She had had the dream again the night before. It had started three weeks ago, when she first allowed herself to remember her grandmother. It always starts the same way. She is sitting in the chapel, staring straight ahead at the urn and the flowers on the altar. There is no one in the room save for one other person. And she is clutching this person’s hand. Her grip is tight, as if in desperation. She can’t imagine letting go. She breaks her gaze from the altar and looks down at her hand, entwined so tightly with the other. She follows the arm up, up, further still – it seems to take an eternity – until her eyes rest on the face. Wayne. This doesn’t surprise her. Doesn’t shock her. It feels right. He nods to her, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze and she smiles at him, thankful. And then she faces front again, anticipation beginning to course through her body.      The light fades. She waits.       And suddenly, she is standing at that same altar, her vision obscured by some kind of gauzy material. A wedding veil. She looks down at her dress, feeling relieved that she had found one at last, and looks back up when she hears the voice.       “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your bride.”       It is her grandmother’s voice.      Before she can register who it is that spoke, the veil is lifted and she sees her groom smiling down at her. It is Greg--but it’s not.      “Melinda, I am so happy,” he murmurs. But he speaks in Wayne’s voice.      “I love you, Wayne,” she whispers just before he reaches down, just before his lips meet hers.      His kiss is warm, rich…