“What it means,” he said, with that same wave-it-off ease that didn’t fool either of them, “is we’re going to give the other two venues a run for their money. My girl doesn’t like to lose.” Hepunctuated that with a kiss on Cindy’s nose. “And I love my girl. I gotta go cool down Copper.”
With that, he slipped past MJ and out the door.
Cindy stood a moment longer, then exhaled and looked at MJ. “You doing okay?”
“Mm.” MJ came all the way into the room and put an arm around Cindy, guiding her to the chairs. “It smells nice in here.”
“The only thing she didn’t want to change, MJ. Look at the drapes.”
“Who closes off a view like that?” MJ asked with a face of pure disgust.
“Someone who thinks they should control lighting.” Cindy shrugged. “It’s easier than light time.”
“Invented by us.” MJ laughed and tightened her arm around Cindy. “You know something about Jack?”
“That he’s wonderful?”
“Yes, that. But, whoa, that man loves you.”
Cindy sighed, because sometimes she just couldn’t believe how much. “It knocks me out.”
“Please remember that this is your wedding week, little sister.”
Cindy nodded, her heart a mix of gratitude and nerves. “I know.” Then she eyed MJ, catching something weird in her voice. “Everything okay with you?”
MJ didn’t answer, but when she turned her face to Cindy, something had slipped. Like her optimism—bright, steady, unflappable—had a nick in it.
“I’m fine,” MJ said, too quickly, then shook her head, laughing at herself. “No, I’m not. I’m being dramatic. I’ll stop.”
“Don’t,” Cindy said, taking both of MJ’s hands, warm from the kitchen. “Please. Be dramatic with me.”
MJ stared at their hands, her thumb smoothing across Cindy’s knuckles. “He’s not coming back, is he?” she asked, very softly.
The question darn near hollowed Cindy out.
“I don’t know,” she said, honest enough and kind as she could make it. “I don’t know, MJ.”
“I keep telling myself he’s dealing with something. Maybe it’s a big, noble, ridiculous mess and when he drags himself out of the tunnel, he’ll come straight here and throw his arms around me and say, ‘Oh, how I’ve missed you, Mary Jane.’”
Cindy’s heart cracked from the words and the look of longing in MJ’s eyes.
“And every time the front door opens, my heart…it just—” She pressed her hand to her chest. “It still jumps.”
At the first row of chairs, they sat down like a couple of guests at someone else’s wedding.
“I’m sixty-three,” MJ said, her voice oddly matter-of-fact. “I know I’m notold-old. I’m lively. I can go up and down three flights of stairs without an ache and make breakfast for a full house of hungry guests. But sometimes, I feel like…is that all there is, Cin? Is this it?”
Cindy closed her eyes, knowing that feeling of isolation and disappointment so, so well. She had ten years of them after Jack left. How had she held on? What advice could she give her sister?
Of course, she knew the answer and hoped it would be enough.
“MJ,” she said softly, “even if you never held a man’s hand again, you have Gracie and Benny and Nicole and Red and me. And now Jack. You have family, which is everything you need.”
She huffed out a breath, nodding before whispering, “I guess I got my hopes up.”
“You were born with your hopes up,” Cindy said. “It’s the thing I love most about you.”
“But I started…imagining.” Her voice cracked. “I shouldn’t have.”
