Jenny Got Married (part two of two)

Then came the spring and Jenny rebounded back to quasi-normal teenagehood on very wobbly knees, figuratively speaking.  She was lost in her life, on auto-pilot, but she was functioning.  

In the spring I took a group of kids to Costa Rica.  Jenny’s parents thought it would be good to get her out of town, expose her to something that might just jump start the joy in her life that had so drained from it.  It did.  Jenny caught air in Costa Rica.  She was alive and shoeless and in her element at the base of volcanos and riding the zip lines at tree top level in the jungles of Central America, her wild chestnut mane of hair dancing in the sun.  Drinking dark coffee and throwing herself into the Pacific Ocean pushing back the mighty waves that would try to beat her down.  She didn’t let them. My Jenny had come back.  

Eventually Jenny graduated and enrolled in college.  The craziness in her life continued, but she seemed to pull out of situations each time like a tire-over-the-edge recovery in a Truffaut film.  
Still, she would check in with me, seek me out to bounce things off of.  How many times would she preamble her latest goings-on with, “Fino, I know you’re not going to like this, but…”  Whether I did or didn’t was immaterial.  I never judged her or predicted Chicken Little disaster nor telegraph a lack in faith in her. Ever.  Which is why she kept me in the loop. Behind the scenes I ran more cover for her than she will ever know, called in markers with people in order to watch over Jenny from a distance that would not offend her. She never knew how or when, and she never will.  

Jenny grew up and went to work with her mother in a photography/portrait studio that her mother owned. She met a guy, Christian, the quintessence of steady, loving, charming and capable.  Educated, driven, caring and ‘cute’ by any woman’s standards.  He fell hard for her, too.  Three years later he proposed marriage to her.  Last night he married her.  She could not possibly have done better, and neither could he. Today they are both responsible, poised, happy, hard working young adults who have anchored in each other’s harbor.  

Weddings are events that have enormous caricature potential, for better or worse. Real agendas get played out, legacy issues surface, emotions and attitudes seem to purge themselves like a fire fighter shedding himself of smoldering gloves.  The champagne poured, the toasts started.  A matron of honor spoke of how much the bride meant to her with trailing voice squeaking into a emotional, inaudible, teary twitter.  A best buddy told of a funny-as-hell moment of his and Christian’s youth.  The most touching was Jenny’s father, a 747 pilot who flies freight from Alaska to Asia and all points in between.  Mike has the ‘stones’ to take up, drive and land a 400 ton aircraft consisting of six million parts (three million of which are fasteners) in bad weather, but his hands (though not his voice) visibly shook when he read his connubial wish to his daughter before God and everybody.  He told how proud of her he was, how much he approved of her choice in Christian.  He told her his prayers appeared to be answered when as she married a man who will “be there for you better than I was.”  A lot of people swallowed hard. Cojone factor: 11 out of 10.  Regardless, you will not find a father anywhere who loves his daughter more than Mike.  

The sobriety of that moment gave way to levity shortly thereafter when the groom thanked their parents.  “All eight of you” which brought the house down and left a smile on all eight faces.  A bouquet was thrown, a garter was caught and the music started.  

Without notice I wandered through the gallery towards the door.  My work here was done.  I took a moment in front of Lady Redesdale.  I said to her, “Lady, it seems that we did pretty well with Jenny, didn’t we?”   

I swear to God the corners of her lips curled upward just a smidg.  

You gotta love chicks. You just gotta.