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The small wedding and reception, all of which I paid for although Jill graciously contributed, went off almost without a hitch.
Betsy looked lovely, no one voiced an objection when the minister asked if anyone knew of any reason why we could not be joined in holy matrimony, and no one got drunk at the reception.
At an engagement party my father threw for us (my mother had died several years before) near the end of the evening when Betsy was in the bathroom Jill ditched her date, took me aside and asked “Are you sure you want to go through with the wedding?
A few more of the small odd things about Betsy were the fact that no one she knew from high school or college was in, or even invited to, our small wedding.
Before I could make inquiry about it, however, Betsy had exited the bathroom, ran over to us when she saw me talking to Jill alone, and begged me to dance.
Since Jill had had a few glasses of wine, though she did not in any way appear drunk, I chalked her statement up to alcohol, though I still did pursue it.
She was single and ran her own small but profitable insurance business.
Although Jill looked like Betsy’s older sister rather than her mother, I was still surprised when I heard that she had Betsy when she was only seventeen so that she was then only 39, several years younger than Randall.