After he left, I watched my fiancé. He was dancing with two girls and a guy, his long limbs moving gracefully. His face was flushed and his eyes were bright. He was enjoying himself.

Another presence at my table. The man was maybe ten years older than me. Slim build. Dark hair speckled with gray. Brown eyes. Maybe six feet. He was wearing good-quality clothes. And he was nice-looking. He said, “Mind if I sit?”

I should have told him no. I heard myself say, “Not at all.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.”

I held out a hand. “Terry McLaughlin. I’m Mr. Donatti’s fiancée.”

“Bard Fenton.” He shook my hand with a quick eye on my ring finger. “Mr. Donatti has good taste.”

“The ring is a good one.”

“I wasn’t talking about the jewelry.”

I smiled. “Thank you, Bard.” I was shouting above the noise. “Can I call you Bard?”

“You can call me anything you want,” he shouted back. “How’d you meet Chris?”

“We went to high school together.”

“Really? High school sweethearts?”

“Something like that.”

“That’s enigmatic.”

“Sometimes less is more.” God, the din was loud.

Badger was back. He set down my club soda and took the seat next to me. He looked at Bard. “How’s it going?”

“It’s going.” Fenton looked back at me, then at Mike. “Ms. … What’s the last name again?”

“McLaughlin,” I told him.

“Ms. McLaughlin is being very enigmatic.”

Badger said, “Actually it’s Dr. McLaughlin.”

“I stand corrected,” Fenton said. “That’s impressive.”

“ER doctor,” Badger said.

“You two have met before?”

Badger said, “Yeah, we had drinks together with Donatti, of course.”

Fenton said, “She was just about to tell me how she met the illustrious Mr. Donatti.”

“In high school,” Mike said. “They were married before to each other.”

“How’d you know that?”

“She told me.”

Fenton looked at me. “What happened the first time around?”

I looked at Mike. “You want to answer for me?”

Badger smiled. It softened his face. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s very nice not having to explain myself.” I looked at Fenton. “Chris and I were together for a long time. We had a baby, we got married, we got divorced, and then we got back together. The order is correct.”

“What happened to the baby?” Fenton suddenly held up his hand. “Sorry. None of my business.”

“The baby is now a twenty-four-year-old concert pianist.”

“You mean Gabriel?” he said. “You’re Gabriel’s mother?”

“Yes, I am.”

“You don’t look old enough.”

I smiled widely. “Thank you.” My head was beginning to split apart.

“It’s the truth.”

As if on cue, the music stopped, and the singer announced that the band was taking a little break. The music turned from live to recorded—a slow song. Bard stood and held out his hand. “May I?”