JENNIE

"I still can't believe you both came," Chit says to me. She hands me a cup of coffee—black, just the way I like it—and I smile at her thoughtfulness. She's a beautiful woman, with bright eyes and an equally bright smile—and she's dressed in a deep blue tracksuit.

"I'm so glad we could make it," I tell her. I take a glance at the clock on the oven; already 10 p.m. The long flight and time change have thrown me off.

"Me, too. If it wasn't for you, I know she wouldn't be here." She places her hand over mine. Unsure how to respond, I smile. She catches on to my discomfort and changes the subject.

"How was the flight? Did Lisa behave?" Her laugh is gentle, and I don't have the heart to tell her that her daughter was a complete tyrant throughout the security scan and half of the flight.

"She was fine." I take a sip of the steaming coffee just as Lisa joins us in the kitchen. The house is old and cramped, too many walls close off too much of the space. The only decorations are brown moving boxes piled in the corners, but I feel oddly comfortable and at ease in Lisa's childhood home. I can tell by the look on her face when she leans down to walk under the archway leading to the kitchen that she doesn't feel the same way about this house. These walls hold too many memories for her, and instantly my impression of the place begins to dim.

"What's with the wallpaper?" she asks.

"I was removing it all to paint before selling, but the new owners are planning to tear the house down anyway. They want to build an entirely new home on the lot," her mother explains. I like the idea of the house being demolished.

"Good, it's a shit house anyway," she grumbles and picks up my coffee cup to take a sip. "Are you tired?" She turns to me.

"I'm fine," I say, meaning it. I enjoy Chit's humor and warm company. I'm tired, but there'll be plenty of time to sleep. It's still fairly early.

"I've been staying at Mike's house, next door. I assumed you wouldn't want to stay there."

"Obviously not," Lisa replies. I take my coffee back from her, giving her a silent plea to be polite to her mother.

"Anyway"—Chit ignores her rude remark—"I have plans for her tomorrow, so I hope you can occupy yourself."

It takes me a moment to realize she's referring to me.

"What sort of plans?" Lisa doesn't seem pleased with the idea.

"Just prewedding things. I have an appointment for us at a spa in town, and then I'd love it if she'd go with me to the last fitting of my wedding dress."

"Of course," I say at the same time that Lisa asks, "How long will that take?"

"Just the afternoon, I'm sure," Chit assures her daughter. "That's only if you want to accompany me, Jennie. You don't have to, I just thought it would be nice for us to spend some time together while you're here."

"I'd love to." I smile at her. Lisa doesn't argue, which is good, because she would have lost.

"I'm glad." She smiles, too. "My friend Susan will be joining us for lunch. She's dying to meet you, she's been hearing about you for so long that she doesn't believe you exist, she—"

Lisa begins to choke on her coffee, interrupting her mother's excited rambling.

"Susan Kingsley?" She eyes Chit, her shoulders tight and her voice shaky.

"Yes . . . well, her name is no longer Kingsley, she's remarried." Chit stares back at her in a way that makes me feel like I've wandered into some sort of private conversation where I'm not wanted. Lisa stares back and forth between her mother and the wall before turning on her heel and leaving us alone in the kitchen.

"I'm going to head next door now for bed. If you need anything, let me know." The excitement in her voice has faded; she sounds drained. Chit leans over and gives me a quick kiss on the cheek before opening the back door and stepping outside.

I stand alone in the kitchen for a few minutes, finishing my coffee, which is pointless, because I need to go to sleep, but I finish it anyway and rinse the cup out in the sink before heading up the staircase to find Lisa. The upstairs hall is empty; torn wallpaper hangs on one side of the narrow passageway, and I can't help but compare Marco's magnificent house to this one; the differences are impossible to ignore.

"Lisa?" I call for her. All the doors are closed, and I don't feel comfortable opening them without knowing what's on the other side.

"Second door," she calls back. I follow her voice to the second door along the hallway and push it open. The handle sticks, and I have to use my foot to get the wood to budge.

Lisa is sitting on the edge of the bed, her head in her hands, when I enter. She looks up at me, and I walk over to her.

"What's wrong?" I ask, running my fingers through her messy hair.

"I shouldn't have brought you here," she says, taking me by surprise.

"Why?" I sit down on the bed next to her, keeping a few inches between our bodies.

"Because"—she sighs—". . . I just shouldn't have." She lies back against the mattress and throws her arm over her face, so I'm unable to read her expression.

"Lisa . . ."

"I'm tired, Jennie, go to sleep." Her voice is muffled by her arm, but I know that this is her way of ending the conversation.

"Aren't you going to change?" I press, not wanting to go to bed without her shirt.

"No." She rolls over onto her stomach and reaches up to shut off the light.