thirty

BIRMINGHAM, ALABAMA

March 20, 2012

When people ask how they met, Katie and Jack say they loved in retrograde, backward. They’d both wanted to do things the way others did—to tell a story about meeting and falling in love and having kids—but they didn’t. They met; they gave birth to a daughter; they unraveled and then loved again.

Their wedding was a celebration of years falling away and looping back. They married in Bluffton in a small chapel overlooking Katie’s beloved river. She wore a simple cream silk strapless dress. Her copper hair was piled on her head, loose pieces falling onto her bare shoulder. A ring of white peonies circled her head. It was Emily, waiting in her pink junior bridesmaid dress at the back of the chapel, who whispered in Katie’s ear just before she walked down the aisle. “That’s a fairy ring on your head. Anything you wish today will come true.” And Katie had kissed her daughter and said, “Anything I’d wish has already come true.”

After they’d moved to Birmingham, Katie had sold her part of the store back to Susan. Lida became the full manager, her creativity taking the boutique in new directions. Katie took over Luna Studio, filling the space with the varied works of local artisans, from jewelry to letterpress to leather creations and more. Now exhibits and shows with live music and food were monthly events. Luna Studio had become a gathering place to celebrate new art and creativity of all kinds.

On the first day of spring, Jack and Katie threw a party at their Tudor house on top of the hill overlooking downtown Birmingham. Twenty guests crowded the backyard, including Katie’s family and nephews; Norah, Charlie, and their nine-month-old son, Chase; neighbors, and friends. Jack and Katie were celebrating their love and also Emily’s birthday, and although Emily wasn’t there, she’d sent a daffodil painting with a single feather glued to the top right corner. “Happy First Day of Spring,” was scrawled in her handwriting across the bottom of the artwork. “I Love You.”

Caleb was on the tire swing and Jack stood behind him, pushing him higher with each holler. Claire, the woman who now ran the art studio, sat next to Katie and clinked her champagne glass against Katie’s own. “You know,” Claire said, “there really are easier ways to fall in love and get together, my dear.”

“Yep,” Katie said. “That’s what I hear.”

Jack caught her gaze across the yard and walked toward her. She was often stunned into wonder when she looked at Jack—the pureness of the way she loved him without regret or restraint. He reached her side and then touched her rounded stomach where their child was just starting to flutter inside, a tickle at the bottom of her belly that could have been anything, but was only one thing.

Caleb bounded across the yard and then bent down, picking something off the grass. When he reached Katie, he held out his palm and looked up at her. “Isn’t this yours?”

Katie looked down and spied a small white feather fluttering in the bowl of Caleb’s hand. “No, sweetie, I just like to find them.”

“Well, I think this one got lost.”

Kate plucked the feather from his hand, immersed in the beauty and sacrament of all things lost and found.