MARCH: St. Patrick's Day

It was St. Patrick's Day, so I should have kept my mouth shut, when my co-worker leaned across the table toward me and whispered, "Do you believe in fairies?" I should have given the old fellow some reply that didn't reveal my feelings one way or another. But I had to be cute, pretend I didn't catch his drift.

"I try not to judge people by their lifestyles."

His grizzled gray brows scrunched together like two woolly caterpillars as he eyed me over his half-done bottle of Killians. "Are you daft, boy? You know I mean the wee folk."

I realized that from his perspective, any twenty-one-year-old guy was still a kid, so instead, I concentrated on trying to remember how many bottles he'd killed already. It couldn't have been many. We hadn't been off the graveyard shift that long. Maybe he was just one of those people that didn't take much nudging over the edge. Maybe pink Leprechauns were next.

"Nother round here?" asked a voice over my left shoulder. I looked up to see the smiling face of the waitress.

"Aye," said the old fellow, nodding toward his empty bottle. Then he got up and made his way toward the rest rooms.

"You too, Marty?" she asked. "Yeah, another coke, Sheila," I replied and watched her slow dissolve to the bar. She moved as though she knew my eyes were on her, the short green skirt clinging like seaweed to her thighs. A bead of sweat trickled down my right ear. Behind the counter, she stretched and reached for fresh glasses, leaning forward carefully. The scoop neck white sweater molded her chest, and the scoop threatened to spill over. I could practically count the freckles on the two melon-shaped breasts. I licked my lips; I really needed that cola.

Sheila and I had had a few encounters in high school. She had been the first girl I'd ever French-kissed, or rather the first girl whose enthusiasm had been even greater than my own. She was definitely not the kind of girl that I'd have been comfortable taking home to Mom. But other than managing a couple of furtive kisses at a crowded party, I hadn't been able to command Sheila's attention for long, and I hadn't seen her in a couple of years.

But now, she was at my shoulder again, pressing the scoop tight against me as she sat my drink on the table.

"How'ya been?" she asked, pouring the fizz over the ice.

"Oh, fine," I answered. Another stream of sweat rolled down my nose. Was it hot in here, or what?

Suddenly, a breath of fresh air from the opened door stirred across the room, sweeping the paper napkin to the floor. I reached down to retrieve it at the same time as Sheila, and we nearly bumped heads. I heard a familiar voice and caught the tantalizing scent of lilac perfume as the cool blonde persona of Valerie Hoff eased into the booth beside me.

"I need a giant iced tea," she said. "I got stuck with vacuuming the conference room before I could punch out. The rest of you guys split just in time. Whew! I must look a sight!"

"You look great," I managed to say between my labored breaths and pounding heartbeats, edging up into my seat. I took a deep breath of her perfume. It smelled like springtime. It helped to clear my head.

Controlling my urge to nuzzle her neck, I looked up as casually as I could to see if Sheila had registered her request, but she was gone in a swish of green fabric and long legs.

"Where's Tim? I thought meeting at Bridget McGuire's was his idea?" Valerie inquired, glancing about the not-so-crowded pub.

"Making a pit stop," I replied and then mentally kicked myself for being so crude. "He'll be right back. But I don't think we should stay long. He's on a roll."

"Huh?"

"It's St. Patty's Day, remember? I think he's about to fill us in on the wee folk." I whispered, having lowered my voice as I saw Sheila approaching with Val's drink and Old Tim coming from the back where he'd stopped a couple of times to make small talk with other morning patrons who looked like they'd been here all night. They were probably here early, waiting for the holiday special, green beer. Ugh.

"You better down that iced tea pronto, and I'll do likewise with this cola," I told her after Sheila had parked the glass none too gently and departed without a backward glance. I took a long sip and motioned toward the back tables. "No wonder he was so thrilled that we agreed to meet him, no one else would. We're new at the job and don't know any better."

Val nudged me, "Hush, now, he's coming back. He's been really nice showing us both the ropes."

"Yeah, a couple of temporary college kids too dumb to know much. Bet he does it every time they hire a new batch. Takes 'em under his wing and they're never heard from again."

I'd finished speaking by the time he'd made his way to our booth in the front. He ambled a studied kind of walk, and I wondered again just how many he'd had. Or maybe, he'd been sipping a little all through the evening. Some say the late night shift gets to you after a while, but I didn't plan to find out. Getting a little money ahead for books and the like was all the career I'd planned in office cleaning.

He eased into his chair and raised his bottle in a toast to Valerie with a controlled flourish. "My lady."

"Thanks," Val replied and pushed a five dollar bill across the table toward the tab.

He shook his head, and his faded corduroy blue eyes twinkled as he refused. "My treat, and my thanks. I have need of a couple of fine young people to help me."

My heart sank. I knew it. He was some kind of Irish vampire, straight out of Stephen King. They'd find us, or our bleached bones, more than likely, somewhere next Spring. He was tapping his old cob pipe on the table and making an elaborate show of filling it, tamping it down, and lighting it at last. Only when he'd taken a few puffs, did he continue.

"My mam's funeral was last month," he announced.

"Oh," I replied, remembering some sort of collection among the cleaning crew for flowers.

"I've been going through the things she's stored for a lifetime -- photos, scrapbooks, and even a journal she'd kept as a girl in the old country. Her own mother had the sight."

"Irish, was she?" I asked innocently, and Val kicked me under the table.

"Born and bred," he answered, not paying attention to my cynicism. He puffed a time or two more, took another swig of the beer and grinned. "Well, I've read the whole thing, and figured it out," he said. "I've waited all me life to go to the Old Sod and see the home farm, nay thinking I could afford the trip, but I know how to get the rest of this."

He pulled a coin from his pocket, so highly polished that it shone even in the dim light.

"Did you get that in a box of Lucky Charms cereal?" I asked, and Val kicked me again.

"You can make fun, boy, later. But after I prove it to you, we'll all be rich."

"That'd be an improvement," I replied and feigned a big yawn. "Gosh, I hate to be a party pooper, but it's after eight, already, and my Mom expects me home to do the vacuuming at our place. That's the price of being a still-at-home kid, your mother thinks you're some kind of live-in clean machine. You think she'd take pity on me, after I do the same thing all night, but she has no mercy."

He had none either.

"Nonsense," his shrewd old eyes swept us both with a leveling gaze. "You'd think nothing of spending the whole day with the young lassie, and your work forgotten. I'm offering you the chance to never have to work again. Not a bad exchange for a few hours labor, eh?"

"What do we have to do?" I could have kicked Valerie this time. Her naive reply probably wrote finish to both our hides if we went along with him. But he, eager for the audience, proceeded to tell her.

"We leave now." Downing the beer in a single long swallow, he threw some dollars on the table, and began the trek toward the door, never looking back, fully expecting that we'd follow him.And Valerie did just that.

Watching the girl of my dreams drifting across the room, I knew I was licked. So, sighing in resignation, I gulped my cola and added another dead soldier to the line. I trailed the two of them like a prisoner on his way to the chair. What the hell, I thought, it's probably just some sort of Irish snipe hunt. We wouldn't find a damn thing.

I couldn't resist an impulse to look back to see if Sheila was pining over my departure. She wasn't. Her laughing eyes and tempting scoop were pointed in an entirely different direction at the side of a burly type with a tattoo and a chain-drive billfold.

There was an unexpected chill in the air for a mid-March morning, or maybe it was just from the feathery gray fog that clung to everything. This is crazy, I thought, and I shivered a little under my thin jacket. Maybe the guy just had an aura that curdled the clouds and drew them down to him. On top of everything else, it looked like a cold rain was on the way.

"Follow me, then," he called as he fumbled with his keys, unlocking the battered old station wagon, and got in.

"Your chariot or mine?" I teased Valerie, deciding to get in the spirit. After all, this whole thing felt like a scene out of some eighteenth century spook show.

"You drive," she said and waited for me to pop the locks on my shiny red Honda.

It was my pride and joy, of course, and most of the reason why I had to work all summer and the school year too, just to support my weakness for fast cars and slow women. I opened the door for Val and took her hand to help her inside. Her cool hand in my overheated palm felt like it was melting. I took a deep breath. I hoped this didn't take long. Maybe we could still get a little time alone before I was expected home. I wheeled in behind him.

"I'll bet he's headed for the old cemetery," I announced to Valerie, but I wasn't exactly thrilled when I turned out to be right. He pulled up in the grass that edged the ancient iron fence, and got out. At least he'd left the pipe behind. He pointed toward the huge old oak tree stark center in the cemetery. Its shade spread over the scattered stones and landscape like ominous black fingers. If there were any fairies out here, they'd be freezing their asses off. He'd taken off at a pretty good clip, but Valerie and I soon caught up with him, paused at a tall gray stone with a high cross bar and circle.

"Celtic cross," Valerie whispered, "Irish cemeteries are full of them."

But here on a low grassy plain, among the more mundane squares and oblongs of granite, it was a solitary sentinel. It didn't look very old. Old Tim stood, wrinkled tweed cap clutched in his hand, head bowed.

He muttered, and we strained to catch the words. "Had our own family Banshee; wailed three nights in a row before she died; they only followed the faithful, ye know, to this god-for-saken land."

"Must've had a hell of a time getting a green card," I said under my breath, but he had finished his prayers and turned to us at last.

"If the fairies appear anywhere," he announced, "T'will be at my own dear mother's grave, she, pure of heart, as the tale requires."

He'd lost me on that one, but Valerie paid him rapt attention and I followed suit. Then I noticed a tattered net shopping bag in his other hand, one like old ladies use when they toddle off for potatoes, milk, and onions. I stepped closer for a better look and nearly tumbled sideways into a gapping hole.

"Martin Franklin Conklin, look out," Valerie cried, her anxiety for me, bringing forth my entire name, just like my mother did.

"What the hell is that?" I bellowed.

"A grave," he answered, "Tis a graveyard, surely."

"Left open like that?" I pointed at it and the primitive tools nearby, one with an prominent blade, propped up against a tree.

He only shrugged.

"Unsafe work practices," I said. "Where's OSHA when you need them?" I took the chance to put my arm about Val and steer her away from the danger.

Valerie glanced over her shoulder carefully. "Where is he, the grave digger? Shouldn't he be working by now?"

"Good point," I agreed. "Maybe we'd better scram. We don't want to tangle into some guy with a blunt instrument and an attitude." I was ready to make a hasty retreat, but his voice stopped me.

"No, boy. He won't be out till well nigh Noon. I stopped by yesterday to thank him for the good job he'd done on my mother's grave. He was grateful for the bottle I gave him. He'll still be sleeping off the Mist."

"So," I said, my mind creaking together like an aging steel trap. "You had this all planned, didn't you? We help you with the wee ones. Leprechauns, right? Well, it's cloudy, and I don't see any rainbow. Isn't that where we're supposed to find the pot of gold?"

"'Tis but a silly tale," he scoffed. "A diversion, if you will. If the seekers can be convinced that the evil little gnomes have the gilt, they'll leave the real treasure keepers alone." He pulled a strange contraption made of a cobwebby wisp of cloth from the bag. Colored beads were dotted here and there, and it was shaped about a crude bow of wood with a draw string below.

"That looks like a dream catcher," Valerie exclaimed. "I bought one in an Indian craft shop. They claim if you hang it over your bed, it catches the bad dreams and filters the good ones through."

Old Tim smiled indulgently at her. A stray ray of sun broke through the fog and backlit her blonde smiling face. He sighed with contentment, admiring the sight of her as much as I did. "Aye, we'll catch our dreams all right, and you'll be the one to bring them."

"Bring them? Bring whom?" she asked.

"The fairies, I suppose," I told her.

Tim smiled again. "Right you are, boy. She'll bring them for sure."

Oh she would, would she? I looked for a diversion.

"Shouldn't we look for the fairy ring. You know, a circle of mushrooms or something?" I asked, wildly improvising from my childhood memories of my own Irish grandmother's bedtime stories.

He dismissed the thought. "No need of that. All that's required is beauty and a pure heart. You've both, lass, yes? And pure in body as well?"

Valerie blushed, but her lowered eyes revealed that he'd correctly guessed that she was, as they delicately say, a maiden still. Valerie's stock went up in my eyes; such a rare find today, and not to be taken lightly. My mother's voice was on tape in my head. But I was a beast, regardless; my eyes kept straying to that white vee of skin glowing between the buttoned edges of her modest blouse.

Tim held out his hand to Valerie and led her to the smooth hump of grass in front of the gray stone cross. "Sit here," he told her. She sat, and he turned to me. "Now you, boy, stand over there with the net. I'll say the charm."

He handed me the Rube Goldberg-looking sort of invention. It felt light and yet strangely alive in my hand. He pointed toward the singular oak tree, and I complied, going to stand with my back against it.

"What do we do now?" I asked.

"Be still," he told us. "I'll tell you when to move. But when you lower the net, be quick. We've only one chance today, and a long spell for them to forget the trick before we dare try again."

He stationed himself to the left of Valerie, just behind the stone. He drew a slim old volume from his bag and began to read silently, lips moving but no sound. Maybe five minutes went by. Maybe ten. Then it seemed the fog grew denser, and all that was visible was the small spot on the grass before Valerie. There before my amazed eyes, a fuzzy spot was spinning. I blinked. Had I fallen asleep for a moment? Or, was I really seeing something?

My concentration never wavered, and the spot took on detail, color, and a glow. Three delicate figures in some sort of gauzy dresses whirled about. Distinctly feminine attributes strained against the fabric, features became clearer, and what I supposed were wings beat against their backs.

I couldn't believe my eyes. Sexy little creatures, they flaunted their bodies under the skimpy costumes, swarming about old Tim's head. Sheila came instantly to mind.

Then one figure separated from the others, and with a burst of buzzing wings flew swiftly upward to land on Valerie's shoulder. It seemed to be drawing energy from the gentle heat that irradiated from Val, surprisingly visible in the mist. It planted a fairy kiss on her soft pink cheek. Valerie didn't move and seemed to be in a trance.

"Now, boy," Old Tim called out in a harsh whisper.

I unfroze like the crack of ice on a Spring-time stream, and sprang forward, lowering the net over the figure. He/She/It didn't seem to notice, as mesmerized by Valerie, as she was by it.

"Pull the string, boy, tight!"

I must have hesitated too long, because his hand reached over mine and pulled it taut. The secured net now firmly in his grasp, he whirled around in glee,and totally forgot, as we had, about the gapping hole. As he tried to catch his balance, he blundered into the tools, and the blade connected with his leg in a loud crack. Then he dropped out of sight into the hole. The other two creatures just faded away and were gone. Valerie, startled from her trance, moved to stand beside me in stunned silence for a long moment. Then we rushed over to peer down in the hole.

An eerie glow and a horrible screeching noise rose from the pit. We'd netted something all right. Valerie gasped in horror and pointed to old Tim's leg. The sharp blade, or the fall, or maybe the combination of the two had caused a horrid break in his left leg, the bone exposed and sticking through the skin. Compound fracture for certain.

"Oh, my heavens," Valerie cried. "You're hurt, badly. We'll go for help."

I reached down. "Hand up the bag. Whatever it is, sure wants out."

"Of course it wants out," he said with a grimace of pain. "Pinched me leg, it did, thinking if I hurt enough I'd let it go. But I'll get the golden harp for my trouble. No sense the pain without the gain."

He was talking more nonsense than ever. It was a good thing he was somewhat pickled. That leg probably hurt like hell. I was convinced I'd dreamed the whole fairy bit. Over- active imagination. We'd probably netted a bird or a bat, maybe. He'd have to listen to reason.

"We'll get help for you; call 911. Val can stay if you like, I'll be right back."

"No!" His agonized cry was enough to halt me in my steps. I returned to peer over the edge. The glow was subdued now, the sound dulled, but the frantic beat of wings could still be heard.

"Listen to me, boy. Go now. You and the lass. Leave me, and call no one. I'll be all right, soon."

"But we can't!" Valerie burst into tears. "Your leg's broken. You can't possibly get out of there alone! You need an ambulance, a doctor."

"I need to be left alone," Tim said through gritted teeth."I demand it."

His faded eyes turned the stormy navy blue of the wild sea, and burned into us with a look that froze our wills.

"Obey me, then. Leave this place and go home. You'll see, it will all be fine. I will not forget to reward you. GO NOW!"

Like robots, Valerie and I held hands and walked stiffly from the cemetery. I unlocked my car with fingers thick and clumsy, and after we got in, drove slowly away. But at the first telephone booth beside the road, Valerie came out of her trance and demanded that I stop. She jumped out and quickly dialed 911. After a few seconds, she returned to the car. "It's out of order, find another."

And we did. And another...and another. It was the same story every time.

"Drive to the Police Station," Valerie told me.

And I did, or rather I tried to. But suddenly, no matter which direction I turned, I drove in aimless circles. In a town where I'd lived all my life, I couldn't find the Police, or the Hospital, or anyplace else where we could get help.

It seemed a long time before Valerie put her hand on my arm.

"Try driving back to the cemetery," she suggested.

And we did. His car was gone from the grassy brim, but we parked where it had been, and ran on frightened feet back to the place where we'd left him. The sun had finally broken through in earnest, and we nearly fell over each other as we stopped short.

There, in the hole was the grave digger, hard at work in full sunlight. He regarded us with ill humor over his blunt shovel, digging in the very grave where we'd left Tim.

"Did you see an old man?" Val burst out. "He was hurt."

"Nobody else alive around here," he said, mopping his forehead, then turning back to his work.

Val and I looked at each other, and then returned to my car without a word. We drove without speaking until we reached the river. I pulled the car beneath a tree and killed the ignition.

"What happened, Marty?" Val asked.

"I...I don't know," I answered her. "Come on, I need some air."

I got out and went around to open her door. She took my hand and we went down the dirt path that led to the sheltered river's edge. I sat beneath a tree and pulled her into my arms. She shivered a little and when I tipped her face up to meet my eyes, I saw that she was crying.

"Hey," I said. "It's OK, we're OK."

"I know, but what about Tim? Where could he have gone? Was he there at all?"

I had no answers for her questions. I shook my head and wiped her tears gently with my fingertip. I was intrigued with the way the silvery tears slid slowly from her sooty lashes down her soft cheek and ended up sliding deep into the sheltered vee below.

The heat that had begun with Sheila's playful toying with my too-eager body returned with a vengeance and spread over me. At the same time I lowered my face, Val raised hers and our lips caught. We kissed long and hard, and then my lips slipped from hers to follow the trail of tears that had cascaded down her throat. When she didn't resist, my busy hands cupped her breasts and then swiftly parted the buttons that sealed the source of her secrets from my eager lips. My mouth feasted on the milk white skin beneath and eased away the top of the filmy bra to plant wet kisses on the gently swelling globes, seeking the center of her sweetness.

It was like kissing dewy rose petals, like the moist promise of raindrops on heat-stressed leaves, like ... being soaked.

A rumble of lightening startled us apart as the skies opened and the clouds emptied buckets of rain on us. I tried to shelter her from the downpour and gathered her back into my arms.

"We've got to run for it, Marty," she cried, trying to rebutton her blouse. "It's not going to let up!"

We struggled to our feet, and arms still entwined, ran in a crazy two-legged kind of race to the car. I lifted up my head and let the drops cool my face, wash away the heat.

I let go of Val and opened the door for her. Then I dashed around to the other side and got in. Sitting across from me, she looked like a bedraggled child, small, wet and miserable.

I was an animal, for sure, taking such advantage of her. "God, Val," I said. "You're soaked. Your Mom's gonna kill me."

Val giggled and wiped the raindrops from her face. Then she scooted across the seat and gave me a hug. "Nothing like a cold shower!" She kissed me full on the lips. "Lighten up, Marty, I'm a big girl. I enjoyed it as much as you did."

"You did?"

"Honest, but I guess we'd better take a rain check, huh?"

"That is if your Mom doesn't kill me when she sees you."

"What she doesn't know, can't worry her," Val replied. "Besides, she's already left for work. I was supposed to pick up some stuff from the Seven-Eleven, so she wasn't expecting me early."

"That's good," I replied, still feeling the imprint of her lips on mine. "Well, I'd better get you back to your car."I said reluctantly, and drove slowly through the rain that had slowed to a steady drizzle.

"Marty?"

"Yeah?"

"What do you think really happened to Tim?"

"I've got no clue."

"Do you think it was all our imagination?"

"Well, I've never been known to have vivid dreams, and I don't think I'm dreaming now, so I suppose we saw one thing and maybe imagined another. I guess we got a dose of pixie dust."

"But where did he go?"

"Aw, you know the old boy, very versatile. Probably had it all rigged up ahead of time to spook us. Pretty good show." But even as I spoke, I couldn't convince myself that what I'd seen was a trick. It defied logical explanation.

"Do you think he'll be at work tonight?" Val asked.

"If he is, he'll have some explaining to do," I told her.

When we got back to the lot, we parted and she quickly blended into the mainstream of nine-to-fivers. But as she drove away, she gave me a lingering glance topped off with a saucy wink.

I drove home, expecting my mother to be upset that I was so late, but her usual smile and offer of breakfast was confirmed by the fact that the clock on the wall said barely eight- thirty. I was only an hour later than usual, including the stop at the river.

That night, Old Tim was not among the small army of cleaners that gathered for assignments, but no one seemed anxious about it. Later that evening, when I casually inquired of his whereabouts, I was told that he'd taken a bit of vacation.

Since it was Friday night and our work week was ended, I asked Val if we could get together, but she'd already had plans with her family. I was philosophical about it. After all, I'd have to keep my lustful enthusiasms under reasonable control with a girl as special as Val.

I spent a low-key Saturday pumping baskets at the gym where I could work up a legitimate sweat and cool down without causing myself undue embarrassment, Sunday, I moped around, and Mom pressed me into service with her Spring cleaning. No rest for the wicked.

At the beginning of our Monday night shift, there was still no sign of Tim. Val and I managed to slip away for break at the same time, and were chatting over a soft drink in the lunch room, when suddenly Tim himself appeared in the doorway, looking just the same: shabby old suit jacket; jaunty Irish tweed cap jammed down on his head; face beaming in a smile. It wasn't until he began to walk toward us, that I noticed he wielded a blackthorn shillelagh as a cane and walked with a slight limp.

Valerie's face lit up when she saw him and she jumped out of her chair to meet him with a hug. I think he was touched, but he quickly moved away to shake my hand.

"Are you all right?" Val asked with concern.

"Aye, right as rain," he said motioning us to sit.

A large paper shopping bag swung from the hand with the cane, and he rested it on the table to rummage inside. First he removed a small white box and handed it to Valerie. Her face flushed with pleasure as she opened it. She pulled out a tiny gold pin, shaped like an Irish harp, with sparkling red stones on the base.

"It's beautiful," she said, "Thank you so much, but you shouldn't have..."

"Nay, lassie, I said I'd not forget to reward you."

I gave a low whistle as she handed it over for me to see. I was willing to bet it was pure gold, though I didn't think she'd like it if I bit down to prove it, and the gems looked real enough to me. I gave it back and turned expectantly to him.

"And me?"

He pulled out a box wrapped in brown paper. I reached for it, but he held it back.

"Not so anxious, boy. In a minute." He then took two large manila envelopes, one each marked with our individual names and handed them solemnly to us. He glanced behind to be sure no one else was around as he motioned for us to open them.

Mine was filled with a stack of hundred dollar bills, old, and genuine, I was sure. There must have been nearly a hundred thousand in my envelope and Val's, the same.

"It's for your education," he told us. "And a little to start you in life, together, when learning's over."

He directed his gaze at Val. "You, lassie, will keep yourself for him. And he'll be a good provider, by and by."

His look turned stern as he addressed me. "A faithful woman is more valued than rubies," he said. "And a man needs naught but one good woman. Ye keep yourself in hand as well, boy."

I nodded, blushed, and had to ask, "But the treasure, you found it, then?"

"And what were you thinking? That I'd won the Irish Sweepstakes after all?" He grinned. "Aye, I found what I'd come for. The harp was as real as the pain and as quickly gone. And the New York City antique auction was ripe for it, let me tell you. I've come to say farewell. Me and the missus, we're off to Ireland for good. You'd be welcome on your wedding trip a few years from now. Our farm won't be posh, but t'will be just the place for two young folk to discover the joys of one another."

He appeared ready to leave, so I jumped to my feet to shake his hand again. He got another hug from Val, and then turned to me.

"Open the package now, boy."

I did as he bid me. As I tore the paper away, I saw to my dismay a portable Dust Buster vacuum cleaner.

"Wow," I said in mock awe, "just what I always wanted."

"It'll remind you of the value of hard work," he said. "And one thing more it will do." He shook the sleeve of his rough-weave jacket and some golden sparkles fell on the table. "It's good for sweeping up the fairy dust."

Val and I both fingered the golden dust, and then grasped hands as our fingers met. It was like an bolt of lightning that seared our skin. I knew she felt it, too. Our eyes locked and I knew it would be us, together, forever.

And when we turned to him again, he was gone. But not forgotten. Only two years, eight months, and seven days, and we'd see him again on our honeymoon! Until then, the magic would take care of the rest; if not, a lot of cold showers might.