Later that night, after Sandy had fallen asleep, a smile playing on his lips, Kirsten sat on the sofa in the living room of her parents' beach house as she leafed through a photo album. Skipping past pictures of her and Jimmy, her and Hailey, her and Dad and Mom, she finally reached the picture for which she'd been searching. It was Marissa Cooper's bridal party. There were four girls in knee-length, ruffled pink dresses with V-necks and wide straps standing in a group, with Marissa in the center. That had been the day when Kirsten had dubbed Marissa "the girl from Ipanema," as she was "tall and tan and young and lovely." Kirsten studied the photograph for a long time before flipping the page. Her in her pink dress posing with Jimmy in his tux…a "Cooper family shot" with her in it at Jimmy's side…a candid of Jimmy kissing her cheek as she smiled bashfully…and, there it was, her with the bride. As much as it had been Marissa's day, Kirsten had to admit that she'd been thinking of other things. She'd decided that morning to sleep with Jimmy after the wedding, and the thought had been on her mind all day. She hadn't paid as much attention to what was going on around her…How many times had she seen this picture? Hundreds, thousands—it was one of her favorites. And yet she'd never noticed how less-than-thrilled Marissa's telltale eyes were.

She turned the page again and saw the perfectly posed photograph of the bride and groom. Rob was so handsome. Like Marissa, he was tall and thin, with fair hair and brown eyes. He had been a perfect match for her socially, too; the Whitmans were wealthy and prominent, and Marissa and Rob had dated on and off since junior high. Kirsten couldn't imagine Marissa without Rob smiling in the background, metaphorically if not always literally.

Was that the problem? Was that how Marissa had known that Kirsten was better off not being Jimmy's wife?

She stood, walked to the mantle, and retrieved the picture of her and Sandy at their wedding that her mother had added just before she and Sandy had arrived. Carefully, she studied her own face. Kirsten had never been the type to spend hours staring at her own likeness—she knew that she was beautiful but rarely saw her own beauty when she looked in the mirror—but she liked the wedding picture. There was something about her face that sparkled so much that even she could see that she was pretty.

That light was missing from Marissa's face. How could she have had her mind so much on losing her virginity that it had taken her six years to notice that Marissa hadn't looked at all like a bride?

Sandy rolled over in his sleep, and when he didn't bump into Kirsten's soft body, he woke. Where was she? He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and shuffled his way through the door. There was a lamp on in the living room, and a blonde head on the couch.

"Kirsten, it's late," he said in a soft voice. "What's wrong?" She turned, and the pain in her blue eyes could've broken his heart.

"I'm a terrible friend. I didn't notice," she said. Her voice was breaking slightly, and Sandy quickly crossed the small room to sit next to her and run his hand up and down her back.

"Jimmy's sister?" Kirsten nodded, and he pulled her closer to him. "Baby, it's okay…we'll call her in the morning, all right?" Kirsten shook her head.

"It took me six years to figure out that she doesn't look the way a bride should look…she's not happy; she's not glowing; I should've called her more often all these years…six years," she repeated.

"Maybe it just took you six years to figure out how a bride should look," said Sandy softly but pointedly, gesturing to the portrait of the two of them on their wedding day. "You need to sleep, though, Kirsten. You can call her in the morning."

Except she couldn't.

"Sandy Cohen," Sandy said as he answered the phone.

"Hello," said a male voice Sandy didn't recognize. "Jim Cooper here. Is, uh, Kirsten around?"

"She's still sleeping," Sandy told Mr. Cooper. "She got to bed late last night. Is everything all right?"

"No. Marissa…my daughter, Marissa Whitman…she, uh, she crashed her car driving home last night from the wedding." Sandy was shocked speechless.

"Yeah, um, they took her BAC; it was something like 0.15—obscenely high, especially for a woman as thin as Marissa. And…there were high amounts of painkillers. Nothing fancy, just aspirin, but in high amounts with so much alcohol in her blood…she's dead, Sandy. The autopsy said she was killed on impact."

"So she didn't suffer," was all that Sandy could manage to say.

"Not according to the note," said Jim Cooper sadly. "The police think it might have been intentional. I mean, obviously, not really intentional; no one thinks straight when they're so drunk…but there was a suicide note. 'Life…'" His voice began to break. "'Life is pain, and nothing in the world can dull it for me anymore. I'm leaving, sorry for anyone I take with me. Love to Mommy and Daddy, Jimmy, Kirsten, and Kirsten. Rob…I know you tried. I tried, too. Marissa.'"

"She could write that with a BAC of 0.15?" asked Sandy incredulously because he couldn't think of anything else.

"Well…they think that it might've been planned, but she's still our little girl. We're going to believe that it was spur-of-the-moment unless it's absolutely necessary to believe otherwise." The man's voice had broken by this point, and Sandy decided it was best to stop pressing.

"Thanks for calling," he said. "I'm sorry for your loss." The phone clicked.

What was he going to tell Kirsten?

The funeral was set for Sunday, June 30. Jimmy and Julie, their honeymoon cut short, stood side-by-side in their somber black with Jim and Danielle Cooper and Rob Whitman. Kirsten Cohen was quietly devastated. Outwardly, she was perfectly composed, her knee-length black sheath with black hose and black heels appropriate and demure, her sad smile the picture of a devoted friend. She politely kissed Jim, Jimmy, and Rob on their cheeks and sat silently through the funeral as she listened to the sad eulogies given to her beautiful friend, such a vibrant and sparkling woman, but dead at the age of thirdly.

Only Sandy had seen her cry. Only he had been there when she crumpled; only he had been there to pick her up in his arms and stroke her hair while she sobbed; only he had taken care to break the news to her as gently as possible. But then, there was no gentle way to break this news to her. Marissa Cooper was dead. Kirsten's eyes had flooded with tears, and she'd cried until her whole body shook and she'd gone numb. The only thing of which she'd been sure was her husband's arms wrapped around her.

Now, though, she was poised as she went over to offer more personal condolences to Jimmy. Sandy, still afraid for her, offered her strength in the form of his arm resting on her waist.

"I never figured I'd see you so soon," said Jimmy, attempting a joke, but his voice was flat and humorless.

"Yeah. Me neither. I'm so sorry, Jimmy. She was such a wonderful person."

"I never thought she'd do that…drive drunk. She usually had such logic." Neither Jimmy nor Kirsten had been told of the note; the only person to whom Jim Cooper had allowed its existence to slip was Sandy Cohen, who'd sworn not to tell. Jim hadn't even told his wife. The fact that Marissa's death had been suicide would go no further than James Cooper, Sr. and Sanford Cohen.

"I know. She was saying…that day, at your wedding…that she'd have to be sure not to drive. I should've taken her keys then," said Kirsten regretfully. Jimmy involuntarily reached out to touch her face.

"Hey. Don't do that to yourself, Kirsten," he said, gently pushing her chin up so that she was looking him in his eyes. "Nobody can ever tell Marissa what to do." Could. She never believes you." Believed. "She's like you in that way." Was. Kirsten offered him a soft smile. "You and Marissa always did have so much in common."

"I love her."

"I know you do. Me, too."

"It's so hard to believe she's gone. She's your sister, Jimmy. I never would have thought…" She took a deep breath.

"If the baby's a girl," started Julie, her voice quiet. "If it's a girl, we're going to name her after Marissa. Marissa Angela Cooper."

"Angela?" Kirsten's voice was sharp.

"Jimmy's choice," said Julie without suspicion. Kirsten's eyes darted to Jimmy, who smiled bittersweetly at her.

"For her angel aunt," he said softly, and when he looked at her, she knew that he didn't mean only Marissa.

"Anyway," said Jimmy, changing the subject gently. "Rob's pretty messed up. He and Kirsten are going to move away from Newport; he says that he can't live here anymore with the memories." Jimmy's voice was sad and lost. His brother-in-law had always been a blood brother to him. "They have family in Phoenix. Rob says that's where they're going to go."

"Phoenix!" exclaimed Kirsten. "They're going to Arizona?"

"I tried to talk him out of it. But…I mean, he'd have to drive by the place where they found her car every day. I guess if God forbid that happened to Julie, I'd want to do the same thing. At least he has somewhere to go."

"Yeah, I guess. This…this shouldn't have happened, you guys, not to you, not now."

"Thanks, Kirsten," said Julie quietly. The two women hugged, and Jimmy and Sandy managed an awkward guy-hug. Then Kirsten kissed Jimmy and Sandy kissed Julie and they were done.

Kirsten and Sandy didn't talk much on the way back to her Aston Martin in the parking lot. They didn't talk when she started the engine, either, or indeed at all until they'd been on the road awhile. They were going home, though, finally—back to Berkeley. Sandy was hesitant about letting her drive, but he'd decided that concentrating on the road would be a good distraction from the pain of losing her friend.

As she shifted into fifth gear, Kirsten felt his hand clasp hers gently over the gearshift.

"I'll always be here fore you, baby," said Sandy. "I promise you with all my heart."

"I know you will."

"And you can never, never let what happened to Marissa happen to you, Kirsten, because I know that I could never live without you."

"I love you, Sandy."

"I love you."