After ceremony, someone asked Lily how they knew each other.
She smiled.
“He came into my hospital room because I thought I was a monster.”
The person looked at Marcus.
“Really?”
Marcus said:
“She was mean immediately.”
Lily rolled eyes.
The person asked:
“What did you say?”
Marcus shrugged.
“Don’t remember.”
Lily did.
Every word.
But she understood why he claimed not to.
Stories grow around people.
Marcus did not want to become quotation.
He wanted to remain person.
At eighty-four, his health declined seriously.
Heart failure.
Kidneys.
He refused prolonged hospitalization.
Hospice at Leah’s home.
Lily visited.
Emily too.
Ellen, now in her seventies.
Roy.
Dean.
Old riders.
Not crowds at once.
Marcus would have hated.
One afternoon Lily arrived wearing pale-pink hoodie.
Marcus opened eyes.
“Ugly color.”
“You started.”
“Leah started.”
“True.”
He was thinner.
The enormous man from Room 304 gone.
Still Marcus.
Lily sat.
“You scared?”
He thought.
“Yes.”
She appreciated answer.
He asked:
“Scar still bother?”
Lily touched temple.
“Sometimes.”
“Good.”
“What?”
“Means you’re not lying.”
She smiled.
Marcus’s own scar was almost white.
His hair sparse.
Visible.
He said:
“You know I almost didn’t go.”
“To hospital?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Thought I’d make it worse.”
“You did look terrifying.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m serious.”
Marcus smiled.
“I remember standing outside door.”
“You were tiny.”
“I was seven.”
“You looked at me like I had three heads.”
“You had beard.”
“Same.”
Lily took his hand.
“Why did you come?”
He thought.
“Because Ellen asked.”
“That’s not why.”
Marcus looked toward window.
Then:
“When I was hiding my scar, strangers kept telling me it wasn’t bad.”
“They meant well.”
“Made me mad.”
“Because they didn’t have to wear it.”
Lily nodded.
“I thought maybe you needed somebody who wouldn’t argue.”
Her eyes filled.
“That’s all?”
“That’s a lot.”
He squeezed weakly.
Lily whispered:
“It changed my life.”
Marcus frowned.
“No.”
She smiled through tears.
“Yes.”
He looked irritated.
“You had good mom.”
“Doctors.”
“Ellen.”