FOURTEEN
It was a glorious day for a wedding on the shores of Daytona Beach. The sky was the most beautiful blue that an artist could have painted. There was the slightest of breeze, just enough to keep the temperature comfortable, but not blow all the ladies’ hair into ugly forms. It was perfection for Ruby’s dream wedding, as if ordered by the gods.
Those who were mobile enough to negotiate over the sand without falling, made it out to stand in two groups so they formed an aisle for the couple to walk down. Those who were not mobile, sat in wheelchairs or on walkers poised at the garden area of the condo that overlooked the beach and ocean where they had a wonderful view of the activity.
Someone’s grandson played the guitar as Loretta led the procession, her hand slipped into the croo
