His phone chirped. Mrs. Johnson, of all people, texting him. Jackie, dear, you are terribly missed. When are you leaving California and coming home? Your father longs to see you.

He had several other texts, too. All three sisters, wondering how the wedding was going. One from Ned, asking if he wanted to go out for a beer, then another saying he forgot he was away. Two from Abby, asking for help with a chemistry project when he got back. One from Goggy that said WJY sek to DDjk. Goggy had just gotten a smartphone and, much to the chagrin of the entire family, complained about the tiny keys and had yet to understand AutoCorrect. That or she’d just had a stroke.

There were five texts and two phone calls from Hadley.

He answered Abby and Mrs. J., told Goggy to stop trying to text until Ned showed her how and ignored Hadley.

He really wished she’d leave town. Honor had told him that she’d moved into the Opera House apartment building. That wasn’t a good sign.

He heard a sound from Emmaline’s room. So she was in there after all.

That had been hard, seeing her flail today. Not being able to make her feel better.

He knocked on the door that separated their rooms. “I hear you, Neal. Open up or I’m calling the front desk and telling them you’re a suicide risk.”

“Don’t bug me, Jack.” She sounded irritable.

“Aren’t we supposed to be in love?”

“Not anymore. I outed us.”

“Yeah, why’d you do that? Twelve hours more, and you’d have been home free.”

“I don’t like lying.”

“Can you open the door? This is stupid.”

“No. I’m very busy.”

“I smell bacon. Now open up and share, or I’ll call Naomi to break the door down.”

She opened the door, and the smell of bacon was much stronger.

Well, her hair looked better, anyway, out of that weird bun thing. She’d showered, and her hair was damp. She smelled good, clean and citrusy. But the skin under her eyes was faintly pink.

She’d been crying.

A surprisingly strong feeling flooded his chest. Emmaline didn’t seem like the type to cry. Ever.

She wore pajama bottoms and a tank top, and there was a smear of brown on her cheek. In her hand was a giant bag of Skittles, and on the table behind her were several white bags, an enormous slab of cake and a bottle of wine.

She folded her arms under her chest and glared at him.

“You ate meat without me? This is the thanks I get?” he asked.

“I could use some time alone, Jack.”

“I think you’ve had plenty of time alone.”

She huffed. “Come in, then. There’s half a cheeseburger left.”

“Have you been crying?” he asked.

“No.”

“Liar. You have frosting on your teeth, by the way.” He picked up the half cheeseburger and took a bite. It was fantastic, by far the best thing he’d eaten since he got there.

She flopped into the chair and grabbed a chunk of cake. “I’m eating my emotions. Show some respect.”

“And what emotions are those, Officer Neal?”

“Irritation, embarrassment, frustration, jealousy, envy, gluttony... How many do you need?”

Jack finished the burger and broke off a chunk of the cake slab. Incredible. It didn’t seem fair that they’d been eating root vegetables and mist when there was food like this around. He poured some wine and looked at the label. A midcoast zinfandel. Took a sip. Not bad with beef and chocolate, actually.

“You’re not really jealous, are you?” he asked. “Not to criticize your taste in men, but he seems like an ass**le, Em.”

“He wasn’t always.” She took a rather savage bite of cake and gnashed away.

“What were you going to say?” Jack asked. “When the DJ gave you the microphone?”

“I don’t know,” she said, swallowing. “That he wasn’t always an ass**le. That he was good and funny and kind until he cheated on me with that...that...that hideous beautiful mannequin with the abs of steel.”

Jack nodded. “How much of that homemade vodka did you have?”

“Oh, shut up. I’m not drunk. Unfortunately, I might add.”

“You know, my wife cheated on me, too.”

“Yeah, Jack, everyone knows that story.” She winced. “I mean, thanks for sharing. It’s just that your sisters talk a lot. Well, Prudence talks a lot. Faith and Honor have never said boo. But it was the best town gossip there for a while. I mean, not best. Just the most interesting. Shit. I’ll stop now.”

“I’d appreciate that. Deeply.”

“Is there something appropriate I’m supposed to say? Like, ‘Sorry your marriage went down in flames’ or something?”

He smiled, unable to stop himself. “You tell me. Maybe they should make a line of cards for people like us. ‘Sorry your fiancé turned out to be a dick.’”

She laughed, choking a little, then took a slug of wine and stretched out her legs so her feet rested on the bed next to him. “How long did it take you to get over what’s-her-name? Blanche DuBois?”

“Let’s talk about you,” he suggested.

“Still a pulsating wound, then?”

“No. It’s just that we’re at your ex’s wedding, and if there’s a raw, pulsating wound, it’s you.” His lovely date gave him the finger. “Come on, Em. How are you doing?”

“I’m just great, Jack. I’m a stuttering, lying, not-pregnant lesbian who puts raw chicken in her bra.”

He grinned. “I can’t tell you how many boxes that checks.”

“Shut up.” But she smiled as she said it. And it was kind of refreshing that she didn’t want to talk.

Her foot was propped up on the bed next to him, and he put his hand on it. Cute foot. Very clean and nice. Smooth skin.

Try not to think about that, Jack, the nobler part of his brain advised. We don’t sleep with heartbroken women.

“Is your heart broken?” he heard himself ask.

She made a face. “No. Not really. It was three years ago.”

“I remember.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. You were moving in, and I helped you carry some boxes.”

“No, I remember. I just didn’t think you did. I bet you were an Eagle Scout.”

“As a matter of fact, I was. We’re trained to help damsels in distress.”

“If you ever call me that again, I’ll kick you in the soft parts.”

She had no idea how appealing she was.

He poured her some more wine. She might have said she didn’t know anything about wine, but she knew how to taste it, holding it in her mouth a second before swallowing, then licking her lips afterward. Even the way she held the glass said so, close to her breast, the red a deep contrast to the white of her—

Ah. She was speaking.

“Old Kevin...he was a peach. He was so nice, Jack. You have no idea. But that guy is gone, and I’m the only one who seemed to notice or care, and for some reason, that makes me feel really, really sad.”

“Sure,” he murmured, making sure he was looking at her face.

“All the things I loved about him...they seem dead now.”