The wedding was everything Kingston had ever wanted — polished, expensive, performed.

White roses everywhere.

A live string quartet.

Guests dressed for the photographs rather than for comfort.

His bride, Ione, was nearly a decade younger, beautifully styled, smiling the smile of a woman who believes she has won something.

Otis stood beside me through the ceremony in his navy blazer, and he did not fidget and he did not complain.