My mother and Julian went back to the small town in the mortal world.Their wedding was put off a month. This time Julian said, “No more mishaps. We’ll hold it in the yard, tell no one, ask only a few neighbors. We won’t breathe a word to anyone.”My mother agreed, smiling.On the day, the sky was very blue and the clouds very white. Julian set out two tables in the yard. Seven or eight neighbors came, all old folk who knew them well. The priest came too, a white-haired old gentleman who leaned on a cane and spoke slowly.No Zeus. No Hera. No one at all from Olympus.Only sunlight, flowers, laughter, and two people holding tight to each other’s hands.“I do,” my mother said, her voice low but steady.“I do,” said Julian, and the tears fell.They exchanged rings. Not gold ones; Julian had made them himself from a silver coin, and on each he had cut a single word: Peace.My mother slipped hers onto the fourth finger of her left hand, where it covered the gold scar at her wrist.I drifted
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