“That’s probably it.” Fred’s smile was wooden, and the flap of hair doing its best to hide his bald patch was drooping down over his forehead now glistening with sweat. He held up his finger. “Let me check downstairs one more time.” He walked to the top of the steps and turned like a dutiful waiter. “I just thought you should know.”

Oh no. Lara had seen this look before. Fred was taking on the rehearsed demeanor he displayed when managing funerals and organizing grief—other people’s grief. It was his business—reducing the messiness of loss into a tidy, well-executed ritual. Now it was her turn. With his carefully chosen words, he’d begun preparing her for the worst.

“What time is it?” asked Audrey.

“Four forty,” said Fred without gazing at a timepiece.

“If he isn’t here yet, I need you to tell everyone the wedding has been postponed,” Audrey commanded. “Postponed,” she emphasized. “Until we can figure this out.”

Lara’s father, Jason Barnes, had been standing in the doorway waiting for his cue to walk Lara down the aisle. Now he was taking in the conversation and tugging free of his bow tie, finally ripping it off. A musician, Jason didn’t wear ties or tuxedos. “Let’s just wait a little longer for him. He’ll show.” He met Lara’s eyes and smiled.

That was Jason, the eternal optimist, Candide with a Fender.

As was the norm, Audrey ignored her ex-husband with an eye roll, turning her attention back to Todd’s stepfather. “You have ten minutes, Fred. That’s all. I will not have my daughter waiting up here for him any longer than that.”

Lara walked over to her mother. Audrey had intuitions about things; her abilities weren’t limited to enchanting gowns and turning on lights. Her mother could sense the hearts of people—what was in them—really in them, not just the pretend exterior sheen. If anyone would know whether Todd Sutton was on his way to the church or in the next state by now, it was Audrey. “Do you see anything?”

Her mother simply shook her head. “Nothing.”

Yet Lara knew that her mother was lying. Why? “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing,” said her mother, nearly snapping at her. “Lara, I see nothing.”

“Nothing?” Lara dramatically looked down at her dress. “Really, Mother?”

“I don’t see him, Lara.” Audrey looked stricken. “I’m sorry.”

That was impossible. Her mother could see everything. Each transgression Todd had ever made, Audrey smelled on him, like a dog.

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know.” Her mother’s voice was low now.