Chapter 4

The car drove another five minutes and got stuck two intersections short of the funeral home. A black van sat crosswise up ahead, its nose wedged into the side road, blocking half the lane.

Nathan stood beside it, bent at the waist, talking to whoever was inside, one hand braced on the door, his whole posture jittery.

I recognized the woman in the passenger seat of that van. Millie hadn't left. She was sitting inside, the window rolled halfway down, showing a profile on the verge of tears, her face tilted up at Nathan, her lips moving over something. When she finished, he reached in through the window and smoothed her hair, a gesture so familiar he could have done it a thousand times.

Then he straightened, and his gaze traveled over the traffic and landed on my silver SUV.

He paused for a second, let go of the door, and strode toward us. Blake glanced at me in the rearview mirror. I gave a small nod. He eased the car to the curb and stopped without cutting the engine.

Nathan came up to the back window and rapped the glass twice. I didn't move. He knocked again, harder this time. "Bianca. Open the door."

I rolled the window halfway down and looked at him through the gap.

"Millie says she wants to go to the station." He was talking fast, out of breath. "I've talked her into it, she agreed to leave, but she wants me to drive her. Bianca, get out first, let me drop her off—"

"Drop her off?" I cut in.

Nathan choked on the words. His eyes flickered. "She's got nowhere to go out here on her own, crying like that. What do you expect her to do?"

"She's sitting in your car crying," I said, "in my jacket." I pointed at the light gray blazer draped over Millie in the passenger seat, the one I'd bought for Nathan.

Nathan glanced down. His brow creased, then smoothed just as fast. "That's… she rushed out today, I put it over her shoulders." He leaned in closer to the window and dropped his voice. "Bianca, listen to me. I'll take her to the station and come right back. We'll deal with the wedding after. Go on ahead to the venue. I'll be quick."

"You'll be quick to what?" I looked at him through the gap in the glass, my voice level. "Quick to come back and carry on with the wedding? Nathan, this morning you called and told me not to give Millie any attitude. Last night you threw me out of the bridal suite so she could sleep in our bed. The day before, you let her pick the wedding venue. The day before that, you had her try on my wedding dress first. Now here you are, standing in front of me in the suit for the wedding, telling me you have to take her away first."

Nathan's expression shifted. His lips pressed into a thin line. He reached for the door handle. Blake had already locked the doors. It clicked and didn't budge.

"Bianca." His hand pressed against the window frame, knuckles pale. "Can you not be like this? There's really nothing between me and Millie. She's just—"

"Just what?" I asked.

He had no answer. Behind him, the door of the black van opened and Millie climbed out. She was wearing that oversized men's blazer, barefoot, having apparently slipped off her heels in the car, and she stepped onto the asphalt and walked over to stand behind Nathan, reaching out to catch the back hem of his jacket.

"Nathan," she said, her voice thin, thick with tears, "don't fight with Bianca. I'll just go, really. I'll get my own cab to the station. Don't let it be about me—"

The tears spilled over as she spoke, two fat drops sliding down her cheeks. She lifted her hand to wipe them, but the sleeve was too long and covered half her face, leaving only a pair of red-rimmed eyes showing.

Nathan turned around and steadied her by the shoulders. "You're dressed like this, how are you supposed to go alone? You don't even have shoes on. Get in. I'll take you."

He turned back to me. The panic in his eyes had drained away, replaced by an impatient kind of weariness. "Bianca, you see how she is. You want me to dump her by the side of the road like this? Are you really this heartless, or just pretending?"

I wasn't looking at Nathan. I was looking at Millie. Half her face showed above the sleeve, tears still clinging to her lashes, but the corner of her mouth held the faintest curve.

Then she let go of the back of Nathan's jacket and stepped back half a pace, her sobbing suddenly easing off. "Never mind, Nathan. I'll go on my own. Don't make this hard on yourself, really." She turned toward the van as she said it, walking barefoot across the pavement, and two steps in her left ankle rolled hard and she pitched toward the ground.

Nathan lunged over in a few quick steps and caught her, scooping her into his arms. She fisted the fabric of his jacket over his chest, buried her face against him, and cried in muffled sobs, her shoulders trembling. His arm clamped tight around her back, his chin resting on the top of her head, his whole face set like stone.

He looked up at me. "Bianca." His voice came out cracked raw. "You're really going to keep pushing her like this? She's twisted her ankle and you're just standing there watching? Can't you even—"

"No," I said.

Nathan's lips quivered.

I rolled the window up, the glass closing an inch at a time, sealing his angry, panicked face out on the other side.

I turned my gaze away and leaned back into the seat.

Before long the iron gate of the funeral home came into view ahead, and I walked into Hall Three.

The mismatched bouquet sat on the white-draped table, the piano lid was up, and I went over and sat down at the piano, laid my fingers on the keys, and pressed a middle C.

The door was open. Down the corridor came Blake's footsteps, layered over another set. Dress shoes striking the marble floor, closer and closer.

The third note wouldn't come. Someone was standing in the doorway, breathing hard, the rise and fall of his chest audible across the whole hall.

Nathan's voice came from behind me, rasping like sandpaper dragged over sheet metal. "Bianca. She's gone. I let her go."

My fingers stayed still on the keys.

"Come down." His steps closed in fast, dress shoes echoing dull against the aisle floor. "Come back with me. The wedding's at the hotel, the car's waiting outside. You can wear that dress, it's fine, all of it's fine. Just stop making a scene here, all right?"

His hand settled on my shoulder. I finally turned around, looked at the lipstick print on his chest, then lifted my eyes to meet his.

"She's gone. So when is she coming back?"