I’m a conversational ringleader most days, but the question baffles me. I feel like I’m on mute and set to black and white—an old fifties-style tube television on the blink. Is this how Mom used to feel?

Can’t think about that now.

“Um, tired.” My head falls to the pillow behind me. “Sad. This isn’t… It’s hard to… I’m so sorry about the wedding.”

“We’ll reschedule,” Ashe says quickly. “As soon as you’re better... the honeymoon, too.”

Not only do his words bring relief but they remind me how much I love his excitement. Ashe is like a handsome version of the Energizer Bunny, always pushing forward.

Cora smiles admirably at her son. Seeing her softer side is a privilege I don’t take lightly. They call her Cora the Conquerer at work for her tough negotiations with vendors, employees, and distributors and her stealthy, ninja-like apprehension of shoplifters. Many people find strong women intimidating. I find them inspiring, especially her.

“What about the guests? The arrangements? Should I make some calls?” I offer, considering all of the must-haves for this wedding. Cora wanted a grand affair “the likes of which this town has never seen.” Thinking of the gourmet food, uneaten. The gorgeous flowers, unseen. The expensive wines, uncorked. And the string quartet’s music, unheard. It makes my head swim, and my stomach turn.

Of course, that could be the meds, too.

“Don’t worry your pretty, little head about any of that,” Cora says. “It’s being handled. Focus on healing, Marnie. We know this wasn’t your fault.”

I swallow a lump in my throat, suspecting her words say otherwise. I wasn’t blaming myself, though my god-awful birthday bad luck could be the real culprit. Is this my fault?

“Ashe, honey, how about we take you home and let Marnie rest?” Cora suggests.

“I don’t want to leave her, Mom.” He looks almost defiant as he reaches for the remote control strapped to the bed.

“You can change, fetch her things, and come back. Huh?”

“Mom, I want to stay.”

“You haven’t eaten,” she protests. “You’re no good for Marnie on an empty stomach.”

She gives me a look, prompting me to say, “Ashe, she’s right. I’ll need my things, and you should get out of that suit. Besides, the drugs are kicking in. I’ll be snoozing in no time.”

A gentle knock on the open door sidelines our discussion. I recognize Detective Watson from Sunny’s. He buys his wife Elena a chocolate chip birthday cake from the bakery every year, which is so sweet in more ways than one.

“Miss Strange? Sorry to interrupt. I have a few questions if you’re up for it.”

“Of course, Detective Watson.”

His appearance convinces the Sullivans to leave; they line up at my bedside, Cora’s extravagant dress shimmering as she moves in for a quick kiss on the cheek.