He flew in on the morning of the reception.

Maya was standing on a lawn holding a glass of champagne, in a dress she’d bought in an afternoon, listening to Vania describe a shift from hell, when she saw a tall man in a jacket that didn’t fit right coming up the path from the parking area.

He was walking slowly.

He was holding something in both hands, at chest height, like a man carrying water.

She did not recognize his face.