How lovely, Abigail thought. Penny must have asked her to be a bridesmaid. What an unexpected gesture. Abigail knew that Penny had been in a sorority and must have had a dozen women she could have asked. To choose Sarah and to bring a gift was very . . . well-mannered. Old-fashioned. She was pleased that Sarah would have an official role in the wedding. She filed the kindness away for future reference. She heard the voices trail off as Sarah led them out onto the patio.

Abigail stood for a moment, alone on her front porch, holding the bag of olive oil and honey. Showtime.

*  *  *

The party was well underway. The patio was filled with thirsty neighbors and friends who had managed to pull themselves together after a day of sailing or golf to toast the happy couple. The lawn was dotted with some of the younger crowd, peers of Chase and Sarah, who arrived in flip-flops and sundresses and still managed to look lovelier than any of the older set, simply because of their youth.

Her generation was represented as well in similar dresses but better shoes. Abigail spotted her former tennis partner Janice chatting up her former garden club ladies. The DAR was represented by Martha, Pru, and Lucinda dressed in various red, white, and blue combinations. Others were paired up by area of acquaintance—the neighbors, the sailors, the bridge players, the lacrosse moms. She was pleased to see that almost everyone who’d RSVP’d yes had shown up, so unusual in today’s last-minute-bail culture. The result was a festive summer event on the flagstone patio with lawn rolling down to the water and the harbor beyond with sailboats on moorings. For sure, it was a three-million-dollar view today.

By Abigail’s timeline, George was scheduled to do a short toast in ten minutes, followed by another half hour of socializing. She had hired two former students as bartenders and serving help, because someone needed to replenish those warmed nuts and their rates were reasonable. Once the toast ended, guests had a few minutes for another drink and then they’d be on their way home to dig through their own refrigerators for Sunday dinner.

“This looks like a magazine spread, Abigail. What a special home you have. There is nothing like being on the water to make everything beautiful,” Alexa said as she joined a grouping that included Abigail, Sarah, and Bernadette, the prep school roommate turned wedding journalist who had not missed a single detail of the party, including the tussie-mussie in the guest bathroom, always her first stop at any event.