He said they couldn't marry until the house was finished. So every day that summer, she brought him coffee, then lemonade, then cold beer. She watched while he dug the cellar, then lay down the floor, then put up walls, then raised the roof. And when the windows had glass and the door had a knob, they were married in the backyard, under the elm that had brought them there. When a rain storm blew up during their vows, they said 'I do' in the kitchen, surrounded by family and electric appliances. Thunder struck as they added their names to the family who had started their marriage in the bed her grandfather had built for her grandmother. A rain-soaked sun rose over the labour of his love and the world was a glittering representation of their incandescent happiness.
They should have known it couldn't last.
