Men, she thought affectionately. Bless ’em. Whatever came, they could sleep.She could not. She had to keep playing over the day, minute by minute. Her wedding day.There had been the usual hassles in the morning. Her mom had gotten all teary every few minutes, and insisted on giving speeches about sex and marriage that were totally unnecessary. Alice, her matron of honor, had clipped off two of her newly purchased acrylic nails trying to fix Jeannie’s train. Sandy, another bridesmaid, had gotten too looped on the champagne they had shared while dressing for the service. The limo had been late. Her original soprano had come down with a sore throat leaving Jeannie desperately seeking a new singer at the last minute. But she’d managed to find an Irish tenor through the priest, Father O’Hara, and once she had reached the Revolution-era church just outside town, everything had gone perfectly.Everyone claimed that it had been one of the most beautiful weddings they had ever seen. Roger had been tall, dark, and glorious in his tux.
