A few guests are leaving, nodding to Brad and me on our bench, unsure whether to approach me, and my armor of grief, and deciding against it. I see Josh, Betsy’s former boyfriend, with a parent escorting him on each side. The parents don’t notice me but Josh looks in my direction as they pass by. I manage a wave. And he nods. But to most people, David is the host. The popular one. The friendly one. I am the suffering mom. The embodiment of their worst nightmares. I’m also “that bitch” if you ask my former tennis team.

“Have you seen Betsy?” Brad doesn’t seem to be a fan of my youngest daughter but I need to be sure.

“She was with Mr. Harris, over at the bar. But no, I don’t see her now. I didn’t see her friends here, either.” He crosses his arms. The wind has picked up, the usual chill begins to descend on us like a damp invisible curtain.

“I wouldn’t recognize Betsy’s friends.” I surprise myself with that admission to this boy, an almost stranger who loved Mary.

I watch Brad’s face and catch a wave of tension, a decision made. Something not said. He looks around, nervous. “That’s too bad.”

“I hear it’s a different crowd, not the popular one that you and Mary were a part of,” I say. I’m a mom, the heart of the family. I pick up on some clues, even those my family tries to hide.

“When she goes to college next year, that will be good. A fresh start.”

“Brad, did you meet Elizabeth, Mary’s birth mom? Did Mary tell you about her?”

“Ah, yes, well, she is great, but Mary told me it was awkward with you two. I, um, you know, um, I’ve got to go. I’m flying back to Spain tomorrow. It’s where I go to school now.” Brad stops abruptly and stands. “Good seeing you, Mrs. Harris. Just want you to know I loved Mary. I wanted to marry her.”

That would never have happened, poor boy. But I can leave him with that dream. “Of course you did, dear.” He bends to give me a hug as I sit on the bench. It’s formal. Quick. And then he’s gone, jogging away in his suit, disappearing in the parking lot.

I reach for my purse, but it’s not here on the bench. I’ve left it on my chair on the beach, thrown off by my encounter with Elizabeth. The last place I want to go in the almost dark is toward the ocean. The group of people near the bar has dwindled to a dozen or so. David’s parents and Elizabeth have left, thank goodness. If I can make it over there to the bar, perhaps David, the serial cheater, will show some sympathy and grab my purse for me.