There is no blue as blue as the sky after a hurricane.

All signs had pointed to them getting rained out. Five days left, after a year of planning, and it looked certain the storm would smash the ceremony to pieces. Watching the weather channel all day, like the old man he was, Justin girded himself against the possibility, surprised by his own nerves.

When, at the 11th hour, the storm miraculously sped up and hastened over the region, he breathed a sigh of relief.

“I can’t believe it,” he said to Maria, jubilant, “can you believe it? Should be gone by tonight!”

Maria returned a small, somewhat distracted smile.

“That’s wonderful news, darling,” she said, her mind clearly elsewhere, “it should be a beautiful day.”

Justin turned back to the TV and “stormtracker”, oblivious. “It sure will be – the air is fresh after a big storm.”

The next day, beneath the shocking blue sky, a crowd gathered on the slightly soggy grass. A banner was strung across the wrought iron gate of the Mirensneck garden – once part of the estate of the New Jersey Mirensnecks, the infamous “black powder millionaires” of the late 1800s. It read “Happy 40th Anniversary, Justin and Maria.”

Justin stood near the entrance, greeting guests as they arrived. Old friends, old business partners, old co-workers from his long stint in the New Jersey Attorney General’s office, what felt like a lifetime ago. Justin took their hands as they entered, looking each in the eye with pointed recognition, no matter whether or not he remembered them. Justin was good at this – always had been – a “schmoozer” as his sister used to say.

Maria, quiet as ever, stood waiting beside the serenity pool, watching the birds flit about the tree branches. As ever, she had no one to invite. Justin had grown used to this over the decades. Maria was lone wolf, certainty made manifest in the image of feminine beauty. Even now, at nearly 70, she shined among the verdant trees.

Justin caught a glimpse of her between his showings of fabricated warmth and sighed. After 40 years, he still could not believe his luck at having found her. In a lifetime of surface noise, Maria sometimes felt like the only real thing he’d ever had. Now, on the 40th anniversary of their marriage, he would get to renew his vows and tell her as much.

Within fifteen minutes the last attendees had arrived and the crowd slowly made their way to the seats arrayed before the oval of the serenity pond. Enormous iridescent coy fish lazed about in the water. They periodically sprinted to the surface with preternatural speed, mouths agape, to gulp down an imperceptible mosquito.

When the crowd was seated and grew quiet, the priest Justin had hired for the occasion – he honestly couldn’t remember his name – stood up and addressed the audience. He gestured to Justin and took Maria by the hand, and together they walked to the edge of the pond. The three of them stood there in the cool sunlight, the blueness of the sky sharp as razors above them.

“We are gathered here today,” began the priest in a vibrato befitting his corpulence, “to mark the 40th anniversary of Justin and Maria Layland. Having taken their vows before God so many years ago, they now wish to express, before all of you, the members of their community, the ongoing devotion they hold for each other.”

The priest went on like this for some time while the sweat began to pour down Justin’s suit back. He didn’t hear a word, nor did he care a wit for what the ostensible holy man had to say. In truth, all his life, Justin had never given a goddamn about anyone or anything other than himself – and not only did he know it, he was proud of it.

Only one person had managed to squeeze into his heart and carve out a spot there, and she stood before him now wearing a look of placid contentedness.

“Justin?”

The priest touched Justin on the shoulder. Apparently he had tried to get his attention several times.

Justin blinked and nodded, his eyes never leaving Maria’s. He swallowed through his dry mouth and for the first time he could remember in his entire life, prepared to be completely honest.

“Maria. After 40 years of marriage, and 75 years on this Earth, there are only two things I know for certain. The first, is that I am an asshole,” the crowd chuckled knowingly, “- and the second, is that I am utterly in love with you.” Justin cleared his throat, pausing only to assess Maria’s face, which remained unchanged.

He continued. “When you came into my life, I had written off the possibility of being with anyone. Frankly, I felt I had better things to do with my time. I thought there was no one out there who was worth giving up the freedom I so enjoyed.” The next words caught in his throat, but he forced them out. For once, for her only, he had to be totally honest. “In the beginning, I’ll be honest, I didn’t think it would last. I didn’t want it to last. I thought you were sexy as hell, that we could have some fun for awhile, but I didn’t want it to go any further than that. I was,” Justin paused and looked briefly at the ground, “I am still, fundamentally selfish.”

A somber hush fell over the crowd. Had Justin Layland really just admitted to the character flaws every person in that park had been complaining about for nigh on 50 years? Even the wind stopped to listen.

Justin suddenly felt calm wash over him. “Maria, somehow, despite my best efforts to keep you out, you found your way into my heart – into my soul. I think back on this life we’ve spent together, and I simply cannot imagine having lived without you. You are the light of my life – you saved me from myself – dragged me, kicking and screaming, into being a better person. I love you and will always love you, so long as I should live.”

To their own astonishment, the crowd of hard nosed business magnates and ex-prosecutors bit back tears. Not an eye was dry among them.

The priest swiped at a tear himself and then with a warm smile, turned to Maria, giving her a small gesture of the hand.

Slowly, like a cast wax mask placed in a hot oven, Maria’s calm melted off her face. Her lips bent upwards, slightly at first, and then contortedly into a rigor of laughter. A sound first percolated and then rushed and finally roared from her throat – crescendoing laughter so extraordinary in its utter strangeness that some members of the audience instinctively got up from their chairs and backed away, tripping over their own feet as they went.

Justin looked on in abject confusion as the cackling continued, until at last, afraid for her well being, he placed a hand on her shoulder.

The moment his skin touched hers, as suddenly as the laughter had started, it stopped – and there again, was the Maria he’d known all those years, albeit now with flushed cheeks and tears carrying her mascara down her fine cheeks.

When she spoke, her quiet, sure voice had the clarion quality of a struck bell.

“Do you remember the name Henry Packer?” She asked, calm as fog.

Justin just blinked. Henry Packer? Who the hell was Henry Packer?

Maria did not wait for him to reply. “In 1978, you prosecuted Henry Packer on a felony murder charge. He and three other people robbed a bank in Newark. They got away with $400. A security guard was shot in the chest and killed. Henry Packer was the getaway driver.”

As Justin listened to this dry litany of facts, his confusion deepened, even as a profound sense of indefinable foreboding began to suffocate him. Maria continued, her voice emotionless.

“Three of the four bank robbers were never caught. Only Henry Packer was arrested. He had used his family car. He wasn’t armed during the robbery – he testified at trial that he had never touched a gun in his life.”

Everyone listened, mouths aghast in confusion. The priest stood transfixed since the laughter. Justin’s brain ran at a mile a minute, trying to piece anything together.

“You offered him 40 years. Hell of an offer. He declined and decided to go to trial. He lost.” Maria closed her eyes for the first time since she started speaking and took a long breath. She opened them and peered into Justin’s face. “Do you remember the sentence he received?”

Struck dumb, Justin just shook his head.

Maria did as well, quiet sadness personified.

“Death.”

The word hung in the air.

“Henry Packer had a wife and two children. His son was very ill, and it was the cost of his medical treatment that drove him to agree to the robbery. He received $50 as his proceeds. A year after his execution, his son passed away at home. It drove his wife mad, and she stuck her head in the oven one Christmas morning.”

The weight of the universe now fell on Justin’s shoulders. He wanted to grab Maria and clap her mouth shut with his hand, and wave everyone away, and run home and pretend nothing had happened. He wanted that so badly – but the weight of the universe stuck him in place.

“Henry Packard’s daughter was 13 when he was executed – 14 when her brother died – 15 when her mother died. She spent three years in an orphanage until she aged out at 18, with a singular goal. She set out to hurt the man who had destroyed her life. She spent a long time trying to find something to take from him. But after years of effort, she realized this man had nothing to take away, because he cared for nothing but himself. So she decided to give him something to care about – how else could she make him understand what he had done.”

Justin felt he was being stabbed by Maria’s eyes as she concluded.

“She was born Patricia Jeanette Packer. She changed her name to Maria Levine, and eventually took his name, to become Maria Layland.”

Silence echoed across the world. Justin groped for words and found none. Tears filled his mouth, streamed down his face, as he stood, dumb.

Maria looked at the ground once, shook her head again, and when she looked up, from somewhere in her sleeve she had produced a razor blade.

Before Justin could think, it had traveled deeply up the length of her right arm, hand to elbow, and blood billowed out, as though waiting for its cue to escape. Maria stood for what felt like an eternity, her arm a fountain of warm life, as everyone watched in horror. Only when she tumbled sideways toward the serenity pond did instinct kick in and Justin leapt forward to catch her.

As he mumbled incoherently into her stilled chest, her hand dangled lifelessly in the water, filling it with an expanding crimson cloud. The coy became agitated and swam in a frenzy, churning the pink water with their golden bodies.