“It was worth it just to see you smile that long. Your face is gonna be sore tomorrow,” Raphael said gleefully.

What became of the red plush throw I don’t know and don’t want to know.

Jack was not exactly sympathetic when he called me from Little Rock that night. In fact, he laughed.

“Did anyone film this parade?” he asked, gasping with the end convulsions of his mirth.

“I hope not.”

“Come on, Lily, loosen up,” he said. I could still hear the humor in his voice. “What are you doing this holiday?”

This seemed like a touchy question to me. Jack Leeds and I had been seeing each other for about seven weeks. We were too new to take it for granted that we’d be spending Christmas together, and too unsure to have had any frank discussion about making arrangements.

“I have to go home,” I said flatly. “To Bartley.”

A long silence.

“How do you feel about that?” Jack asked cautiously.

I steeled myself to be honest. Frank. Open. “I have to go to my sister Varena’s wedding. I’m a bridesmaid.”

Now he didn’t laugh.

“How long has it been since you saw your folks?” he asked.

It was strange that I didn’t know the answer. “I guess maybe… six months? Eight? I met them in Little Rock one day… around Easter. It’s years since I’ve seen Varena.”

“And you don’t want to go now?”

“No,” I said, relieved to be able to speak the truth. When I’d been arranging my week off work, after my employers got over the shock of my asking, they’d been almost universally delighted to hear that I was going to my sister’s wedding. They couldn’t tell me fast enough that it was fine for me to miss a week. They’d asked about my sister’s age (twenty-eight, younger than me by three years), her fiancй (a pharmacist, widowed, with a little daughter), and what I was going to wear in the wedding. (I didn’t know. I’d sent Varena some money and my size when she said she’d settled on bridesmaids’ dresses, but I hadn’t seen her selection.)