An unexpected detour sign was the last thing I needed to encounter.

I had hoped to enter downtown quickly from the exit ramp. It’s the same exit I took the previous day with no such visual nuisance or traffic.

Perspiration increased.

Was my soon-to-be wife seated outside the city clerk’s office, holding her bouquet, patiently waiting? Was she wondering if the next person exiting the elevator would be her soon-to-be husband, glancing over each time she heard the now-familiar chime upon the opening of the sixth-floor elevator door of City Hall?

Years later, I remain my wife’s “lucky forty.”

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