"Where're the rest of your folks?" The pianist asks, glancing towards the front of the church where everyone's gathered on Eve's side. Her advanced aged is evident from her hair being more white than sandy blonde, and with the deep lines in face suggests a hard living life, if a long one.

For her part, Eve shrugs. She supposes she could be self conscious about it all, should feel as if there's something inherently wrong about how small her part of the church is. There's only two people there for her: Joseph Warren II in his wheelchair coughing into his handkerchief in a very well tailored suit and his son, Joey, done up in his military garb and clearly a little concerned about the dust in the air for his father. He doesn't look quite young enough to be her son and at the same time she knows the woman has questions. "S'all I got in the world. Besides the groom."

The woman's face looks a little worried before it softens. "Oh, I see. Your mother passed?"

Eve cracks a small smile. "He's not my father. Close, but no."

The woman's eyebrows work together. "Ah. Runaway, then?"

"I don't rightly know," Eve says again, looking at her wizened hands, moving her hair back from her forehead, knowing it's always best to show rather than tell. She allows the woman to see the scars on her forehead, the ones that cobweb out to her temple and beneath her red hair. "Woke up like this after a plane crash in '01. Don't have anything that points me somewhere, and they're the ones who take care of me."

"Oh."

"It's like I said — all I got in the world," Eve says simply and there's no shame in that, nothing except warmth as she smooths down the wedding dress over her stomach. She's still not entirely showing yet, even if the baby clearly likes to twist about, remind her. "I could have a lot less."

The woman looks over again, more careful this time in that way most people seem to look at her when they realize she's not joking about how miniature her life truly is. A woman without a mother or a father or brother or sister in the world. A woman without a history she can readily show them, a woman who seems to baffle them in the totality of her small world. Eve has seen it on a hundred faces in a hundred ways.

She might be looking for more clues on her, yet those aren't clues she'll be able to see from her position. None of the map of scars that she has on her body from the plane, from a life she can't recall anymore that clearly hurt her in some ways, none of the scars that overlap and overlay on her, none of the pale flesh that she calls home.

All she can see is a woman in her forties in a wedding dress with long, red hair and the skinny man at the back with his Stetson hat respectfully off, a streak of gray on one side who's watching her with soft, pleased eyes.

Most people haven't gotten that look from Eli before, she knows. From the moment they've known each other, though, he's always given her that look, never too flinty, never mean. Curious maybe, intense when they've been alone—yet always some kind of soft whether they were laying in bed together with his fingers tracing the criss crossing scars on her back or when he'd been holding her hair back when she'd first started getting morning sickness or when he'd held her hand when he proposed to her over a cup of coffee and a stack of pancakes.

Other people have looked at her like a mystery to be solved, like someone they want to understand and yet they can't at the same time. He's just looked at her, just took her as is, even when they don't remember the week before, even when she's told him about the things she could do that others can't.

It's that look that made her say yes, that care in his hands that had made her feel safe. She knows that the Warrens both had been concerned when she'd told them about the blackouts, the motel, the baby. Knows that something old-fashioned had made them both want to interrogate him and he hadn't buckled, hadn't even done anything other than be patient.

Love is many things she supposes. Big and small. Enough to fill a thimble or enough to fill a room, and always just enough to touch a heart. The love she has for him and he has for her may not be large enough for a huge church filled to the brim with people of all stripes and sizes but it is enough for this little chapel here.

It's not a remarkable place: it's small, white washed, quiet with a roadside Mary adorned with money and flowers not far away. They chose a place that was closer to where Eli had grown up in, in case his parents still decided at the last moment they'd show. Close to the desert road where they could get back to the city fast and just off the road enough that no one can just wander in to interrupt them.

There will be no huge pomp and circumstance when they have barely enough people to cobble together for a real party. Joey is going to be the one to carry the ring, his father will be the one to walk her down the aisle. Eli will be standing at the front of the church, with that beautiful sheen to his eyes that tells her that no matter what crazy circumstances that led to them waking up in that motel months ago, he's happy, he wants her.

And she wants him. Wants his roughened hand in hers, wants the baby she'll have soon, wants to have the life they've already started building.

She'll kiss him when the preacher asks, hear Joey sniffling and wiping at his eyes, hear his father clap and she'll have a life she never thought she could've had before. Have a life that never seemed as if it belonged to her, a woman without a past that everyone else has.

The past isn't there though; she's making a future where she's hugging Joey even though he's still crying, where she's letting Mr. Warren give her a shaky first dance, and where she holds Eli close to her as music plays on an old, tinny radio where Johnny Cash sings, You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.