Okay, well, at least he was coming. That was the important thing. And as for where all of her stuff would go, she had an idea for that, too: Across from her bedroom on the third floor, there was an empty room with a skylight. It would be a perfect studio—or at least a staged studio for the purpose of taking photographs. She’d just have to ask her aunt if she could use it.

Lidia offered to help her with the dishes. Celeste would typically tell her to sit and relax, but it was the only way she could get her alone to talk. Halfway through dinner, the engagement ring burning on her finger, she realized the one person who could possibly help her with the dilemma was someone who had also joined the Barros family from the outside: Lidia.

In the kitchen, the light fading outside as the nocturnal insects began to peep—not nearly as loud as they would be by late summer but enough to make the outdoors feel alive—Lidia rinsed the dishes while Celeste dried. The music and laughter from the yard drifted in the open window.

“Lidia, can I talk to you about something?” Celeste said.

“Of course. Anything.” She smiled at her and adjusted her yellow rubber glove.

Celeste took a deep breath. “It’s just . . . I’m not sure about this engagement.”

Lidia immediately turned off the faucet and looked at her, concerned.

“Don’t get me wrong—I love Jack. I want to be with him always,” she said, suddenly feeling foolish. “We’re so happy together. I don’t want to change anything by getting married.”

“Okay. But now, don’t you think things will change if you don’t get married?” Lidia said.

“Well, yes. I feel damned if I do, damned if I don’t. If I go through with it, I’ll resent Jack. If I don’t, he’ll resent me. I don’t know what to do.”

Lidia gestured for her to sit down with her at the kitchen table.

“What’s the real problem here, Celeste?”

She hesitated, knowing that what she was going to say would sound questionable at best. But she needed to get it off her chest, and if she couldn’t talk to Lidia, she couldn’t talk to anyone. “Bad luck comes to the women who get engaged in my family.”

Lidia frowned. “What do you mean, ‘bad luck’?”

“I mean . . . tragedy.”

“Oh, come on. You really believe that? I know you’re into astrology but—”

The kitchen screen door opened again, and Gemma walked in carrying plates.

“Oh, Gemma, you don’t have to do that. We’ve got it,” Celeste said.

“I don’t mind,” Gemma said. She set the plates on the counter and lingered.

Lidia, understanding they couldn’t continue the conversation in front of her, said, “Dear, go on outside and enjoy yourself. We’ve got the cleanup under control.”