Jenna sniffed.

“Jenna,” Margot said. “This isn’t a deal breaker.”

“The rest of Stuart’s family has always been so weird about Crissy,” Jenna said. “No one ever talks about her. There are family pictures in the Graham house with Crissy in them, but Ann cut out black ovals and pasted them over Crissy’s face!”

Margot couldn’t keep from smiling at this. She wondered if Drum’s mother, Greta, had covered her face with black ovals-say, in the photos of Drum Jr.’s christening.

“It’s not funny!” Jenna said. “We bumped into her once, at Newark airport. She was going one way on the moving sidewalk, and we were going the other way, and she called out Stuart’s name and he turned and I turned, and she flipped Stuart off. She gave him the finger! She was pretty-dark hair, pale skin, sort of Spanish looking-and I was like, Who was that and what was THAT all about? Who on earth would flip Stuart the bird? My wonderful, kind Stuart, the man everyone adores and admires? I said, ‘Um. Do you KNOW that girl? ’ He clearly didn’t want to tell me, but then he admitted it was Crissy. And I dragged him to the airport bar and we ordered margaritas and I demanded that he tell me what exactly had happened with Crissy. And all he would say was that in his mind he liked to pretend she had never existed.”

Margot nodded. If everyone told their stories about ex-boyfriends, ex-girlfriends, ex-fiancés, ex-fiancées, ex-husbands, or ex-wives-or those they had to cross paths with either physically or emotionally-there would be millions and millions of chapters. It was a fraught topic, put mildly.

“You’ve had serious relationships before,” Margot said. “What about Jason? You loved Jason. You basically gave yourself an eating disorder and put yourself in the student infirmary because of Jason. Have you ever admitted that to Stuart?”

“I didn’t have an eating disorder,” Jenna said.

“When he broke up with you the first time, you went on a hunger strike!” Margot said. “Do I have to wake up Autumn to corroborate? You lived on toast and vodka.”

“Ever since Stuart proposed, you’ve been urging me to reconsider,” Jenna said. “You told me everyone gets divorced. You told me that love dies.” Jenna blinked, tears fell. Her makeup was a mess; there were black smudges on the skirt of her peach dress. She had been using her dress as a Kleenex. “And you’re right! Love does die, people do change, everyone is unfaithful, vows do get broken, betrayal is real. Stuart Graham, who I thought was beyond reproach, lied to me about being engaged to someone else.”

“Stuart gets a pass on this one,” Margot said. “Forgive him.”

“That’s my decision,” Jenna said, “and I’ve made it. I am not marrying Stuart tomorrow.”

With that, she spun on the balls of her bare feet and walked inside.

Margot had remained planted on the step, her elbows on her knees. She took off her silver heels and wiggled her toes. Jenna needed time to cool down and a chance to come to her senses. She needed sleep.

The funny thing, Margot realized, was that she had won the argument. Love dies. But she didn’t like it one bit.

Jenna was taking a long time in the bathroom. Margot got out of bed and checked down the hall. The bathroom was dark and unoccupied. No Jenna. Shit, Margot thought. She really wanted to have a talk with her before the house sprang to life.

The door to Jenna’s room, which she was sharing with Finn and Autumn, was closed tight, as were the doors to the master bedroom and Kevin’s room. Footsteps from upstairs-the kids-but that was to be expected.

Margot headed back down to the kitchen; she needed more coffee. And she should eat something. Maybe she and Jenna could walk down the street to the Bake Shop to pick up doughnuts. They had time. Margot ran through the day’s schedule in her head. If Jenna could find it in her heart to forgive Stuart for doing what any kind-but-flawed groom-to-be might do (lie by omission about a long-past, ill-advised, super-brief engagement), the following would take place:

The bridesmaids and Jenna were due at RJ Miller for hair at eleven.

The caterers were coming at noon.

The florist was dropping off the bouquets at two.

The photographer was coming at three.

The musicians-two violinists and a cellist-were arriving at the church at four.

The Model A Ford, which was owned and driven by Roger’s son, Vince, was arriving at the house at four thirty to pick up the girls. Then it was showtime. Church at 4:45. The parents would be seated-Pauline first, then Ann and Jim.

The processional would begin at five o’clock. Roger had been eminently clear: he could abide anything but a delayed start to the ceremony. If Jenna or anyone else in the wedding party caused the musicians and the guests and Reverend Marlowe to wait, Roger would levy a ten thousand dollar fine.

He had delivered this news with his usual poker face, though Margot was certain he was kidding.

Margot entered the kitchen expecting to find Jenna. But there, crushed into a corner of the breakfast nook, were Nick and Finn. Nick had his arms around Finn, and his face was in her hair.

“Jesus Christ!” Margot said, mostly out of shock, but partially out of disgust, too.

“Marge,” Nick said in a world-weary voice that made him sound exactly like Kevin. “Please mind your own business.”

Margot stared at the two of them. The sight of them together was profoundly disturbing. It was incestuous! Finn had been a part of the Carmichael family for twenty-five years; she had been at the house all the time-at the table for Sunday dinner, around the tree on Christmas morning. She had gone on vacation with them to Disney World; Margot and Kevin and Nick had ridden Space Mountain a total of eleven times while Jenna and Finn had donned blue Cinderella dresses so that Beth could take them to the castle for breakfast with the princesses.

Now Nick and Finn were having a love thing. And Finn was married. They all realized this, right? Both Margot and Nick had attended the Sullivan-Walker wedding last October. Nick had been Margot’s ersatz date, until he hooked up with the chesty, frizzy-haired bartender. They all remembered that too, right?

“Where’s Jenna?” Margot asked, unable to say anything more.

“No idea,” Nick murmured. He was running his hand up and down Finn’s bare, sunburned arm in a way that struck Margot as very tender, especially for Nick.

“I don’t know what the two of you think you’re doing,” Margot said, “but I assure you, it’s a bad idea.”

“Shut up, Marge,” Nick said. “You know nothing about it.”

I don’t want to know anything about it! she thought. What she wouldn’t give to be blind, deaf, and dumb, or so self-absorbed with her own excellent love life that she couldn’t summon the energy to care about anyone else’s.

She said, “Finn, is Jenna up in your room?”

“No,” Finn said. She wasn’t able to meet Margot’s eyes, the little minx.

“Is Autumn in your room?” Margot asked, knowing the answer even as she asked the question.

“No,” Finn said. “She went back to the groomsmen’s house with H.W.”

Margot nodded. So Nick and Finn had shared Jenna’s room, which was why Jenna had crawled into bed with Margot and Ellie. Autumn had gone home with H.W. This was FINE because both Autumn and H.W. were SINGLE. Everyone did understand the difference, right?

“Good for Autumn,” Margot said. She left Nick and Finn in the kitchen and trudged back up the stairs to Jenna’s room.

In the hallway, she bumped into her father, who had showered and dressed. He was wearing cutoff jean shorts, circa 1975, and an orange-and-navy striped T-shirt that made him look like Ernie from Sesame Street. Margot nearly commented on the awful outfit, but he already looked morose.

“Hi, sweetie,” Doug said. “How’s everything going?”

Margot took a measured breath. She was tempted to tell him that he was going to lose over a hundred thousand dollars in wedding expenses because Stuart hadn’t been able to come clean to Jenna about his past.

Margot gave her father a tight smile. He was, most likely, headed down to the kitchen. What would he say when he saw Nick with Finn? Would he even get it?

“Everything’s fine,” Margot said.

Doug descended the stairs, and Margot turned the knob to Jenna’s room-no knocking, sorry, this had grown too urgent to worry about manners-and stepped in. The room was dim and empty. Jenna’s bed was mussed, but the trundle bed was neatly made. Margot saw sunlight around the edges of the balcony doors, which she opened, thinking she would find Jenna sitting on the deck, drinking her sweet, light coffee, overlooking the stage set for her beautiful wedding.

Nope.

Margot stood on the balcony alone, taking in the pointed top of the tent with its fluttering green and white ribbons, and Alfie’s artificially raised limb. Margot recalled when her most pressing worry had been about rain.

She recalled when her most pressing worries had been about herself: Edge, her drowned phone, the reappearance of Griff in her life.

She stomped upstairs to the attic. The six kids were in the middle of a world-class pillow fight; feathers fell like giant flakes of snow, and Brock, the youngest of Kevin’s sons, was crying. Margot collared Drum Jr.

“Have you seen Auntie Jenna?”

“No,” he said. He frowned contritely. “I’m sorry about the mess.”

Feathers could be cleaned up. New pillows (foam) could be purchased. Brock would stop crying in a minute or two; he, like Ellie, was a tough little kid.

Margot dashed back downstairs. She caught Beanie on her way to the bathroom. Beanie was wearing a pair of men’s white cotton pajamas with her own monogram on the pocket.