The courthouse was his first stop, where he realized to his horror that despite the fact that he had her birth certificate, in order to get a marriage license, both he and Maribel would need to appear. Of course, there was no way that could happen; she was far too ill. But Nick was not deterred; he waited in the lobby until someone who looked vaguely like Maribel walked in.

The girl, whose real name was Ofelia, was about as different from Maribel as could be, but three hundred dollars later he walked out with the magic piece of paper. Then he went back to his hotel room, where he used the yellow pages to make a list of all of the Catholic churches in the area. Then he went to each of them, where he explained that he wanted to marry a Mexican citizen who was presently in the hospital, and that it would be best if he could do so in the next 12 hours. He was soundly turned down at the first five.

Father Frank, at St. Joseph's, was at least willing to counsel him. "Mr. Stokes . . . you do realize that this isn't exactly . . . legal, don't you?"

Nick shrugged. "It's legal enough," he said. "I'm not hiding anything and neither is she."

"The church has requirements that must be met before we will marry a couple," continued the good Father. "Your twelve hour timeframe isn't enough time to complete those. You both should be counseled individually, and we usually ask couples to receive some education, and go on a retreat-"

"The retreat will last longer than the marriage will," snapped Nick impatiently. "She's dying."

Confusion and what appeared to be genuine concern flashed across Father Frank's features. "I'm sorry," he said. "I think you need to explain in more detail."

Nick let out a breath and began. "She and I were high school sweethearts," he began, and talked about their young love and her sudden departure; how he had been looking for her and had never really given up hope that he'd find her; how she had so unexpectedly crossed his path here in Las Vegas. And then he added the gory technical detail. "If she's my wife, I can claim her body after she dies. I can send her home to California to be buried in the parish where her family has belonged since they moved to Los Angeles. Otherwise, she'll be sent to Mexico. She doesn't want that. I don't want that."

"You can claim her anyway," said Father Frank. "You'd have to file a claim in probate-"

"Probate takes too long, and I meant all that stuff about wanting to marry her," snapped Nick, feeling heat creep up his cheeks. "Look, I am asking you to do something for a woman who's been a faithful Catholic her whole life. I know you don't know her, and I know you don't know me, but honestly, Father, who is this hurting?"

The priest sighed. "Mr. Stokes . . ."

But Nick knew he had him, and he rose. "There's a chapel at the hospital. I'll see you there at six – oh, and I need a witness." He rose and made to leave the sanctuary.

He was halfway down the aisle when he heard his name again. He stopped and turned, hoisting an eyebrow.

"I have an appointment at six. It'll have to be seven."

With a smile, Nick nodded. "I'll see you then."

He bought a pair of simple gold rings, a new navy blue suit, and a white lace dress he hoped would fit her. He bought her soft blue satin undergarments, at the suggestion of the woman who had tended him at the bridal shop. He bought a lace veil and white lace shoes for her dainty feet.

At his still-unused hotel, he called Juanita, the department secretary.

"Dallas crime lab. How can I direct your call?"

"Hey, Juanita – it's Nick."

"Hola, Nicolas," she said brightly. "Are you still in Las Vegas?"

"Yeah, but I don't know how long I'll be here. The case is wrapped up; I talked to DA Carols this morning. She should've talked to Fischer about that."

"I heard naughty, naughty words come out of his office today when she visited. You're not in trouble, Nicolas?"

Nick smiled despite himself. "No, I'm not. But I'll be here for a bit longer – personal reasons. I need about the next week off."

"I'll put it on the calendar," she said. "You enjoy yourself; you haven't had time off in a long time."

"I know." Nick paused a moment. "You'll probably hear some more naughty words come out of Fischer's mouth when you tell him . . . let me know how bad it is. I'll buy you a present."

She laughed. "All right, CSI Stokes . . . off you go. Have fun."

He said goodbye to Juanita and briefly considered calling his parents or sisters. But what would he say? Where would he start? No – he didn't have time. He needed to get back to the hospital.

He changed into his suit and brought the dress, shoes, and veil with him. When he arrived her nurse was just taking away a mostly uneaten tray of food. "Hello," she said. "I'm going to be right back to check her vitals."

Nick smiled. "Thanks," he said. Then he turned to Maribel, who was sitting up in bed, and smiled.

She grinned back. "You look very nice."

"Thanks," he said again. "I got you somethin' to wear."

Maribel tilted her head and cocked an eyebrow. "You bought me a dress?"

"Well, yeah. You can't wear a hospital gown to your own wedding. Father Frank will be in the chapel at seven – we have about a half an hour."

Her eyes lit up and she laughed. "Nicolas, you are a silly and stubborn boy. I am not even going to ask how you made that happen."

"It's best that you don't," he replied, thinking of Ofelia. "Anyway – take a look, let me know if you like this." He hung the dress on the back of the bathroom door, and then unzipped the protective plastic cover. It was a pretty basic dress, floor-length with long bell-cuffed sleeves, and a ribbon under the bustline with a little bow on one side.

A tear was sliding down her cheek when he turned back to her. "Mari?"

She let out a little laugh. "It's beautiful," she replied, looking at him, and then the dress again. "Perfect."

Not a thing about this was perfect at all, but Nick tried not to think about that. "Do you think you can get into it? Are you strong enough?"

She nodded, and the nurse came back in just at that moment. "That's a pretty dress," she said. "Yours?"

"Yes," replied Maribel. They were quiet while the nurse took her vitals, and then she asked, "Can you help me into it?"

The nurse hesitated. "Well . . . I could . . . but what's it for?"

"Just a little service in the chapel," said Maribel before he could say anything. "I won't be long; he'll be with me."

She still seemed unsure, her eyes flicking from Nick to Maribel and back again, but she ultimately relented.

"Do you want me to come get you, or do you want me to send someone up?" asked Nick. Maribel thought a moment, and then asked him to send someone. He smiled and kissed her forehead. "Okay. I'll see you down there."

Maribel nodded, smiling, and he left the room.

When he got to the chapel he found it empty, and wished he'd thought to find some flowers somewhere. He was just wondering if he had time to go get any when Father Frank and an older woman entered the chapel.

"Hello," he said in greeting.

"Hello, Mr. Stokes," said Father Frank, looking grave. "Where is your intended?"

"She's upstairs getting ready," he replied.

He nodded, and then turned to his companion. "This is Mrs. Fontanella; she's one of our secretaries at St. Joseph. She'll be your witness."

Nick reached for Mrs. Fontanella's hand and shook it. "Thanks for doing this, ma'am." She nodded, and smiled a little at him, but said nothing. Nick supposed it was because she didn't quite know what to say to a man who was marrying a dying woman. "Would you mind terribly – she doesn't want me to go get her . . ."

"Oh – I'd be happy to. Which room?" asked Mrs. Fontanella. Nick gave her the information, and repeated Maribel's name, and she left the chapel.

When she was gone, Father Frank turned to Nick. "Are you a Catholic, Mr. Stokes?"

"You can call me Nick," he said. "I'm not Catholic. My mother's parents were Baptists and my father's were Lutheran, so they went Methodist."

"Protestants, all," commented the Father.

Nick smirked. "Yeah."

The older man took a breath and worried his brow. "I don't mean to be indelicate, but . . . is Maribel's death a foregone conclusion?" he asked.

It pained Nick to have to answer, "Yes. The disease is in her kidneys; it's just a matter of time."

"You mentioned she's a faithful Catholic . . . I brought what I need to give her last rites, if you think that's something she wants."

Nick was slightly taken aback, but nodded. "Yeah . . . yeah, I'm sure . . . I'm sure she would."

The priest nodded. "All right. Are you a believer yourself, Nick?"

Nick smiled a little. "I'm a criminalist," he replied. "I was a police officer for a few years, and I've been an investigator for a little longer than that. In just over four years, I've seen things that would even make you question your faith." When the priest started to interrupt him, he held up a hand. "Don't say that the faith of the clergy is unshakable, because frankly, sir, I've seen that, too."

Father Frank smiled sadly. "I'm sorry that your young eyes have seen so many tragedies," he said. "The church – whatever kind – can be a place of healing."

Nick smiled back at him. "I'll tell you what I always tell my mom. I'll keep that in mind."

The chapel door opened then, and Mrs. Fontanella stepped inside. "Maribel is here," she said with a smile.

Father Frank turned to Nick and excused himself for a moment to go out to the hallway and meet with Maribel. Nick wondered if he planned to try to talk her out of it, but knew that once she decided on something, no act of God could change her mind.

When Father Frank returned, he spoke with Mrs. Fontanella. "Give us just a minute, and then bring her in," he said, and she left the chapel. Then he approached Nick. "Will you be exchanging rings?"

"Oh – yes," said Nick, reaching into his pocket and extracting the jeweler's box. He handed it to Father Frank, who removed the rings and placed them in his own pocket.

"We'll do the ceremony, and then I'll give you some time to yourselves. We can take care of the other matter later on this evening." Nick nodded in understanding, and the Father directed him to a spot by the first pew and took his own position just as Mrs. Fontanella opened the door to bring the bride in.

Maribel was smiling as the matronly woman rolled her wheelchair into the little chapel. For a split second, anger bubbled up in Nick's throat – this was not right; not the way it was supposed to happen. She was supposed to be walking, beaming, in a big white gown, with daisies in her hair, Ramón scowling next to her.

But, for her, he swallowed the anger. For her, despite the tear that rolled down his cheek, he smiled.

He sat down in the first pew so that she didn't have to look up at him. Father Frank, of course, being as verbose as any other clergy person Nick had ever met, felt the need for a homily. Nick snuck a peek at Maribel, her veil hiding the fact that her hair was thin and brittle, and he let his thoughts wander.

"Nicholas? Nick?"

Nick snapped back to attention. Maribel squeezed his right hand, which he did not remember joining with hers, and smiled as he turned pink. "Yeah. . . . Sorry." He hadn't slept since arriving in Las Vegas, and it was starting to take its toll.

"Repeat after me, Nick."

He turned back to Maribel. "I Nicholas take you Maria Isabel to my wedded wife, to have and to hold, to love, honor, and cherish, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health. . . ." He stopped short of repeating the last line.

"Until death do us part," repeated Father Frank.

Nick took a breath and looked from him to Maribel. Her brow was worried.

"Nicky, it's okay."

He shook his head. "No, it isn't."

The Father took mercy on him, and didn't press the issue. Instead he turned to Maribel, and she made her own vows, omitting the same part that Nick had. Then he removed the rings from his pocket, placed them on the Bible he held, and blessed them before handing the smaller one to Nick and leading them through the exchange of the rings. Despite the circumstances Nick's heart gave a leap when Father Frank finally declared, "By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife," and invited him to kiss his bride.

He leaned in and gently brushed his lips with hers. Memories of the hours they'd spent in the barn at home, holding hands and cuddling under blankets at football games, and long summer afternoons on beaches flashed in his mind, and when he looked into her eyes he knew she was thinking of the same things. He also knew she'd been out of bed too long; despite her smile, she could hardly keep her eyes open.

Father Frank invited Mrs. Fontanella to the podium to sign the marriage license. He hesitated himself, but signed it quickly. Nick and Maribel thanked Mrs. Fontanella and said goodbye to her, and Father Frank left a moment later.

Alone, he took Maribel's hand and smiled widely at her. "Señora Stokes," he said, with a kiss of her hand. "You're stunning."

She chuckled a little. "You lie. But it is a beautiful dress. . . ."

"I wouldn't lie to my wife."

She smiled and reached out for his face. He scooted closer. "You said before . . . you said you painted a pretty picture for me in your mind when you couldn' find me. Now I want you to paint a pretty picture for yourself in your mind. The pretty house, and the pretty wife."

He smiled. "But I already have a pretty"

She put her index finger across his lips to silence him. "Nicolas Parker Stokes . . . you know what I am talking about." She wasn't angry, but she was immovable. "I love you, and I am proud to be your wife, but I don' get to stay. I want you to remember me, but I also want you to move on. I still want you to have a family of your own. I still want for you what we talked about having all those years ago, even if I can't be there."

He looked away a moment. "Maribel. . . ."

She reached out and turned his face back to her, and with a sweet smile, she said quietly, "Please, Nicolas. Please promise me you will not make yourself miserable. The last thing in the world I would want is for you to be lonely."

He leaned forward and kissed her again, not really knowing what else to do or say.

She was smiling when he pulled away. "Stupid boy," she laughed. "You always kiss me when you don' know what to say."

He laughed too, and turned pink, and couldn't help leaning forward to kiss her again, this time on the cheek.

"Promise me," she said, laying her hand against his cheek.

He drew a deep breath. "I promise," he forced himself to say, and his voice was hoarse and crackled. "I have no idea how . . . but I promise, for you." She smiled and nodded her approval. "Now, Mrs. Stokes . . . I believe it's time you and I retire to the bridal suite."

She smiled. He gathered her up in his arms, sat himself in her wheelchair, and arranged her in his lap. She giggled and curled up, laying her head on his shoulder. Her veil fell off and she gathered it in her hands as he carefully maneuvered the wheelchair out of the chapel and into the hall.

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