“Do you need saving?” A familiar voice hovers near my ear before I’m steered away. Crystal addresses the group. “Sorry, ladies. I’ll bring her right back.” She leads me to a quieter area. If I recall right, it’s near the study.

“My savior,” I joke.

Crystal laughs. “What did they want?”

“My soul, apparently.” I giggle. The champagne has clearly gone to my head. “Or cello lessons. But mainly, my soul.”

“Rebecca Gray.” Crystal assesses me. “Are you drunk?”

I mash my thumb and finger together. “A smidge.” I squint at her. “Tell me what you’re wearing.”

“I feel like an idiot. But I’m wearing a white maxi dress, very Marilyn Monroe without the curves. It’s been hanging in my closet for years. This house is insane,” she adds.

“Isn’t it?”

“What’s insane?” Jess asks. She takes the empty champagne flute from my hand and replaces it with another one.

“Your house,” Crystal and I say together.

Jess laughs. “Thanks. Crystal, can I get you anything?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

Jess turns back to me. “Why did you leave?”

“Because I didn’t want to be the topic of conversation.”

“But you’re a great topic of conversation. Come.” She tugs me toward the pool. I turn to say something to Crystal, but we’re already gone. Her fingers, though cold from pouring champagne, are still a guide. “Let’s get you properly drunk.”

“Too late,” I say.

Neighbors mingle outside as she situates me at a patio table. “Then I’m going to get you some food. Stay.”

My eyes are thick, my head heavy. How long has it been since I’ve had two glasses of champagne? For some reason, Jake enters my mind. The events we used to attend together, all the boring symphony dinners or cop galas he was always too pleased to attend. I recall him by my side, sharing a drink. One muscled arm slung around my shoulders or cradling the slope of my ass. The heat from his body. Our insane chemistry. The public bathrooms we’d often slip off to … The sudden craving for my old, exciting life—before I lost Chris, before I lost my vision—slices across my heart like a blade.

“Hey,” Crystals says. A champagne flute plinks against the tabletop. “There you are.”

“Here I am.” I reach for my flute and accidentally knock it over. Crystal rights it. The bubbles sift across the table and I slide back a few inches to avoid the slick result.

“You okay?” Crystal mops up the mess with a napkin.

“I’m great.” I lift my flute into the air as though it will inevitably refill itself and then gingerly set it back down. “Will you excuse me? Ladies’ room.” I stand too fast and grip the edge of the table.

“Bec, why don’t you sit?”