She asked for me at the door of the altar boys’ sacristy, behind Saint Joseph. The groomsman who answered her knock turned and pointed to me. “It’s the bride,” he said, raising his eyebrows. Tom, the groom, stood near the vestment closet fixing his cuff links. He looked up, his eyes wide. “Terri?” The other three groomsmen surrounded him and, hooting loudly, blocked his view. “Wo, champ,” one of them said. “Can’t see the bride now. Baaaaad luck.” I approached the door. “Where is he?” she almost shouted, her voice echoing through the still-empty church. Her thin, lacy white veil