“Wow, Vicki. You know, Rob’s our friend. And you know this is complicated.”

“You know I love Rob, but I don’t like all this sneaking around. It’s time to end it.”

Hannah groaned. “You’re just cranky because you’ve been talking about abortion all night.”

Vicki let out an exhausted giggle. “Probably. Hey—was the band still playing when you left? Rich is supposed to come over when they’re done, and I’m exhausted. If you think he’s going to be a while, do you mind just leaving the back door open for him?”

“Well, let me put it this way—when I was leaving, Jared Novak had just started to perform a medley from Cats. I don’t think you should wait up.”

“Very funny,” Vicki said, yawning again and turning to face the wall.

Now, almost eight years later, the memory of Tom’s admitted jealousy was still swimming in Hannah’s brain. She could already feel Dawn’s pills working. Her shoulders had dropped, relaxed. Still at the window, she brought her hand to her torso, feeling for the edges of the underwire that was burrowing into her skin.

Suddenly her eyes were drawn to a black Q-tip-like dot on the lawn below. Next to the familiar black dot was a blonder dot, a poof of styled hair on top of a short, slender woman whom Hannah had identified as Tom’s girlfriend, Jaime, the guidance counselor. Hannah’s hands were suddenly moist. She turned from the window and walked to the opposite corner of the tower’s top room, to find her bag. She took out her phone and sent a quick text message to Vicki, who she guessed was already finding her seat down below. “He’s here. With her,” the message said. Hannah stood back up quickly and felt her ankles quiver.

“Dawn,” Hannah yelled suddenly. She took a quick step backward, surprised by the volume of her own voice.

“What, sweetie?” Dawn said from the other side of the room.

“Nothing important,” Hannah said, smiling lucidly. “I just wanted to say thank you and that you’re very good at your job.”

Dawn grinned and walked over to Hannah’s lookout. She touched the tip of Hannah’s nose and smiled.

“I know, baby. You’re feeling a bit better, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Yes, I am,” Hannah said, confident and beaming, wiping a small line of sweat that she felt forming on her upper lip. “Let’s do this thing.”

Just then Bonnie Hunt, the wedding planner, walked briskly through the door.

“Ladies, it’s time. Line up in your order. Bee, you stand right behind your maid of honor. And…excuse me, Hannah? You’re Hannah?”

“Yes?”

“Do you need a tissue?”

“Why?”

“You’re just sweating a little, over your lip. And you have something on your chest. Are those paint chips?”

Hannah looked down and saw that she’d wiped pieces of nail polish and paint from the window ledge across the top of her cleavage. “Oh!” Hannah exclaimed, quickly shuffling to the corner to grab a napkin, which she used to dab her lip and clean her chest.