“I already had some wine while we were taking pictures. Prosciutto. It tasted like apple juice.”

“Wine and ham?”

“I didn’t have any ham. I had wine. Like champagne.”

Rob stifled a laugh. “You mean you had prosecco? Not prosciutto, prosecco, Hannah.”

“Whatever,” Hannah responded, suddenly distracted. “You know, Rob, I could never cast you. I’ve tried, but I think you’d have to play yourself in a movie. I actually think you’re good-looking enough to play yourself, you know?”

“Hannah,” Rob continued, dropping the bag of pills on his kitchen table so he could pull nervously at his hair. A tuft of his bangs stuck up straight from all his nervous raking. “I want you to listen to me. No more wine. No more pills. I want you to find a friend, find Vicki or one of the bridesmaids, and tell them to watch you. Make sure someone gets you to bed safely. Make sure—”

Rob stopped short at the sound of a repetitive thud coming from his bathroom. It sounded like someone was kicking the cabinet under the sink from the inside, a muffled, hollow banging that shook the bathroom door.

“Hannah, I have to go. Please, take care, all right? No drinking. You’ll be okay.” Rob quickly hung up and ran toward the noise.

As he put his hand on the bathroom doorknob, he heard another loud thud followed by a squeal. He threw open the door and saw Liz, or more accurately, the end of Liz’s tail. Her head was stuck behind the toilet, between the back end of the porcelain base and the tiled wall behind it. Her midsection was trapped under the medicine cabinet, which appeared to have fallen from where it usually hung above the toilet. Her tail was slapping furiously against the wall and the side of the bathtub to her right. Liz was trying to convulse—Rob could see her body jerk in the familiar epileptic rhythm—but she was ensnared by the toilet and the broken medicine cabinet. As Rob focused, his knees locked, he saw that Liz was bleeding. The cabinet had punctured her midsection.

“Jesus Christ!” he shouted. His voice echoed.

He pulled at his hair for a few seconds, in shock. “Jesus!” he yelled again.

Rob finally took three big lunges, to close the distance between him and Liz, and carefully lifted the medicine cabinet off her torso. He hurled the heavy wooden box, which was filled with his toiletries, into the tub with so much force that its mirrored door shattered.

With the weight off her stomach, Liz began to twitch more feverishly. Rob got on his knees and leaned around the other side of the toilet to see her face. Her eyes were wide with panic. She looked at Rob confused, desperate. Her seizure was dying down, but now she appeared to be thrashing from pain, her movements steadier than the involuntary convulsions that accompanied her epileptic fits.

“Hold on, baby,” he told her, responding to her whimper.