“Maybe we should trade outfits. You’re the drill sergeant around here.” I laughed.
“Graduated drill sergeant. I can’t wait to be around undisciplined little kids instead of undisciplined adults.”
“Come on. We weren’t that bad.”
She smiled. “You were all hard workers, you just needed direction.”
“And as long as you were working alongside us and not shouting from the sidelines, we didn’t mind taking orders from you.”
Portia shook her head. “Bunch of rebels.”
Laughing, we slipped into high heels and headed for the Dogpatch bench out front.
The graduation ceremonies were traditionally held on the expansive lawn in front of Walters Hall, with the steps and portico serving as stage. The gentle sunshine of late May and a cloudless sky made the location perfect again this year.
Students with hopeful faces sat in folding chairs arranged in rows, forming a patchwork of black and white graduation gowns-black for the men, white for the women. I squeezed Portia’s hand on one side of me, Koby’s on the other, as Dean Lester addressed the graduates along with the crowd of spectators behind us. After an uplifting speech, she introduced Professor Braddock to present the diplomas.
He took his place behind the podium, clearing his throat into the microphone. “Thank you for coming today. We generally like to start out every year by announcing the winner of the Covenant Award, a prize given to a team of students who show extraordinary growth, courage, and accomplishment in their final year at Del Gloria College.” He paused as the spectators applauded. “This year, we have a special visitor who will present the award. This individual himself exemplifies the qualities embodied by the Covenant Award. A year ago, this man nearly died from a bullet wound.”
I gasped, then calmed myself. He couldn’t be talking about Brad.
“The bullet damaged his spine, leaving him virtually paralyzed.” Denton glanced behind him at the doors to the building, then back at the audience.
My shoes squeaked a happy rhythm. My fingers twirled the tassel of my cap.
The professor paused, as if reining in his emotions. “Only through great courage and faith was this individual able to conquer the odds and be here today.”
I told myself not to get my hopes up as the doors opened and a group of people came through, one man pushing a wheelchair. I squinted. That looked like Joel. The woman next to him, with long black hair sweeping over her shoulders, resembled Samantha Walters-Russo. And the man in the wheelchair… I caught my breath. It was Brad.
Tears burst forth like water through a dam. I bent forward in my seat, sobbing.
“What’s wrong?” Portia’s voice held urgent concern. I just shook my head, too emotional to answer. He was here. Brad had come to my graduation. There was nothing but my white gown to catch the happiness falling from my eyes.
“Ladies and gentlemen, my son, Mr. Braddock Walters.”
I looked up as Denton handed the microphone to Brad. He took it as if he’d never lost mobility in his arms.
Brad toyed with the mike a moment before speaking. “As a child, I was blessed by having two fathers. One, my birth father, is this man next to me, Professor Denton Braddock, who established this college and changed for the better the lives of so many hurting people. The other was my stepfather, Samuel Walters, for whom Professor Braddock dedicated this building as a memorial. Both men loved me deeply, and by example showed me how to live a rich life.”
Tears ran in a steady trickle down my face as I listened. “Not too long ago,” Brad said, “I reached a low point. My only goal was to die. I wanted out of the disappointment and pain that circumstances had brought my way. But God,” Brad held the mike away as he fought for composure, “God had different plans. Because of Him, I can be here today to present the Covenant Award to a very special group of people.”
He fumbled in his inner suit pocket for a slip of paper, the microphone magnifying the rustling sound as he opened it. “Could I please have the graduating members of the Revamp Program come to the stage?”
A cheer erupted through the crowd, blotting out Brad’s voice as he read off the list of names, including Celia’s.
Portia grabbed me in an exhilarated hug. Koby joined in and soon we were standing and jumping in place, thrilled over our victory. The six remaining team members wove our way through handshakes, pats on the back, and calls of “You go, girl! You rock, man!” Our joy was dampened only by Celia’s absence.
We climbed the steps and shook hands with an array of college staff and administration. Then we stood in a line behind Brad. I could barely breathe in such close vicinity to him when all I wanted to do was wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him.
Denton stepped up to the podium. “This group began as two teams in competition with one another. They embraced a larger cause, banding together to complete a project that quite frankly had an impossible deadline. Yet, they braved personal differences, conquered their fears, survived acts of violence, and worked long hours to meet the class requirements. As a result, eight local families now enjoy affordable, quality housing.”
Another round of applause. I could barely see my classmates through the beads of water clogging my eyes. And every time I looked Brad’s way, my vision only got worse.
Denton held up a hand to quiet the crowd. “I want to take a moment to introduce to you the member voted Most Valuable by the staff at Del Gloria. This woman challenges the status quo, questioning beliefs many of us leave unquestioned, until her faith and trust in God ring with an authenticity few can claim.”
I clapped my hands together, in anticipation of congratulating Portia for her achievement.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please show your appreciation to Miss Patricia Louise Amble.”
I inhaled. Did Denton have it right? I was voted Most Valuable? I looked around at my cheering, smiling team members. Humbled, I covered my mouth with my hands, blubbering like a Miss America pageant winner. Not caring that hundreds of people were witnesses, I walked to Brad’s wheelchair, stared at him with love in my eyes, bent and kissed him. A round of hoots and cheers snapped me out of my daze and I stood up, embarrassed.
Brad picked up his microphone, “I have only one question for Miss Patricia Louise Amble.” The crowd hushed, listening.
Joel came over from the side of the stage and took the mike from Brad. My ex-cop boyfriend gripped the arms of the wheelchair and strained to lift himself to a standing position. I could only stare in utter horror, worried he’d tumble and hurt himself on the hard stone beneath. He steadied himself, then he took a haltering step toward me. I tried to move forward to meet him, but Portia’s sturdy grip held me in place. Another step. And another. Not strong, not confident, just miraculous.
Brad stood before me. His hand reached into his trouser pocket. Out came a tiny box covered in black velvet. He pulled open the lid. The sparkle of a single diamond set in white gold blinded me along with a renewed torrent of tears.
Joel handed Brad the microphone. Brad’s voice echoed across the silent lawn. “Patricia Louise Amble, will you marry me?”
Not even the song of a bird broke the silence as I stared at him in amazement. All this… for me?
“Yes, I’ll marry you.” The words bounced off stone and glass, repeating themselves until scattered by the breeze.
A rush of wind as the crowd inhaled in unison, then let out a wild whoop. I laughed and cried, held close in Brad’s arms until the noise dimmed into the background of our beating hearts.
He put the ring on my finger. “I love you,” he whispered for my ears alone. Then we kissed as if we were on a deserted island. A round of hoots from the audience and we were transported back to Del Gloria. Joel situated the wheelchair and Brad collapsed into the sling seat.