“The way he watches you.” Now her father wept freely. “It’s how I’m okay giving away my little girl.”

“Dad, I’m thirty-four.”

“It’s how I’m okay giving away my little girl,” he said again, louder. “Thirty-four is young like you can’t imagine, Joey. And even when the two of you are in the middle of people and phones and chaos, Grant watches you. He always knows where you are in relation to him.”

Joey knew this to be true. She wanted Grant to watch her again, and she didn’t know if she’d ruined it.

“Do you always know where Mom is in relation to you?” she asked.

Her father’s tears petered out. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I always do.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Joey

Florida
2019

In the foyer, a massive blank wall ascended fifteen feet. The floor was glossy navy wood. Windows opened onto an infinity pool perched at the edge of the Intracoastal. Scattering the lawn were sufficient white sunbathing chairs to accommodate the Palm Beach elite and dangling rope swing chairs to accommodate their leggy teenage offspring. Inside, above a midcentury cabinet that cradled a giant topiary, hung an installation of textured white.

The butler in tails who’d greeted her at the door followed discreetly behind Joey as she went to inspect the art. Her armpits pooled Florida’s steam onto her dress.

A voice said, “It’s made from coffee cup lids.”

Joey turned to greet a very small, really miniature, woman with a teased gray beehive. The beloved Edith Lallouche. She wore her trademark giant, round navy glasses with black skinny jeans, a printed blue-and-white tunic, suede smoking slippers, and a bag made of bright-blue feathers. The purse triggered a color association Joey couldn’t place. Four necklaces weighed down Edith’s neck, each strung with beads the size of golf balls. It seemed to Joey a feat of aerodynamics that Edith remained upright. Last, Joey spied the cane in Edith’s hand, but her corresponding arm was so consumed by blue-patterned bangles that the cane assumed the energy of an average person’s socks. That is, you hardly noticed it.

“Coffee lids, really?” Sure enough, Joey discerned the lids. “That’s amazing.”

“I like unusual art.” Edith patted her purse. Joey had never seen a person wear a purse around her home. This devotion to style impressed her. No wonder Edith and Lily got along.

Ah! It occurred to Joey now. The color of the purse was that of Cookie Monster’s fur.

As she crossed the foyer, Joey gave herself a pep talk. You are a talented and worthy artist, you do really interesting evil eyes, and you’ve even gotten some great press—a year and a half ago, you were written up in that magazine in Bali!

Against her will, her pep talk veered. That magazine in Bali was basically a leaflet distributed in untouched stacks in juice shops.