As I parked in front of the courthouse, I watched your long legs climb the tall stairs with deliberate care. You were moving better, steadier on your feet, and walked with your old confidence. Your coat flapped open, no doubt showing off your breasts, not quite hidden by the black sweater. Several men stopped what they were doing, glanced in your direction, and ogled those breasts. Even the short red hair added to your allure.

Rising out of the car, I watched as you waited by the front door and strung a couple of cameras around your neck. You were in position, locked and loaded, when the doors opened to a thirtysomething couple. The woman was dressed in an ice-blue dress that skimmed her petite figure, and a white fur jacket warmed her shoulders. The man was wearing black pants, a white shirt, and a sport jacket. Three small yellow roses on his lapel matched the bride’s bouquet.

You snapped pictures, followed them down the stairs to a waiting SUV. You said something to the couple I couldn’t hear, but they turned back toward you. Both were laughing. You fired off a dozen more images.

I marveled at you and wondered again what it was about you and Clare that wouldn’t release me. I’d tried hard to forget. Unhealthy obsessions never end well, as I knew, but even in death, Clare had never been far.

I’d heard identical twins could be hard to distinguish, but I’d never really believed it. There was always something—the shape of a face, the voice, even mannerisms generally varied slightly. But with you two, you were mirror images.

Standing there, I was transported back to a wildly loud New Year’s Eve party. Dressed in black, Clare—yes, I definitely knew now it was Clare—tipped her face to the crescent moon. I’d been smitten and glad I’d taken the chance that she’d be there. Seeing Clare on that fateful night had altered the course of all our lives. So many things I’d have done differently.

I could have said the same about you. Thankfully, you’d survived your car accident with only minor lasting effects. The hair, of course, and the lost days. Critical days. And so far, you didn’t remember me. Us.

Your lost time was divinely inspired. It had given me the second chance I’d been hoping for as I watched you these last two months.

Maybe Clare was our guardian angel. Our matchmaker.

Lucky for me. Lucky for us.

9 MARISA

9

MARISA

Saturday, March 12, 2022

Noon

The wedding photos went like clockwork. All according to plan. But my client wouldn’t have had it any other way.