In September, four months after, the manager at Pine Crest called about a box.

There is always a box.

Every venue has a shelf of things people leave behind in the specific chaos of a day that goes wrong.

Ours had a card holder, two of Samantha’s shoes, a folder of seating charts, an engagement ring that had spent four days on a shelf next to some tablecloths, and a white flower basket.

I asked Hannah whether she wanted to drive out with me or whether she’d rather I went alone.

She thought about it overnight, which is a thing she does, and at breakfast she said she’d come.