“Paulina’s death was an accident,” Elodie said, leaning across the table and patting her arm. “She could have stayed in New York City and gotten hit by a bus, for heaven’s sake. You have to let that go.”

Celeste bowed her head, letting her sister’s words wash over her. She waited to feel some sense of relief, but the guilt felt even more acute now that it was out there in the open. She appreciated Elodie’s rush to absolve her, but she wasn’t exactly objective.

“Did you mourn her at all? I mean, I know you were angry for all those years. But when she died . . .”

“I mourned the sister I loved when she betrayed me. I lost her when she took Liam away. I was stunned by her death—by both of their deaths. But I’d already mourned them. They were strangers by the end.”

“I should have stayed in closer touch with Gemma. It was just so complicated with the Maybrooks . . .”

Elodie shrank back in her seat, shaking her head. “Celeste, you can’t blame yourself. Honestly.”

The server arrived with their food. The aroma of spices and butter distracted Celeste for a moment, but when she picked up her fork she found she’d lost her appetite. Elodie dipped into her cod and tasted it, declaring it delicious. It took her a few moments to realize Celeste wasn’t eating. “You’re not doing much to convince me the jerk chicken is the best thing on the menu,” she said with a smile.

“I wish I could go back in time,” Celeste said.

Elodie leaned forward and again reached for her hand. “Let’s look ahead, okay? You know what: Let’s go wedding dress shopping together. I’ll call Vera Wang . . . we can spend a few days in the city.”

Celeste shook her head. “Thanks for the offer but that’s not really me.”

“So what do you plan to do for a dress?”

“There’s a vintage shop I like.” She hesitated. “Do you . . . want to come with me?”

Elodie smiled. “Of course,” she said. “What are sisters for?”

57

Elodie never understood the appeal of wearing vintage, which was really just a fancy word for old. Admittedly, she had no innate fashion sense. That’s why she always relied on stylists at Bergdorf and Barneys and Saks to tell her what the must-haves were for each season. The result was that her wardrobe was impeccable, if not terribly adventurous.

And so the vintage shop in Chatham, with metal racks filled end to end with gowns from the 1960s and 1970s, left her cold. But this was what Celeste wanted. And for the first time in a long time, she cared about her sister’s happiness.

“Can I ask you for a favor?” Celeste said, sifting through the gowns. She pulled out a satin shift and placed it back on the rack.

“Sure,” Elodie said. “You’re the bride-to-be.”