John read the letter twice without moving from that spot, and then he sat down on the hall stairs, where he stared at his own hands for a good while. Finally he let out a hoarse croaking laugh.

Yesterday in the late afternoon Caroline had sat at a motel desk somewhere and written this letter. She had never got the letter he had brought to the retreat house. He looked at the words on the page.

We’ll sort things out then.

At least, he told himself, he could be not be accused of being dense; any reasonable person must admit that there was no useful information here at all beyond the simple fact that Caroline had gone off. It was the kind of letter a sister might write, or a close friend. A woman about to get married—a woman who was happy about the fact that she was about to get married—would hardly write such a letter.

John realized now that Caroline had been increasingly distant over the last month, vaguely ill at ease, almost, at times, untouchable. At first he had seen all that as pre-wedding jitters, symptoms of the stress that came from dealing with her sisters; then he had been too distracted by Angie, and he hadn’t paid close enough attention.

“Christ, I’m an idiot.” He said these words out loud in the empty house. Worse still, he was a clueless idiot, one with no answers, and no way to get them. Caroline would come back on Friday, but what then? The worst-case scenario was that she would show up relaxed, refreshed, looking forward to the wedding.

What if Caroline doesn’t want to let you go? Angie had asked that question the night in the emergency room, and what had he said?

Caroline is nothing if not practical. He had never anticipated something like this, and had no idea what to do next. He had three days to manage the Rose girls and Miss Junie, three days to pretend that he was about to get married. In good conscience he could say nothing about calling off the wedding until he had spoken to Caroline. If he still had the courage to do it at that point.

John got up to go take a shower. Outside, a triple burst of fireworks echoed across the sky, and all across Ogilvie dogs put back their heads and howled.

FIFTEEN

To: Patricia C. Walker <[email protected]>

From: Angeline Mangiamele <[email protected]>

Re: follow up (2)

Just a note to inquire about the status of my memo dated one week ago. The most important matters:

1. The beta monitor in the editing suite is still waiting for repair or replacement. This is our most urgent need.

2. My mail is still not reaching me. Have you had any success with central mail services on sorting this out?