Abigail could barely speak. She had come to Montecito with a terrible attitude, and at every turn she’d been won over by the light, the sun, the landscape, and the people. And by the stunning sensation that she had won. Won! Sure, they’d have to pay for the tented dance floor, but their accommodations would be free! She could even forgive George his errant promise if this worked out. Her mind immediately went to the midnight-blue chiffon dress with the crystal embellishments she’d had her eye on at the resale store in Connecticut. She should have bought it when she had the chance, but she hesitated and it was gone when she went back for it. Damn. It would have looked perfect in this elegant home.

And imagine the photos and the write-up in Aunt B’s column! Her son, the future congressman, being married to his lovely and accomplished wife at a storied California home to the daughter of a successful businesswoman and, quite possibly, a British lord. With the mayor of New York officiating! It would be the talk of Fair Harbor and beyond. Her former friends, the ones who had dropped her when she could no longer afford the birthday dinners and charity donations, would be sorry they weren’t on the invitation list. She knew that was petty, but she couldn’t help it. “I can’t imagine a more perfect setting!”

“Yes!” Sarah jumped up again, this time to the delight of her mother. “A wedding at a house called The Butterfly. Think of the logo! You ladies are very cool. Teamwork makes the dream work.” Usually, Sarah’s coach-y slogans were conversation enders, but this time she nailed it, thought Abigail.

The rest of the Widows clapped. Toots told Mignette to bring the Veuve. And Alexa and Abigail embraced like they’d achieved world peace.

*  *  *

After the team had been toasted, the champagne downed, and so much ad hoc party planning had happened that Ming, with the excellent penmanship, took notes, Alexa’s phone rang. The screen flashed her daughter’s photo. “It’s Penny on FaceTime. Let’s tell her about the miracle!”

She hit the button to accept and then turned the phone around to bear witness to the group of women who were planning Penny’s wedding like it was an Amish barn raising. (If said barn was worth three thousand dollars a square foot and featured a tiled pool from the 1920s.) “Look who’s here! We have exciting news.”

The Widows waved, Abigail blew a kiss, and Sarah found another excuse to jump up off the couch. It seemed like all seven women began to talk at once. The decibel-level alert went off on Alexa’s watch.

But Penny didn’t reciprocate with enthusiasm. Instead, her voice was sharp, not sunny. “Mom, turn the phone around. Please. Mom? Turn the phone around.”