From inside a stall in the clubhouse’s bathroom, Phil now listened to his mother, who was rambling off an excited message that he was supposed to pass on to Barb. “Tell her she’s a good mother, and tell her that this doesn’t mean that she’s old, and Phil, honey, tell her that as soon as I can I’ll come visit. Or maybe the next time she’s up in Maryland she can see me. I imagine she’ll be here more often now that her daughter-in-law’s family is here. Tell her that I have so much to talk to her about.”

“Okay, Mom,” Phil said, opening the bathroom door to find three irritable teenagers waiting outside. “Mom, I’ve got to go. It’s time for the reception.”

“About time, man,” one of the boys grunted as Phil slid by. Phil grimaced, wishing he could kick the kid out of the ballpark.

Suddenly desperate to leave, and to avoid his bookie’s next call, Phil considered making a quick exit. “Mom,” he asked, hopefully, “what if I bailed on the reception in an hour or so and drove home? I could pick up some soup for you. We could go to the pub in the morning for omelets, if you feel well enough. I could take the dog out so you don’t have to.”

“No, honey,” Nancy said quickly, with as much authority as she could muster between coughs. “You have to stay at that wedding. Barb needs to see that we’re there for her. And I won’t have you driving so many hours in one day.”

“But Mom,” Phil whined, “you’re all alone down there. And there are so many people here. Barb would want me to take care of you. She won’t even notice I’m gone.”

“Honey,” Nancy said, “I’m fine. Now go have a good time. Go talk to the bridesmaids.”

Phil rolled his eyes. “Okay, Mom.”

“Good-bye, sweetie.”

The clubhouse was now crowded with packs of guests moving through it, from cocktails on the patio to the tent that had just opened for the reception. The clubhouse’s foyer was regal and clean, with a few leather couches next to shelves of yellowed books. There were two tables in the center of the room, one that held place cards with every guest’s table assignment, the other dominated by a laptop computer. The computer was cued up to a digital photomontage of scenes from Bee and Matt’s coupledom.

Shots of the two of them giggling in the UNC law-school cafeteria morphed into candid photos of them on a boat somewhere tropical. Every now and then an image of a younger Bee or Matt flashed on the screen. There were a few good ones of Matt with a 1980s-inspired mullet, probably from middle school. There were some pictures of Bee from college. One grainy candid showed Bee laughing with a young woman Phil recognized as one of the bridesmaids. The bridesmaid in question was blonde in this photo, artificially so. Her hair was now brown and straight. She was prettier in person. Phil had laughed to himself as he watched her fidget during the service.