“I was in the hospital with Chloe the day this was notarized.”

At eight o’clock, Susan stood beside me in the small clothing boutique near the town square.

The street outside was dark, but the shop owner had kept the lights on for us twenty minutes past closing time.

“She’s letting us stay because we go to the same parish,” Susan said, pushing her glasses up her nose as she flipped through a metal rack of evening dresses.

“You can’t wear an old navy sweater to a formal wedding, Ronnie.”