The Wrong Note

Epilogue

"There is no real ending. It's just the place where you stop the story." ― Frank Herbert

xXx

"This is one of the nicest weddings we've been to, don't you think?" Joe said. One of his hands rested atop Allison's, tracing gentle circles across her knuckles with his thumb. "Definitely nicer than my sister's."

"I don't know," Allison mused, tilting her head. "I thought ours was pretty nice." Even if it had been delayed a day because of her psychic paranoia. But, all was well that ended well.

Joe gave her a bewildered look. "Our wedding?"

Allison returned his stare with a puzzled one of her own. "In California, remember? We couldn't have it in Phoenix since your parents thought that'd be—" Allison caught sight of her left hand, and her jaw snapped shut.

No ring.

"Allison, what are you talking about?" Joe asked, a mixture of confused and concerned. "Are you feeling okay?"

"I..." Allison shook her head, turning in her white plastic chair so she was directly facing her husband—no, not her husband. Not yet. Her boyfriend. "Joe, what year is it?"

Joe's brow furrowed with worry. "Allison—"

"Humor me, honey. What year is it?" She looked around, trying to take in all the people seated at surrounding tables as lighthearted chatter and soft guitar music floated through the air. "Where are we?"

"It's 1990," Joe said after a pause. "We're at your friend Trudy's wedding." He released her hand to pick up an empty champagne flute beside her, sniffing the rim. "Did someone put something in your drink?"

"Trudy..." Allison murmured. The pieces fell into place. "Trudy Monk?"

"I guess she is now." Joe placed the glass back on the table. "You sure you're okay, Al? Do you want to step away for a second? Get some air?"

"What?" Allison shook her head. "No. No, I'm okay."

This had to be a dream. Either that or it was some alternate universe where she and Trudy had known each other prior to Trudy's passing. All things considered, the former seemed far more likely.

Out the corner of her eye, Allison noticed couples begin drifting to the dance floor, where a blonde woman in a white gown was presently slow dancing with a dark-haired man in a black tuxedo—Monk and Trudy, it had to be.

"Let's dance," Allison blurted, getting to her feet and extending her left hand to Joe.

Joe frowned. "Are you sure?"

"I'm fine, Joe, I swear. I was just"—she searched for a half-decent lie—"I got lost in my thoughts for a moment. I'm good now." Allison gave him a soft smile, tilting her head. "So dance with me? Please?"

Joe stared at her a beat longer, then shook his head, chuckling. "I have got to learn to say no to you."

Allison laughed, grabbing his hand and pulling him to his feet. "Never! I like having all the power."

Joe's hands dropped to her waist as they crossed to the dance floor, her hands rising to rest on his shoulders. "Oh, I know you do."

Soon, Allison relaxed into his touch, swaying with Joe as she made sure to subtly steer them in the direction of Monk and Trudy. It really was a lovely wedding, she observed, closing her eyes and soaking in the laughter from the couples dancing around them. So lovely Allison almost wished she'd experienced it in real time.

Almost.

"When we get married, should we have a big wedding?" Joe asked, spinning them in a lazy circle. "I mean, I know my parents want one, but what about you?"