“Daisy,” Wallis pleaded. She was pale and shaking. “Daisy, help me. He can’t just leave.”

“He has to go, Wallis,” I said, my voice ringing in my ears.

“Daisy,” she cried again, as Blake stood frozen in her grasp. “He promised me. He made a promise.” The eyes of those standing nearby turned to us. We were becoming a spectacle. Across from me, I saw a bystander draw out a phone.

“Blake,” I said firmly. The coward’s face was flushed, his eyes darting. “Just go.”

It seemed that was the permission he needed. Tugging himself free of my sister, he slipped away, following the rest of his group as they cleared a path through the center of the room.

Bo came to my side just a moment before Wallis collapsed into me. Had he seen all that? I strained to hold her weight and felt a seam rip, somewhere under my armpit. Bo supported her left side, I her right.

“Where do we take her?” I asked. There was more attention now, from his family, the groom-to-be. “We’re okay,” I chanted. “We’re okay. We’re okay.”

Awkwardly, gently, Bo helped me maneuver Wallis through the crowd to a vacant bar stool. Collette Reed appeared. “What’s wrong here?” she asked.

“She’s heartbroken,” explained Bo, uncharacteristically frayed.

Wallis’s face was white and her shoulders heaved. She gripped the seat of the bar stool, and I worried she might wobble off it. “Why did you tell him to go, Daisy? Why did you tell him to go?” she cried. “You have to go after him. Go, get him.”

“He’s gone, sweetie.” She turned away from me and fell heavily against Bo’s shoulder. He held her, whispered what sounded like her name.

“Bless this child’s heart,” the Judge said.

“Let’s get Wallis some water,” said Bo.

“You better not.” The Judge’s mouth was as straight as a ruler. “You’re doing her no good keeping her here in front of all these eyes. How much have you had to drink?” she asked me. When I replied that it had been very little, she nodded and handed me her car keys. “It’s the white Lexus parked just two blocks up on the far side of the street. I’ll take a taxi or hitch a ride.”

I babbled my thanks even as my insides were being shredded like tissue paper. Bo was already helping Wallis off her stool. Somehow, we made it out of the bar and on to the street. Wallis’s gait suggested physical pain, and she clung to Bo and me as we passed Saturday night revelers. Some were more sure-footed than others, and at one point a young man in a backward cap knocked into Bo and didn’t apologize. But we pushed on, determined to carry the weight of Wallis and her misery.