“I’m a bridesmaid. I have to stay with the wedding party,” Hannah had explained to Vicki on the phone. “We can get a room at the Robert Johnson House or the Governor Calvert House. The Robert Johnson House looks smaller and is probably cheaper. Honestly, Vicki, both places look beautiful, at least on their websites. I mean, aren’t you sick of Marriotts anyway?”

“Not really,” Vicki answered honestly. “I like chain hotels. They feel like home. There’s no guarantee that some old Annapolis inn will even have cable.”

Now that Vicki was there, she could see that she’d jumped to unfair conclusions about what the tiny inn would offer. The Robert Johnson House, which sat next to its sister hotel, the Governor Calvert House, on historic, cobblestoned State Circle, had been updated with flat-screen televisions that looked primed for HBO. Vicki squinted to identify the glow of a Coke machine in the distance. She sighed, relieved. Maybe she could convince Hannah to return to the room early, buy bags of M&M’s, and watch Saturday Night Live.

Once Vicki had her room key in hand, she grabbed the handle of her small suitcase and wheeled it past the front desk, eager to enjoy her last hour or so of freedom before the wedding. But before she made it out of the lobby, she was interrupted again.

“Do you play?” asked the man behind her.

“Yes,” she said sharply, whipping around to face him.

She softened quickly, surprised at how easily his face disarmed her. He had full cheeks and gray hair that belied his childlike smile. He was in his forties or fifties, younger than her parents but not by much.

“You’re a musician? Do you have a gig? At one of the bars downtown?” the man asked, hopefully.

“No, it’s just a hobby. I’m here for a wedding.”

“Oh great,” the man responded, adding a shaky laugh. “Let me guess—the Evans-Fee wedding?”

Vicki’s shoulders tensed again, causing the guitar case to inch up her back.

“Yeah. Bee’s my close friend from college.”

The man laughed nervously again. He cleared his throat. “I’m Bee’s uncle, Joe.”

“Oh. I think Bee’s mentioned you. I’m Vicki. I was Bee’s roommate at Syracuse in our freshman year. We’ve been friends ever since.”

The man stared as if she’d said something offensive. His smile wilted. He was silent, barely breathing, his body stiff like electronic equipment that had run out of batteries. Vicki waited, but his face didn’t change. His eyes were the only part of him that moved. They took in her facial features one by one until they stopped at her lips.

“Okay, then, I’ll see you at the party,” Vicki said, awkwardly about-facing and continuing down the hallway that led to the rooms. “Weird,” she whispered to herself as she picked up her pace.

It was probably nothing, Vicki thought as she fiddled at the door with the old-fashioned metal key. Hannah was right. Maybe she did always jump to the conclusion that everyone was out to get her. Maybe people were uncomfortable around her because she’d done something to make them uncomfortable. Maybe Bee’s uncle was just tired. Or maybe he was having a stroke.