I searched her face for an explanation, but she gave me none. There was something behind her eyes. Not anxiety exactly, something closer to resolve. David appeared beside her, the groom, tall, steady-looking, with the kind of quiet confidence that doesn’t need a loud room. He extended his hand.
“Clare told me everything,” he said. “It’s an honor, Evelyn.”
“Everything?”
The words snagged on something in my chest. What exactly had Clare told him? She squeezed my hands one last time.
“You’re the reason I’m standing here today, Ev, and tonight everyone will know.”
Before I could ask what she meant, her maid of honor pulled her away for photos. I caught one last detail as she turned. The inside of her wedding band, where most brides engrave a date or initials. Clare’s ring had a single word: Phoenix. It meant nothing to me then. It would mean everything by midnight.
Gerald found me 17 minutes into cocktail hour. I’d been counting. He was holding a glass of something amber, bourbon probably, the Pappy Van Winkle he always favored at events, and he wasn’t smiling. He crossed the room with the stride of a man who owns the building, even though he didn’t. He just owned the people in it. No greeting, no handshake, no It’s been a long time.
“I didn’t realize Clare’s guest list included charity cases.”
I set my wine glass down on the nearest high-top.
“Hello, Dad. You look well.”
