had never occurred to me that during those two years, he had also learned something about me.
He had learned exactly how to ask me for help.
Near the bottom of the page, he had written:
“Before you decide what kind of jerk I was, go back to the courthouse where we got married. Ask for Margaret. Tell her you’re my wife.”
For a few minutes, I seriously considered throwing the letter away.
Instead, an hour later, I was standing inside the courthouse lobby.
Couples filled the plastic chairs.
A woman in a white jumpsuit adjusted her lipstick while her fiancé held a bouquet.
A toddler crawled beneath a row of seats while his father tried to catch him.
Three weeks earlier, Larry and I had sat in those same chairs.
I remembered him rubbing his palms against his trousers again and again.
“You’re shaking,” I had told him.
“I’m dying. I think I’m allowed to shake.”
At the time, I accepted that explanation.
Now I wondered how many things I had accepted simply because asking another question had seemed unnecessary.
At the records counter, someone pointed me toward an older woman wearing red glasses.
“Margaret?”
She looked up.
“Yes?”
“My name is Sarah.”
I hesitated.
“I’m Larry’s wife.”
Her hands froze above the keyboard.
“Larry?”
I nodded.
Her chair rolled backward.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
Before I understood what was happening, she walked around the counter and hugged me.
I stood stiffly in her arms.
When she stepped back, her eyes were wet.
“When did he pass?”
“A week ago.”
She looked away for a moment.
“I knew he was sick. I didn’t know it was that close.”
I stared at her.
“You knew Larry?”
Margaret frowned slightly.
“Of course I did.”
“How?”
She glanced around the courthouse.
“He worked here.”
I stared at her.
“Here?”
“For twenty-eight years.”
My mouth fell open.
“Then how did he end up homeless?”
Margaret’s expression softened.
“His health started failing after retirement. Medical expenses ate through his savings. Then he lost his apartment.”
She shook her head.
“Larry was too proud to call any of us.”
“What did he do here?”
“Mostly marriage licenses.”
She removed her glasses.
“He never told you?”
“No.”
A faint smile touched her face.
“That sounds like Larry.”
“What does that mean?”
She paused.
Then she stood.
