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was limp over her fist. In the background, they could hear the splintered laughter of the justice's guests, who were having a free-for-all Memorial Day cookout in the warm, dry confin es of his garage. "We are gathered here," the justice of the peace said, "to
    . . . Oh, shit."
    Maggie's head had snapped up. Her hand, tucked inside Jamie's, shook a littl e.
    Jamie realized then that she was waiting for him to ask, on her behalf, if there was a problem. Chauvinistic and old-world as it might have been, noth ing more clearly drove home to Jamie what
    Jodi Picoult
    it was going to mean to be a husband. He would be Maggie's mouthpiece. An d at other times, she might speak for him.
    "Is something wrong?" he had asked.
    The justice of the peace squinted over James's shoulder. "Witness," he said.
    "Can't do it without one." He cupped his hands and yelled in the general di rection of the garage, until a sweaty, wild-eyed man appeared in the doorway holding a Coors. "Jesus," the man said. "You don't have to shout." He thrus t the can into the justice's hand.
    "Not now, Tom," the justice said.
    Tom frowned. "I thought you yelled for a beer."
    "I yelled Come here."
    "Excuse me," Jamie interrupted. "Could we get going again?" Tom was wearing a Chicago Bulls tank top and Lycra biking shorts that outl ined his belly. A loose, wet smile splayed across his face. "Hey," he said
    , looking from Jamie to Maggie. "You getting hitched?" The justice asked him to just sit down in the corner and be quiet, and he'd p ut his name on the marriage license in a few minutes.
    "No way," Tom said. He grabbed Maggie's free hand, scattering her violets, and yanked her away from Jamie. "You got to do a wedding right, or you don'
    t do it at all." With a quick jerk he anchored Maggie to his side. "I'll gi ve you away, honey," he said. "We'll do a whole grand entrance." At that point Jamie did not want the man's name on his marriage license, muc h less his hands on his fiancee. But before he could object, Maggie smiled e asily. "That would be lovely," she said to Tom, although she was looking at Jamie. Let's just get it over with, her eyes seemed to be saying, so that we can laugh about it later.
    Jamie thought of the women he had dated, their images shifting like smoke. Some had told him their plans for an elaborate marriage on the second or third date; one had even drawn him a sketch on a cocktail napkin of a wedd ing gown she'd had made up and stored in the back of her closet, just in c ase. Not one of the women he'd known in his past would have made it throug h this fiasco of a wedding without being reduced to tears. Not one of the women he'd known in his past could hold a candle to Maggie. He had never really asked her to marry him, he realized. They had simply b oth assumed that it was going to happen.
    "Under the Boardwalk" was blaring from the garage as Mag-gie, on Tom's arm, began to walk across the small parlor. Her heels crushed the violets she'd dropped on the way out. Her perfume was overshadowed by the alcoholic cloud surrounding the man beside her. Next to Jamie, the just ice of the peace began to flip through his book, having lost his place. Maggie reached Jamie's side and slipped her arm through his. He could feel h er shaking, so he patted her hand gently. He would apologize to her for this
    . He would spend the rest of his life making it up to her.
    "We are gathered here . . ." the justice of the peace said.
    "For the free beer," Tom finished.
    Maggie covered her mouth with her hand, and then burst into laughter. Her he ad tipped back so that Jamie could see the long, smooth line of her throat, and the spill of russet hair over her shoulders. There were tears in her eye s; Jamie thought it made them seem like jewels.
    "Marriage," the justice recited sternly, "is not something to be entered into lightly and unadvisedly."
    "I'm sorry," Maggie said, trying to compose herself. She tightened her hand on Jamie's and looked down at her shoes and