I gave Bobby my best withering glare. O.M. watched our exchange with mild interest. Or, was she watching Bobby with mild interest? I’d have to remember to keep him away from her.

Moments later Olivia, her mother, and Bree returned to the patio with a tall and graceful black woman, presumably Topaz, the dress designer who made house calls on national holidays. Her hair was cropped close to her head, revealing its perfect form and reminding me of an Egyptian bust of Nefertiti. Olivia and her entourage made a quick circuit around the patio with breathy introductions. “This is India Hayes, Topaz. She’s a childhood friend of mine. She’s bridesmaid number three.”

I smiled politely at Topaz, flabbergasted that Olivia had the audacity to number her bridesmaids, and that I was number three out of three.

Topaz gave a pleasant but noncommittal smile.

“I hope it wasn’t too much trouble to come out here on a holiday,” I said.

“No trouble at all,” she replied, but her eyes flickered. I was willing to bet that she was collecting time-and-a-half.

Mrs. Blocken broke in. “We should begin the fitting. Who would you like to see first? India?”

Why am I not surprised? I thought. Without a word or a glance in Bobby’s direction, I followed Topaz and Olivia into the house.

Inside, Topaz handed me a garment bag.

Olivia said, “You can change in my old bedroom.” She was practically jumping up and down in prenuptial ecstasy.

I trudged upstairs. Although I hadn’t been in the Blocken house for several years, the layout was as familiar to me as my childhood home. Olivia’s room was on the second floor, the second doorway on the left, and looked the same as it had when we had graduated high school. I was relieved to discover that at least one memory of Kilbourne Street had not changed.