One day, I’m sure that someone will move back in. It won’t be Jane and me, nor could I imagine any of the other siblings here, but it seemed inevitable. It was also inevitable that this would happen only long after Noah was gone.

A few minutes later, Anna and Jane arrived, dust billowing behind the car as they pulled up the drive. I met them in the shade of a giant oak tree. Both were looking around, and I could see the anxiety mounting on Jane’s face. Anna was chewing gum, and she offered a brief smile.

“Hi, Daddy,” she said.

“Hi, sweetheart. How did it go today?” I asked.

“It was fun. Mom was in a panic, but we finally got it worked out. The bouquet is ordered. and so are the corsages and boutonnieres.”

Jane didn’t seem to hear her; she was still glancing around frantically. I knew she was thinking there was no way the property would be ready in time. Because she visits less frequently than I, I think she had retained the image of how this place used to look, not how it looked today.

I brought a hand to her shoulder. “Do not worry, it will be magnificent,” I reassured her, echoing the promise of the landscaper.

Later, Jane and I strolled the grounds together. Anna had wandered off to talk to Keith on her cell phone. As we walked, I related the ideas I had discussed with Nathan, but I could tell her mind was elsewhere.

When pressed, Jane shook her head. “It’s Anna,” she confessed with a sigh. “One minute she’s into the plans, and the next minute she isn’t. And she can’t seem to make any decisions on her own. Even with the flowers. She didn’t know what colors she wanted for the bouquets, she didn’t know which varieties. But as soon as I say that I like something, she says that she does, too. It’s driving me crazy. I mean, I know this whole thing is my idea, but still, it’s her wedding.”

“She’s always been like that,” I said. “Don’t you remember when she was little? You used to tell me the same thing when the two of you went shopping for school clothes.”

“I know,” she said, but her tone suggested something else was bothering her.

“What is it?” I asked.

“I just wish we had more time.” Jane sighed. “I know we’ve gotten a few things done, but if we had more time, I could arrange for a reception of some sort. As lovely as the ceremony will be, what about afterward? She’ll never have another chance to experience something like this.”

My wife, the hopeless romantic.

“Why don’t we have a reception, then?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Why don’t we have one here? We’ll just open up the house.”

She looked at me as if I’d lost my senses. “For what? We don’t have a caterer, we don’t have tables, we won’t have any music. Those things take time to arrange. It’s not as if you can snap your fingers and have everyone you need come running.”

“That’s what you said about the photographer, too.”

“Receptions are different,” she explained with an air of finality.

“Then we’ll do it differently,” I persisted. “Maybe we’ll have some of the guests bring food.”

She blinked. “Pot luck?” She didn’t try to hide her dismay. “You want to have a pot luck dinner for the reception?”

I felt myself shrink a bit. “It was just an idea,” I mumbled.

She shook her head and looked off into the distance. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s not a big deal, anyway. It’s the ceremony that matters.”

“Let me make some calls,” I offered. “Maybe I can arrange something.”

“There’s not enough time,” she repeated.

“I do know people who do things like this.”

This was true. As one of only three estate lawyers in town—and for the early part of my career the only one—it seemed that I knew most of the business owners in the county.

She hesitated. “I know you do,” she said, but the words sounded like an apology. Surprising myself, I reached for her hand.

“I’ll make some calls,” I said. “Trust me.”

It might have been the seriousness with which I spoke, or the earnestness of my gaze, but as we stood together, she looked up and seemed to study me. Then, ever so slowly, she squeezed my hand to profess her confidence in me.

“Thank you,” she said, and with her hand clutching mine, I felt a strange sensation of déjà vu, as if our years together had suddenly been reversed. And for the briefest moment, I could see Jane standing under the trellis again—I’d just heard the story of her parents, and we were our youthful selves, the future bright and promising before us. Everything was new, as it was so long ago, and when I watched her leave with Anna a minute later, I was suddenly certain that this wedding was the most blessed thing to have happened to us in years.

Chapter Seven

Dinner was nearly ready when Jane walked in the door later that evening.

I set the oven on low—tonight was chicken cordon bleu—and I wiped my hands as I left the kitchen.

“Hey there,” I said.

“Hey. How’d it go with the calls?” she asked, setting her purse on the end table. “I forgot to ask you earlier.”

“So far, so good,” I said. “Everyone on the list said they could make it. At least the ones that I’ve heard from, anyway.”

“Everyone? That’s . . . amazing. People are usually on vacation this time of year.”

“Like us?”

She gave a carefree laugh, and I was pleased to see that she seemed in a better mood. “Oh, sure,” she said with a wave, “we’re just sitting around and relaxing, aren’t we?”

“It’s not so bad.”

She caught the aroma from the kitchen, and her face took on a puzzled expression. “Are you making dinner again?”

“I didn’t think you’d be in the mood to cook tonight.”

She smiled. “That was sweet.” Her eyes met mine and seemed to linger a bit longer than usual. “Would you mind if I shower before we eat? I’m kind of sweaty. We were in and out of the car all day.”

“Not at all,” I said, waving a hand.

A few minutes later, I heard water moving through the pipes. I sautéed the vegetables, reheated the bread from the night before, and was setting the table when Jane entered the kitchen.