“I’ll need to lose five pounds before we do that, but yes, I would love you to do the pictures. And I promise, I won’t be choosing any over-the-top bridesmaids’ outfits for you and the others. No ruffles or puffed sleeves.”

“Thank you. Who’re you thinking about in the wedding party?” Marisa asked.

“You, of course, the natural maid of honor. There’s Karen from the office; Robin, my college roommate; and Carol from the workout group.”

“Four is a good number. Who’s David choosing?”

“He has a brother.”

Her water glass stilled by her lips. “Have you met the brother?”

“Not yet, but we’re planning on meeting soon. Beyond him, I’m not sure. That’s the nature of a whirlwind engagement.”

“Have you set a date?”

“Next on my list of must dos. All the planning centers around it.”

“What about his mom and dad?”

“They’ve passed. It’s just David and Jeff.”

“Like you and me.”

“A small family can still be a strong unit.”

Marisa absently adjusted the spoon on her right to the outside of the knife. “David went to the same college as you, right?”

“He did. We didn’t know each other then.”

“That’s surprising that you wouldn’t have crossed paths at college.”

“It was a big school.”

“And his family is from California?”

“Yes. He and his brother, Jeff, grew up in Sacramento. Then after college David moved to New York, the world’s financial capital.”

“Why did he leave New York for Richmond?”

“Why not?”

Marisa grinned. “Sorry to be so nosy. I’m just trying to catch up. How old is he?”

“Two years older than me. He said he spent most of his college years in the library and was able to graduate a year early, at the top of his class, even after doing a year of mission work.”

“Nice.”

Marisa’s interest was a welcome relief. I’d worried that she’d have no interest in my marriage, but to my delight, this was a bonding moment. David, Marisa, and I were going to be a happy family.

49 MARISA

49

MARISA

Sunday, March 20, 2022

6:00 p.m.

My early dinner with Brit had accomplished less than I’d hoped. All I’d really learned was that David had a brother named Jeff. Jeff. The name that again reached out from the Black Hole. I could hear Richards now: “Millions of Jeffs in the world.”

David would have been twenty-one when he could’ve crossed paths with Clare or me in November 2008. Clare’s photo suggested she’d seen him in town six weeks before she’d died. She wouldn’t have snapped such a close-up image of a random stranger.