They returned for the last of the chairs. A musician arrived carrying a guitar case and a battery powered amp. He unpacked and began plunking away at Bach and Vivaldi. A minister with a neatly trimmed beard stood by a large madrone oak. He was well dressed, quiet, and non-denominational to the point of disappearance. Joe, who was finding himself increasingly fond of people over fifty, engaged him in conversation. He looked as though he'd been created whole that morning in the image of the Northwest, but he admitted to being from Vermont. That was as far as Joe could get. The minister evaded all questions about his youth, as though he had left a bad record behind--or maybe just an uncouth one. "Hi, stranger!" Joe turned to the familiar voice. "Ingrid," he said, opening his arms. She advanced and held him tightly for a moment before backing away with a satisfied smile. "You are looking well," Joe said, "and don't tell me it's because of your happy sex life." "It's the Mediterranean diet." "Olive oil," he said. Ingrid had lost a few pounds, although she didn't need to. Her thick blonde hair was cut short and away from her even features. Her expression was practical and good-natured, dominated by eyes the color of transparent jade. "You don't look so bad yourself," she said. "Ah, well." "More serious," she said, "more gray in your mustache, thinner." "Time's getting shorter." "Tell me about it. I'm so happy for Kate." "Yes, this is a good thing. It is so nice for her to have you and Max here. Did you see Maxie's giant sculpture?" "He showed me the picture. I love it. I haven't been over to Vermont to see his land, yet. So, what have you been up to?" Joe straightened. "This and that. I'm pretty well settled in Hawaii. I miss Portland sometimes, but . . . I've been writing a lot." "Good," Ingrid said. "You always wanted to." "And you?" Joe asked. "Same old," she said cheerfully. "Selling quite a bit. I'm down to teaching one class." Joe bent over and looked at her earrings. A tiny woman swung from a trapeze on one ear; an elephant waited patiently under the other. "Pretty good," he said. "A circus." "A golden circus," Ingrid said. "I made a series. The clown is my favorite, but he's too sad for a wedding." The chairs were filling. Joe took his seat next to Sally in the front row. Ingrid sat behind them with Max. A bridesmaid, six months pregnant, wearing a light blue flowered dress, stood prettily on the bluff, her hands clasped around lace and a bouquet of white roses. After some minutes of suspense, Kate and Jackson walked down the aisle. Kate was lovely in white; Jackson wore a smashing gray suit. Sally wiped away a tear. The minister smiled gravely. Vows were exchanged. Spectacular rings, made by Jackson and a friend, were pushed on. Kate and Jackson kissed. Cameras flashed. Simple and touching. A rainbow or a pod of breaching orcas would have been too much.