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  I sat back down on the stool at the counter. “No,” I said dully.

  Sam pulled a stool up next to me, propped his elbows on the counter, and dropped his forehead onto the heels of his hands. He kept his face down and I wondered for a moment if he was trying not to cry.

  Charlie glanced at me. Then he sat down abruptly on the arm of the sofa. “I can fight my own battles, Kristy. But thanks.”

  “Yeah, well,” I said. “I had something to say too.”

  “He deserved it,” Charlie said. “And more.”

  Sam raised his head. “Good work, Chuck,” he said with awful sarcasm.

  “What’s wrong with you? I said you could go without me,” Charlie shot back.

  “Like I’m going to leave you guys here,” Sam said. “You’re my family. Not Dad. Not like that.”

  I put my hand on Sam’s shoulder.

  “But he is our father,” Sam went on. “Don’t you get it? He’s not perfect …”

  “Duh,” said Charlie.

  “Shut up! Shut up and let me finish,” Sam said. “He’s not perfect, he’s not even close to perfect. But he’s our father!”

  Charlie and I looked at Sam. I could feel his shoulder shaking beneath my hand. Unnerved, I removed it.

  “You think I’m some kind of wimp because I want to get along with Dad? Because I want to forgive him and put it behind me? Well, I’m not. I was there too when he left, remember? You think I didn’t miss him? You think I didn’t wonder why he left?”

  “Sam,” said Charlie.

  “You think I didn’t hate him? That I didn’t wonder whether maybe, if I’d been a better kid, he wouldn’t have left?”

  “Sam!” I cried out, shocked.

  “But I grew up anyway, Charlie. And I decided to come to the wedding. I decided to make the best of it. And I’m sick of you pouting like a — a — a six-year-old.”

  I looked at Sam. I said softly, “I thought it was my fault. That he left. And you know what? I thought if I was really good, he might come back.”

  Charlie thumped his fist on the arm of the sofa. “That’s not true. That’s not why he left. He left because he’s irresponsible. We were keeping him from his big career as a sportswriter. Some big career that turned out to be.”

  “But we were just kids. We didn’t understand,” Sam said softly. “Any more than you did, Charlie.”

  Charlie didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then he said, looking out the window, “Patrick used to spend hours practicing pitching and grounding with me. We’d get up early to do it, before even you were awake, Sam.”

  “I know. I’d wake up and you’d be dressed and gone. I remember Mom calling you guys in for breakfast, even in bad weather.”

  “And you guys taught me to play,” I said. “Remember? We’d have games on Saturdays? Patrick would organize us into teams — everyone who wanted to play. All the kids in the neighborhood could join in.” I paused and said, “Who knows? Maybe that’s where I got the idea for the Krushers.”

  “You remember that time Mom and Dad took us all to see the women’s state playoffs?” Sam said. “That was so much fun. Dad knew everybody. And he had these great seats because he was a sportswriter.”

  I had a sudden flash of memory: a crowd, Mom and Dad laughing, the smell of hot dogs and popcorn.

  “I remember,” I said.

  “He really likes sports,” said Charlie.

  “We all do,” I said.

  Sam nodded, then smiled a little and said, “But I don’t ever remember him liking to cook.”

  “Yeah. Who would ever believe he’d trade in a baseball glove for an oven mitt?” Charlie said.

  “You think he talks about baseball in the kitchen? Or sports?” Sam said.

  “I bet he tells stories all the time,” I said.

  Sam held up his hand. “Now, this steak,” he said in a deep voice, motioning to an imaginary piece of meat in his hand. “It reminds me of that old baseball saying about this pitcher, you ever heard it? ‘He could throw a lamb chop past a wolf.’ ”

  We all laughed, and I felt the tension in my body ease.

  “I guess he’s changed. Some,” I said.

  “And I guess he’s stayed the same. A lot,” said Charlie.

  “We get the point, Charlie,” Sam said. “But get this point: Patrick’s not ever going to live up to our expectations of him, not the ones we had when we were children. And we’re not kids anymore.”

  “So I should lower my expectations,” Charlie said. He made a face. “Great.”

  “Is that so bad?” Sam ask. “To lower the expectations you had when you were a kid?”

  “I guess I don’t expect Santa Claus to come down the chimney anymore,” I said.

  “Or maybe I shouldn’t have any expectations at all,” Charlie said, and I could tell he didn’t like the idea. Something in me twisted and I realized I didn’t like it either.

  Sam looked down at his feet. “Maybe,” he said softly.

  I think it was at that moment I gave up, finally and forever, the idea of Patrick as my dad.

  I said, trying to keep my voice from cracking, “After all, we’ve got a great family. Without Patrick.”

  Without Patrick.

  “I guess he’s trying,” Charlie said. “But don’t forget, I didn’t want to come to this wedding in the first place. I only did it because you guys practically begged me.”

  “Well, you’re here now,” Sam said. “And Patrick is what he is. He’s trying, at least. Why can’t you try too, just for this one week? It’s a lot better, a lot easier, than hating him.”

  “But I don’t hate him,” Charlie said. He paused. “I don’t hate him,” he repeated.

  I jumped up. “Hey, what’s the point of getting all dressed up with no place to go?” I said. “Let’s go to the rehearsal dinner.”

  I held my breath. But Sam was on his feet immediately. “We should. For Zoey if not for Dad.”

  We both looked at Charlie. “Well?” Sam said. “Do we call a cab or what?”

  “Start dialing,” said Charlie, standing up too. “I guess … I guess we can’t strand him on third base. He doesn’t deserve a great team like us. But somebody’s got to be on his side.”

  The rehearsal dinner was just ending when we arrived. The crowd wasn’t a big one, and we made quite an entrance.

  Patrick stared at us.

  Zoey was the first to her feet. “Oh, good,” she said. “I’m so glad you could make it.” She held out her hands to us as she hurried forward.

  “I’m hungry,” Sam blurted out. “It smells great.”

  “I think we can still give you a little something to eat,” Zoey said. “Who haven’t you met?”

  Patrick was on his feet now too. The smile he gave us was uncertain.

  Charlie stepped forward and held out his hand. “Sorry we’re late,” he said.

  Patrick took Charlie’s hand and shook it vigorously. “That’s okay,” he said. “You made it.”

  He shook hands with Sam and then he hugged me so hard it made me gasp.

  Zoey introduced us to everyone, even the waiters. As they poured more coffee, she somehow managed to clear away three places at the table where she’d been sitting with Patrick.

  “Stay here,” she said to Patrick. “I’ll start organizing people to go over to the veranda.”

  We ate hastily as Zoey moved from one table to the other. “She looks like a sheepherder,” I observed.

  Patrick, who’d been uncharacteristically silent, suddenly laughed. “True. And keep in mind that a few of those are wolves in sheep’s clothing. This is the first time that some of these people have been in the same room together for years…. It reminds me of the time I was at this sports awards dinner. The finalists were two guys who absolutely hated each other. No one knew what to expect. They were at opposite ends of the guests of honor table, but you could feel the tension. And you know how it is with writing. You can’t help hoping, maybe a little, that something
wild and crazy will happen, just to make an ordinary story interesting.”

  Patrick, cheerful and possibly a little hyper from relief, rattled on as Zoey rejoined us and we quickly ate our dinner. Then we hurried to the veranda on the hill, where the wedding was to be held.

  It had an amazing view, especially with the sun going down. I stopped for a moment to stare out over the water, trying to get my bearings. If I was facing west, what was on the other side? And which way was home?

  Charlie said, “I have to tell you, Zoey, I’m not going to be in the wedding.”

  She only nodded, then motioned to Patrick. He took the news calmly enough. “If that’s the way you feel, then,” he said.

  “Sam’s going to be in it. You’ll have a best man,” Charlie said.

  “No,” said Sam, making a joke as always. “The best man.”

  Then the rehearsal began — and stopped almost immediately.

  “No!” cried Maude, Mr. Amberson’s fourth wife, pressing both hands to her chest dramatically. She reminded me for a moment of my stepsister, Karen, who is also fond of melodrama. “Oh, no!”

  Zoey, who had been about to proceed down the aisle (made up of a single row of chairs on either side, in which we were all sitting), stopped obediently.

  I saw the look of anticipation and amusement on Patrick’s face and guessed that he was hoping, well, for the worst.

  “What is it, Maude?” Zoey asked. “Are you okay?”

  Maude rushed forward and tugged at Zoey’s arm. “It’s terrible luck for the bride to participate in the rehearsal. You can’t do it. You must have someone stand in for you.”

  “She’s right,” said Mona.

  “It’s true,” agreed Ariel. Then the two ex-wives and the current wife looked at one another, startled. I don’t think they’d ever expected to agree on anything.

  The moment of harmony vanished, though, when Mona said, “I’ll stand in for you, Zoey.”

  “No, I will,” said Ariel.

  “Don’t be silly,” said Maude. “I’m the one who thought of it. I can do it, Zoey, dear.”

  “I don’t believe this,” Zoey’s father said, his bushy gray eyebrows snapping together in a frown. “You already got married once this year, Maude. Isn’t that enough for you?”

  Zoey’s mother made a sound that might have been laughter and Zoey’s grandmother said to her, in what she must have imagined was a low voice, “Not if it was to him.”

  The look of unholy glee on Patrick’s face grew. He stepped back two paces and waited to see what would happen. Zoey looked around desperately. Her father hadn’t heard what his former mother-in-law had said, but almost everyone else had.

  “Why don’t I do it?” I heard myself volunteer. “It’d be fun.”

  Now I heard a smothered snort from where Sam was standing by the altar. He knew, and Charlie did too, that standing up in a wedding rehearsal was not my idea of a good time.

  “Thank you, Kristy. Why don’t we let Kristy join in the fun?” Zoey said.

  What could anyone say? Everyone nodded and smiled and said what a fine idea it was, then resumed their battle stations on either side of the aisle.

  Stepping aside, Zoey rolled her eyes at me. I took her place, and we went through the rehearsal. Sam escorted Zoey’s best friend, Jessica, who was her maid of honor, down the aisle, and they parted at the table that was serving as the stand-in for the altar. I followed alone.

  Since the wedding wasn’t going to be a big one, the rehearsal didn’t take long. We walked through it once, then took a quick break while Zoey and the minister consulted on something. I found myself standing by Zoey’s mom, Jeannie Amberson. Mrs. Argos, Zoey’s grandmother, and Ariel had begun an animated conversation, at least animated on Zoey’s grandmother’s part. She was telling Ariel all about her own wedding.

  “Well done, Kristy,” said Ms. Amberson. “You stepped in and saved what could have been a bit of a messy situation.”

  “No problem,” I said.

  “I’m glad you and your brothers could make it out for the wedding. I know that’s one of the reasons Zoey wanted to have it in the summer, so it wouldn’t interfere with school.”

  “Oh,” I said. “That was nice of her.” I didn’t know what else to say.

  “You know,” Ms. Amberson went on, “I’m surprised that Zoey is getting married. She was always so independent. I hope Patrick can understand that and appreciate it.”

  “I think he will,” I said. I watched as Patrick slipped his arm around Zoey and whispered in her ear. She nodded, smiling up at him, and his whole face was changed by the simple, happy smile he gave back to her. “It’s pretty obvious he loves her.”

  The minister raised her hands and said, “Once more, just to be sure, everyone.”

  We went back to our positions. Patrick and Charlie were talking quietly at one side of the altar. Had Charlie changed his mind about being a best man?

  But no. I saw Charlie shake his head. Patrick gave Charlie a nod and an awkward pat on the shoulder and Charlie returned to his seat.

  We returned home in comfortable silence. I discovered, as I walked into the house, that I was tired, and I said so.

  “Me too,” said Charlie. “See you guys in the morning.” He made a quick exit. Sam and I hung around long enough to check the late-night box scores for baseball, then retreated to our rooms.

  A little while later, as I turned back the covers of one of the twin beds in the room, a tap sounded on the door.

  “Come in,” I said.

  Zoey opened the door. “I have a favor to ask,” she said. “Can I sleep in here tonight?”

  My heart jumped. Had she and Patrick had a fight?

  Seeing the alarm in my face, Zoey laughed. “Don’t worry. It’s just another one of those wedding customs. The groom isn’t supposed to see the bride on the morning of the wedding. I put all my stuff in the study, and I’m going to get dressed there. Mom and Grandmama and Jessica are coming over to help.”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Thanks,” said Zoey.

  She settled into the other bed, reached out, and turned off the bedside light. About half a second later, she turned it on again.

  “I can’t sleep,” she announced. “At least, not right away. Would it bother you if I read or something? Or I could go downstairs. Maybe make some hot chocolate, except I don’t really want any — unless you do? Maybe I could fix you some?”

  She’d swung her feet over the side of the bed and I registered the fact that the oversize nightshirt she was wearing was printed with coffee cups.

  “No, thanks,” I said.

  Zoey settled back. She reached out to turn off the light.

  Somehow, I wasn’t surprised when, maybe ninety seconds later, she turned it on again.

  “Kristy,” she said. “Are you sleepy?”

  I had to laugh. And laughing woke me up a little. “Not really,” I said half truthfully.

  “I’m not sleepy at all. I should be exhausted. I must be nervous about tomorrow. How could I be? I mean, we practiced this already. This is just the dress-up version, right? Nothing to be nervous about. The rehearsal wasn’t perfect, but hey, break a leg, right?”

  “Uh, right,” I said. “Bad rehearsal, good show. If the rehearsal had gone well, then you’d have something to worry about.”

  I liked Zoey more than ever at that moment. I sat up, fluffed my pillow, and turned to look at her.

  “I keep thinking there’s something I’ve forgotten,” Zoey said.

  “Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue?” I asked.

  “Done, done, done, and done.”

  We were silent for a moment. Then I said, “Zoey, I …”

  At the exact same instant, Zoey began, “Kristy, there’s …”

  We stopped. We stared at each other. Zoey said, “You first.”

  I hadn’t known I was going to say it, but suddenly, there I was, blurting it out. “Zoey, I don’t know what
Patrick has told you. But in case you wondered why Charlie’s been a little bit hostile, it’s because Patrick … hasn’t been a great father. In fact, he’s been the father who wasn’t there, especially for David Michael.”

  Zoey drew her knees up and clasped her hands around them. I continued. “He just walked out on us. I guess he had reasons a little kid couldn’t understand, but that’s the way it seemed to me, at least. And to Charlie and Sam. I’ve heard from him the most, but that’s just a couple of postcards and birthday cards and some random meetings.”

  “I know,” Zoey said softly.

  “And you talked about having a family. Well, what if he does the same thing to you that he did to us? I mean, I can’t tell if he’s changed. How could I? I was just six when he left.”

  “I know,” Zoey said again.

  “He told you everything?” I was surprised. Telling the unpleasant truth didn’t strike me as one of my father’s strong points, then or now. He preferred to go away, avoid trouble — unless, of course, it didn’t involve him and would make a good story.

  Shaking her head, Zoey said, “Some. Not much. Not in so many words. I made him tell me a good bit of it. He talked about you a lot, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize that the stories he told all stopped when you were six and Charlie was just ten and Sam was, what, eight or nine? And all your photographs were the same — pictures of little kids. And a baby.”

  “You made him tell you?” I couldn’t imagine anyone making my father do anything. And yet, Zoey had already proved herself able to exercise the power of persuasion on my dad, at least with regard to tuxedos.

  “I did,” said Zoey. “He didn’t like it. But he didn’t like the alternative either.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “I think your mother must be a brave woman,” Zoey said out of the blue. “To raise such great kids on her own. And I think it’s too bad that their father was a charming little boy who couldn’t handle the responsibility.”

  Whoa. Zoey wasn’t holding back.

  “But Kristy, it’s been a lot of years. Your father’s grown up.” She smiled. “At least, somewhat. I suspect he’ll always be one of those guys who’s a bit of a kid. He’ll be an especially great father when our kids are young.”