Audrey Barnes possessed all the coolness of a Hitchcock blonde, yet she subscribed to all the myths and romance of a Victorian heroine. She’d named Lara for the character in Doctor Zhivago—a film they watched together faithfully each year, a box of tissues between them. Tomorrow Lara’s first dance with her father was going to be the Al Martino version of “Somewhere My Love,” and she knew her mother would be weeping near the wedding cake.

As she drove her Jeep down the winding road from Cabot Farms to the highway, she recalled the disappointed look on her mother’s face when she and Todd announced they were engaged. Audrey didn’t care for him. She’d tried to talk them out of getting married, encouraging them to wait until spring. Lara knew her mother had hoped that given enough time, something would change, but Todd had been Lara’s first love, her first everything. They’d known each other since they were fifteen years old.

Audrey had encouraged them to attend separate colleges, paid for Lara’s semester in Europe, and even tolerated her year on the road with her father’s band, anything to allow the relationship to cool. Todd had also left for college, finishing his sophomore year, then returning home and building a vintage car restoration business.

When they were apart on a break, other boys were only ever interesting to Lara for their likenesses to Todd. From the bevy of Lara look-alikes that Todd dated during their splits, she knew he felt the same way. Whether chemistry or magic, there was some inexplicable pull always guiding them back together.

Had Audrey been younger, Lara was sure that Todd would have been exactly the bad-boy romantic figure that her mother would have swooned over. In fact, her mother had chosen her own version of Todd back in 1974 when she’d married Lara’s father, Jason Barnes.

Lara pulled into the driveway. The house was abuzz with activity and anticipation; lanterns lit the sidewalk to the front door that was now ajar. Relatives from places like Odessa and Toledo perched themselves on sofa arms and decorative side chairs. Plates clanged, and people caught up with one another over decafs and dirty dishes. She wondered why her house wasn’t stuffed full of relatives, like this one.

Through the foyer, she spotted Todd going out the back door, bags of ice in his arms. As he went past, he spied Lara and smiled. His wavy, chin-length dark hair had begun to curl as the evening went on.

“Lara, why didn’t you make him get a haircut?” asked his aunt Tilda, a hairdresser from somewhere in Ohio. Lara rolled her eyes conspiratorially. As if anyone could make Todd do something he didn’t want to do.