The reason is that I did not know, at that point, whether Giselle Marchetti knew.

That was the only question in my head that had any weight to it, and I could not answer it from a car, and the cost of getting it wrong was a woman in a white dress on the worst day of her life in front of everybody she has ever met.

So I drove to Jacksonville.

Part Three: What I Did Instead

It is seventy minutes from Saint Augustine to my sister’s house in Jacksonville and I do not remember any of it.

What I remember is arriving, and my sister opening the door, and me saying a sentence I had not planned, which was: “I need you to not ask me anything for about an hour.”