There was something about a wedding. No matter how much you put into it, you could always put in more. There was always someone else you could call, some other question you could ask, something else you could buy. You could put every worry, every desire, every whim, every moment of your waking day into a wedding, and it was big enough to absorb them all.

And weddings were cheerful. Wedding planning was cheerful. The colors were bright and the people you talked to laughed and smiled easily. They cheerfully and laughingly took your money.

A wedding was an opportunity for control. You could present yourself and your life and your husband-to-be exactly as you chose, and there would be a million pictures to document it. For as long as you lived you could imagine that your wedding was what you really were and not just what you labored and paid to have it look like.

Control meant there were also things you could leave out of a wedding.

“Mom, do you know when Big Carmen’s going to be in Puerto Rico?” Carmen asked casually, when she called her mother from the set.

“First of March to mid-April.”

“Do you know the exact date in April? Are we talking the twelfth? The sixteenth?”

“I don’t know—more like the sixteenth. You could call her. Why?”

“I’m just trying to nail down the date for the wedding.”

“It won’t be before the sixteenth, will it?”

“Well …”

“Carmen.”

“What?”

“You are not attempting to have this wedding without Abuela, are you?” Her mother could be annoyingly perceptive on occasion.

“Well, if she’s going to be in Puerto Rico, then I’m not going to expect her to—”

“Carmen, I don’t care if your grandmother is in Timbuktu, there is no way she is missing your wedding. If she has to crawl to the church, she will be there.”

Carmen decided this wasn’t the best time to mention that it wasn’t going to be in a church. “Well, Mom.” She sounded like she was five. “What if it’s a really small wedding?”

Her mother sighed. “Even if your wedding is so small you don’t have a groom, Abuela will expect to be there. Honestly, Carmen, banish the thought. She has been talking about your wedding since the day you were born.”

Carmen slid her eyes down the long list of calls she had teed up. She huffed out her breath. “Fine.”

“Carmen?”

Carmen pressed the end call button as a new PA poked his head into the makeup trailer. “Yeah?” She couldn’t think of the guy’s name.

“They need you on set.”

“Now?” she asked grumpily, as though she were being prettied up and paid to do nothing more than plan her wedding on her iPhone.

By day Bridget weeded the unimpressive garden of the Sea Star Inn and repaired a stone wall. By night she washed glasses and plates in the cocktail lounge, where the smells were really killing her. Through all the hours she found herself thinking of Tibby. She’d kept those thoughts at bay before, but now she let them come. She remembered and wondered and conjectured.

Some days she started with the earliest memories of childhood and worked forward through high school, college. The Traveling Pants years. And then after they graduated, Tibby living in New York and waiting tables and writing her scripts. And then about nine months later, both herself and Carmen landing in New York too. She remembered the two-plus years she and Tibby and Carmen and unofficially Lena had been roommates on Avenue C. And then Tibby moved in with Brian, first to Long Island City, then to Greenpoint, then to Bedford-Stuyvesant, always in search of cheaper apartments, as Tibby tried to get her screenplays bought and her films produced and Brian tried to get his software company off the ground.

About a year later, shortly after their twenty-seventh birthdays, was when Tibby disappeared. With almost no warning she moved to Australia. Bridget remembered going to surprise her at her and Brian’s ground-floor apartment in Bed-Stuy on Halloween. Bridget was in her full Indiana Jones costume, including the hat and the whip, carrying a box of caramel apples, ringing their buzzer and banging on the door, but no one was home. Finally Bridget climbed up to peer in the front window and saw that the apartment was empty.

Tibby emailed her and Carmen and Lena a short while later explaining the move. It was a project for Brian’s work. It paid really well. It would probably be only three or four months. Radical, huh? she’d written. Australia!

Tibby emailed pretty regularly for those first couple of months. Cellphone service was tricky, but she wasn’t out of touch. She sent comically sappy ecards for each of them at Christmas. But then three months had gone by. And then four and six and eight. They kept waiting for her to come home, but she didn’t. They pestered her endlessly about it. When are you coming home? That was the subject line of every email Bridget sent her. When? When? When?

Tibby’s communication fell off about four months after she’d gone, just at the time they thought she’d be coming back. There were very few emails from her after that, and the tone of them changed. Suddenly she was noncommittal about when she’d return.

It took them a couple of months to pick up on this change, to register that it wasn’t just one but all of them who’d experienced it. In June, they finally convened at a diner in New York to discuss it. They talked themselves down from crisis mode.

“She’s probably working on something big,” Carmen hypothesized. “You know how she gets when she’s in the middle of a script.”

“Maybe since she and Brian are already over there, they decided to spend the summer in the bush or diving along the Great Barrier Reef,” Bridget had suggested. “That’s what I would do. And there’s no calling or emailing from there.”

Tibby’s birthday emails in September didn’t really say anything; they were without information or intimacy. In retrospect, they were hauntingly vacant.

That was where the real troubles must have started, as best Bridget could tell. They weren’t prepared for Tibby’s departure. They didn’t know how to handle it. They couldn’t even acknowledge to themselves that it was real, that Tibby was far away. It wasn’t the physical distance; they’d managed that before. It was the fact that for the first time in their lives one of them was really, purposely, extensively out of touch. They couldn’t bring themselves to imagine it was true.

As she looked back, Bridget had the distinct sense of them all being stuck in time from that point forward. They never said it out loud, but it seemed implicitly disloyal to have fun together in Tibby’s absence, to make any big changes, to allow anything significant to happen without Tibby being part of it. They waited for Tibby to come back, spiritually if not physically, so they could resume their lives. They’d never accepted her absence. They didn’t know how to live if it wasn’t together.

That was why Bridget, why all of them, had been so thrilled and relieved about the Greece trip, why they’d thought this bewildering, isolating era of their lives was finally coming to an end. Thank God we’ll be together again. It had never been Bridget’s idea to fall apart, but they certainly had. She understood that now.

Why had Tibby done it? Why had she left like that? That was the part Bridget couldn’t understand.

Some days she worked backward, starting with the time just before the tickets for Greece came. She tried to connect those days to the days before and the days before that, to try to find some thread back to the time when she’d felt like she understood Tibby and lived a mostly rational life.

In her mind she looked for an explanation, a missing piece. Maybe Brian left Tibby and broke her heart. Maybe that was the cause of her falling out of touch. But wouldn’t she have confided her sorrows to them?

The two people Bridget would have wanted to ask were Brian himself and Alice, Tibby’s mother. What did they know? But her desire to find out was overwhelmed by her apprehension that neither of them knew what had really happened. Bridget had managed to call Alice a few nights before, but the conversation went nowhere. As far as she could tell, Alice believed Tibby had simply drowned. It was a senseless tragedy, an accident, and that was all. Maybe Tibby didn’t want anyone else to know the truth, and Bridget didn’t want to be the person to tell it.

One night Bridget borrowed Sheila’s computer and searched for Tibby’s name in Australia. It took a few rounds and refinements, but eventually her name came up, along with an address. Bridget’s hands shook as she located the address on the map. She zeroed in closer and closer, and when she got right into the middle of town, she turned the map to the satellite setting. It was a small town. A village, really. Bridget could navigate over each of the buildings and study every street. She saw the figures in the satellite images and wondered how long ago the pictures had been taken, whether one of them could be Tibby.

That was when the idea came to her. She knew what she would do. It was something she wished, with excruciating remorse, that she’d done when Tibby was alive.

It would seem cowardly to make sure Effie wasn’t going to be home the weekend Lena picked to go back to Bethesda, but Lena was pretty cowardly. She called both her mom and her dad separately to tell them she was coming and to fish around a little. Her mom might be tricky enough to push her and Effie together without their knowledge, but her dad wasn’t. He always blurted out the thing he wasn’t supposed to say and forgot to tell you the thing he was supposed to say. He wasn’t trying to make trouble, she knew. He was just bad at keeping track, and the forbidden things stayed closer to the front of his mind.

“Sweetheart, I’m so happy you came,” her mother said for the third time as Lena sat in their big, shiny kitchen and drank the tea her mother had made. The tea had more milk and honey than Lena would have put in, but it tasted good.

“I’m happy too,” Lena said. She wanted to express herself honestly without indicating that she was open to a full examination.

Anticipating this trip, Lena had expected her mother to jump down her throat at the first possible opportunity, to ask a million jarring questions, to shine her maternal klieg light on all the tender, hidden spots. But she hadn’t. She was companionably quiet. She put some groceries away.

“Did you set a time with Alice?” Ari asked after the last bag was balled up in the recycling bin.

Lena shook her head. This was the part of her weekend where the real dread kicked in. “No, I just told her I’d stop by in the afternoon.”

Her mother nodded. “Do you want me to go with you?”

Lena looked up, surprised by the offer. She had forgotten, at her age, that her mother could do something like that for her, that there was anything truly helpful her mother could do to solve her problems. She could see the strain in her mother’s face, but also the willingness, and she admired her for it.

Lena considered. “Thank you for offering. I really appreciate it. But I think I should go on my own.”

“Okay,” Ari said.

“You’ve been over?”

“A couple of times.”

Lena nodded. “I bet you brought food.”

“Loads of it.”

Lena pictured it and it made her hungry. “Spanakopita, I bet. Nicky loves that.”

“And other things.”

Her mother sat down, something she rarely did. Her expression was thoughtful. “It’s hard to know what to do.”

Lena wondered if it was too late to turn out like her mother. “At least you try,” she said. “At least you do something.”

First they sat in the kitchen while Alice attempted to make them coffee. Lena sat at the table and watched Alice search for one thing and then another. The coffee filters. No coffee filters. She looked in a harried way in hopeless places, like in the refrigerator and under the sink. A piece of the grinder was broken. The instructions were around there somewhere. And the milk? They were just out of milk. It was a strange reversal for Lena.

“It’s okay. I didn’t really want any coffee anyway,” Lena said.

Alice was squatting on the floor, unloading the contents of the lower pantry by then. “I think we have instant.”

Lena wished she could say something to Alice to get her to relax and sit down at the table with her, but by that time Alice was on the phone to Loretta, the housekeeper they’d had for over a million years, asking where the instant coffee was, and Lena understood that Alice didn’t want to sit down at the table with her. Lena understood because she knew very well what ants-in-your-pants evasion looked like. It was what she herself did all the time.

Alice didn’t want to meet her eyes or hazard a bit of quiet creeping between them. She didn’t want a space to open where they might have to talk about Tibby and what had happened and how it had happened and how much they missed her. In fact, Alice clearly dreaded it.

Lena looked at Alice finding the yellowed instructions for the grinder on the high shelf, and in Alice she saw herself. Lena always thought she masked it so cleverly, but seeing it across the room, it struck her as tragically transparent.

Lena didn’t want to make Alice talk about anything she didn’t want to talk about—Lena of all people wouldn’t do that to her. Lena didn’t want to introduce anything hard or sad. She just wanted Alice to sit down. She just wanted Alice to know that she cared about her. Was this how it was for the people who cared about Lena? Like her mom? Like Carmen, Effie, and Bee? Like Tibby?

“How’s Nicky liking the new school?” Lena asked casually. She knew he’d switched to Maret for his junior year, leaving the public high school where they’d all gone.

For the first time Alice looked up at her. “Not too bad. Pretty good,” she said.

“It’s supposed to be a great school,” Lena said. “And hard. Harder than Bethesda, I’m sure.”

“Yes. It is.” There was a glimmer of pride in Alice’s face as she stood and drifted toward the table where Lena sat. “He’s working a lot harder than he’s worked before and getting Bs. He got an A in physics. He was proud of that.”

Lena shook her head ruefully. “I remember physics. I didn’t get an A.”

Alice rested her hip against the table tentatively. “It’s a different ball game at this school. Nicky pulled two all-nighters before his American history exam.”

“Wow,” Lena said.

Alice laughed and shook her head. “Not like you girls, sunbathing on our roof all afternoon before your history exams …” Alice stopped herself. Her face got complicated and her eyes began to fill. She looked down at her hand and began to twist her ring around.

Lena heard the gnashing gears of the dread machine starting up again and she wished she could silence them. But this time, for once, it wasn’t her gears making all the noise. The volume of Alice’s dread drowned Lena’s out. It made Lena more empathetic, a little bolder.

We’ll just have to feel our way through this, she thought.

Perry didn’t have the money to lend her. Bridget knew because she called and asked him.

“I wish I could,” he told her. “We’ve got credit card debt and we can barely scrape the rent together this month. Ask me again in July when I’m done with school and have a job, and I’ll give you whatever I have.”

She called her father twice and got impatient. He never answered his phone, and she had no good way for him to call her back whenever he got around to it, so she didn’t bother leaving messages.

She sucked it up, took a bus to San Francisco, and marched into Eric’s office. She’d worn clean clothes for the occasion. She’d failed at brushing her hair, which was heading precariously toward dreadlocks, but at least she had tied it back neatly. When she’d hugged Sheila and made her goodbyes after nearly three weeks at the Sea Star Inn, Sheila had held her at arm’s length and given her an approving once-over. “My, you clean up nice.”

Eric was surprised to see her, so surprised that his face registered joy and relief before anything else. He immediately wrapped her in his arms. “I’m so glad to see you,” he said. “I’m so glad you’re all right.”

When they sat down together, there were tears in their eyes, but no recriminations. “I’ve been a wreck about you.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. She was moved by his love for her, even after what she’d done. She was aching over the things she wasn’t telling him. “I’m sorry I just left like that. I’m sorry I haven’t called. I’m sorry for why I’m here.”

He took her hand and studied her fingers one at a time. He had a knowing look, but not a damning one. He was sorry for her. He knew her history. He knew what this had done to her. “Why are you here?”

“I’m not staying. I came because I need to borrow money.”

He nodded. She expected him to ask why and what for, but he held back. She almost wished he would ask and demand and blame, because then maybe she could feel angry at him instead of this terrible missing.

“How much?”

She hadn’t even thought this far. “I guess …” She calculated. How much did it cost to get to Australia? She could buy a one-way ticket if it came to that and figure out the rest later. “A thousand? Eight hundred might be all right.”

“Okay.” His face was not only handsome, but a part of her. He had sweat circles under his arms and a splotch of ink on his fingers. “Will you walk with me to the bank?”

“Of course.”

He put his arm around her shoulders as they walked, and they fell into a comfortable step together. It felt sad and good to be with him.

She waited in the bank’s lobby while he went to a window and spoke with a teller. He came back to her and handed her an envelope.

She looked down so he wouldn’t see the emotion in her face. “Thanks,” she said. “I don’t deserve it.”

“Are you going right away?”

She stared at his slightly wrinkled pants, his scuffed office shoes. She was tempted to stay. They could walk to Chinatown and get dim sum together. They could slip into the bathroom and make love.

With a pang, Bridget thought of Tabitha. She put a hand to her abdomen. She could tell him. She could tell him the whole thing. Could she do that? She tried to think of one or two starting words, and she felt her vision closing in as though she might faint. She felt the agonizing restlessness in her joints and a tingling like an attack of red ants on the bottoms of her feet.

She couldn’t. “Yes, I am leaving right away,” she said. She leaned in and kissed him on the lips. There was obvious passion in it, even after all this. If she stayed near him too much longer, she wouldn’t be able to go, and she knew she couldn’t stay.

She walked away down Pine Street, toward Powell. Her chest ached. She meant not to look back, but she couldn’t help it. She turned and he was standing there, watching her go. He didn’t wave or smile. He looked sad. When she turned a second time he was gone.

She didn’t open the envelope until she’d gotten to the bus station and needed to pay for her ticket. He hadn’t given her the thousand dollars she’d asked for—he’d given her ten thousand.



Lena’s parents didn’t torture her with questions or advice, as she had dreaded. They took her out for dinner to the Lebanese Taverna, ordered seven plates of food and a bottle of wine, and talked about the troubling state of Greece’s economy.

“It’s not going to be easy, selling a house in this market,” her father said.

Lena allowed her mind to take a slow walk up the hill to her grandparents’ house. She had to see how much it hurt before she went inside.

Lena cleared her throat. “The tourist places will be okay. If any place will survive this, it’s Santorini.”

Ari nodded. “That’s what I said too.”

“I’ve got to go over,” her father said resignedly. He looked exhausted at having uttered the sentence. “We can’t just let the place sit there moldering for another year.”

Lena thought of Kostos sitting on the ground, surrounded by tools and bits of hardware, taking apart the hinges of the back door. There was pleasure in the image to balance out the pain. She nodded.

“He’s canceled the trip twice already,” Ari said.

“I had a case go to trial.”

Lena nodded sympathetically. But she knew it wasn’t the case going to trial that gave her father the haggard look. She imagined how it would be for him, confronting his parents’ world, their clothes, their smells, and confronting the guilt for having left them so completely and so long ago, always vowing that there would be a time when the office got calm and he would go for a good long visit, maybe even a sabbatical, but never doing it.

Her dad wouldn’t talk about any of that. He’d talk about the case that went to trial or nothing at all. Was it too late not to be like him?

Lena thought of the two sealed letters stuck between the pages of her sketchbook. With an accelerating heartbeat she thought of her project.

“If you want, I could go,” she said.

Her father turned to her as though she’d disappeared and resurfaced in her chair with a new face on. “What do you mean?”

“I could go and take care of selling the house.”

“By yourself?”

He said it as though she were still twelve.

“Of course.”

A look of eagerness and relief was mixing into his cramped features. “Do you think you can?”

“I do. I know the house. I know the island reasonably well. I don’t think you need to be a native or a lawyer to figure out how to sell a house.”

“You do need to speak Greek,” her mother pointed out.

Her father raised his hand. “Not necessarily. Everybody is speaking English there these days.”

“You wouldn’t want to get cheated or manipulated. It’s helpful to be able to read all the paperwork,” her mother cautioned.

Her father had now seized on this and he wasn’t going to let it go. Lena didn’t even get the chance to mention that she did, in fact, speak pretty good Greek these days. He was suddenly so flushed with the prospect of not having to go himself, he’d probably have sent Bubbles, the neighbors’ cat, over to do it.

“Lena can fax the paperwork or send it electronically. I can look over everything. Anyway, I’m not expecting to get top dollar for the place.”

He probably would have authorized Bubbles to sell the house for any offer over five euros and a willingness to take it furnished.

Her mother was considerably less enthusiastic. “Lena, are you sure it’s a place you want to go back to right away?” she asked with honest concern.

Her father opened his mouth to respond too, and Ari shut him up with a look.

“I know,” Lena said quickly. “I was considering that also.”

Ari put her hand on Lena’s. “Sweetheart, it’s a generous offer. It really is. But why don’t you take a little time to think it over and make sure it feels right.” She cast another stern glance at her husband, who looked like he was going to explode.

Lena nodded.

“Because selling the house could take a while, you know,” her mom added.

“Not so long,” her dad spat out.

“It’s a big job.”

“Not necessarily so big.”

“And expensive to get there, of course.”

“I’ll pay for the plane ticket,” said her father.

Lena was tempted to laugh. “I’ve actually been thinking about it for a while. This isn’t the first time it’s occurred to me.” She sat back in her chair, oddly relaxed. “It’s a place with a lot of painful memories, no question about that. But I feel like I need to do something different than what I’ve been doing. It’s not good for me to be in Providence right now.” She was surprised at her own openness and hoped she could leave it where she wanted to.

Her parents looked surprised too. Instead of jumping in with queries they waited for her to say more, so she did. “I can’t keep avoiding it. I need to do something, and the idea of this feels all right.”

Ari nodded. She looked as though she had fifty questions and a hundred comments, but she didn’t say any of them, and Lena was grateful that she held back.

Lena thought of herself as Alice, turning the kitchen inside out so as not to have to engage, and her mother just wishing she would relax and sit down.

Her father clapped his hands together. “I think it sounds like a great idea,” he said.