ANNA SEE ME LIGHT THIS ON FIRE and drink it?”

Stevie, the poison-ivy eating, corpse-tipping cousin, stands before me, a glass of whiskey in one hand, a lighter in the other.

“No, Stevie. Do not light that on fire. Don’t be an idiot.”

“God, you’re no fun anymore,” Stevie says. “Hey, heard you’re looking for a new guy. I know someone, a buddy a’ mine—”

“No, thanks, Stevie.”

“Come on, let me tell you about him! He’s a good guy. Lotsa fun.”

“Stevie, sweetie, if he’s your buddy and you think he’s fun, then I’m under the impression that he likes to steal cars, get tattoos and shoot fish. Am I right?”

“Yeah. So?” Stevie looks injured. I pat his arm and wander off to mingle. I’m the daughter-in-law, after all, and this is the Mirabellis’ farewell party as they depart for Valle de Muerte…er, Puerte.

Gianni’s is mobbed…probably shouldn’t say that at an Italian restaurant in Rhode Island. Gianni’s is packed to the gills, that’s better. Half the town is here—the mayor, the town council, Father Adhyatman from St. Bonaventure, Reverend Covers from St. Andrew’s, which is right across the street. (They often have attendance contests…the winner buys dinner at Lenny’s, all very convivial. Beats a holy war.) Ash is here, dressed in the expected black and chains, and my mother is staring at her as one would stare at a particularly gruesome roadkill, not even noticing that Captain Bob is, in turn, staring at her. There’s my excellent cousin Anne the lesbian doctor and her special friend, as Iris calls her. In fact, Iris is now trying to force-feed Laura, who has the willowy grace of a supermodel.

Gianni’s Ristorante won’t be closing—my father-in-law couldn’t bring himself to go that far. Instead his cousin’s husband’s brother is going to take over, and they’ll “see how it goes” before putting anything up for sale. It was a relief, honestly…while losing a few restaurant accounts might make the Black Widows rethink Bunny’s business plan, I’m not ready to lose the place where Jimmy and I met, where he worked so happily.

“Hi, Aunt Wucy!” My nephew hugs my legs, then wipes his mouth on my pants.

“Hi there, gorgeous,” I say, ruffling his hair. He smiles up at me, his lips curling in identical fashion to his father’s. I scoop the lad up and kiss his cheek. “What’s new, Superglue?”

He giggles. “Nothing. I ate a squid.”

“Did you? Was it good?”

He nods, then reaches into the pocket of his little pink oxford shirt. “Here. I brought you one.”

Sure enough, he holds a fried calamari in his grimy little hand. “Thank you, angel!” I say, kissing him again. “Can I save it for later?”

“Okay. Can I get down now? I wanna find Daddy. I have a squid for him, too.” I set him down, and off he runs.

“Hi, Lucy,” my sister says. Emma is, as ever, clutched to her bosom. Or I think it’s Emma…it’s a baby-size lump covered in a pink blanket.

“Can I peek at Emma?” I ask. “I’d love to hold her. Can I?”

Corinne stiffens. “Um…well, there’s so many people.”

“Please? I haven’t held her for a day and a half,” I plead.

“If you dropped her—”

“I won’t drop her, Corinne. Can I please hold my niece? I won’t kill her, I promise.”

My sister stares at me, wounded. As if summoned, Christopher materializes by her side. “Hey, Luce,” he says affably. Ah. An ally.

“Hi, Chris. Think I could hold your beautiful daughter? I haven’t had a chance yet.”

“Sure,” he says, lifting his baby from Corinne, ignoring her Significant Look, and starts to pass her to me.

“Wait!” Corinne snarls. She fishes around in the diaper bag and withdraws a liter of Purell. When the requisite thirty seconds of hand-rubbing have been observed, I am allowed to hold Emma at last.

She’s sleeping. I tuck the blanket under her chin. Corinne starts to advise me on how not to breathe on the baby, but then she spies Christopher snagging a mozzarella and tomato appetizer from a passing waiter. “Chris! Do you know the cholesterol count on those?” she bleats, practically slapping it out of his hand.

I withdraw a few feet. The doors to the kitchen are shielded from the dining room by a small wall, and someone left a chair there. It’s as good a place as any to sit and worship.

Emma’s skin is amazing…poreless and porcelain, smooth as the inside of a tulip petal. Her tiny lips are the sweetest Cupid’s bow, and her lashes are blonde and silken. She’s so warm and cozy against me, her slight weight more precious than anything I could imagine. I trace a tiny eyebrow with my sterilized forefinger, and Emma sighs in her sleep.

A wave of love and longing pulls my heart in a painful, wonderful ache. My doubts about finding another husband seem trivial when the prize could be this.

“You sure look good holding a baby” comes a voice.

I look up abruptly. Ethan stands before me in the doorway of the kitchen. His eyes are soft, and the breath leaves my lungs. My heart slows in long, rolling beats, and Ethan’s mouth tugs up. My knees go a little weak.

“Thanks,” I say, my voice husky. I clear my throat to cover and adjust Emma’s blanket.

“Daddy! I found you!” Nick comes barreling around the corner and crashes into his father’s legs. Ethan lifts him up and his face breaks into that amazing smile.

“Hey there, Nick the Tick!” he says, kissing his son loudly on the neck.

“I am a tick!” Nicky cries in delight, wrapping his arms and legs around his father. “See? You can’t get rid of me! I’m a tick! I’m stuck on you! I’m drinking your blood!”

“Disgusting!” Ethan pronounces, making his son convulse with laughter.

“I brought you a squid, Daddy! You have to eat it! Eat it, eat it!”

Ethan smiles. “Squid, huh? Let me have it.” He opens his mouth, heedless of the grubby hand that feeds him. “Delicious. Thank you, Tick Boy.”

“I love you, Daddy,” Nicky says with the absolute ease and sincerity only children possess. He lays his head on Ethan’s shoulder, then, catching sight of me, asks, “Is that your baby, Wucy?”

“Oh, no, honey. It’s Emma. Corinne’s baby, remember?” I smile. “She’s my niece.”

“I’m your nephew,” he states, confirming his ownership.

“Yes, you are. My one and only.” I glance at Ethan. “How are you, Eth?”

“Fine, Lucy,” he says. “You holding up okay?”

At those words, I look down at Emma to hide the fact that actually, no, I’m not. All night long, I’ve been avoiding the reason we’re here—I’m losing my in-laws, not to mention a huge link with Jimmy. My eyes sting, and I stroke Emma’s little ear, touch her velvety cheek.

“Can I have my daughter back?” My sister’s voice is sharp. “I need to feed her. Sorry, Lucy.” Without any more ado, she slides Emma out of my arms, leaving a cold spot where the baby was nestled so sweetly.

“Hi, Corinne,” Ethan says.

“Hi, Corinne,” Nicky echoes.

“Oh, hello, boys,” Corinne says with a small smile. “Sorry to interrupt. My breasts are so engorged they feel like they’re about to crack open.”

“Ouch,” Ethan murmurs.

“Crack open?” Nicky asks.

“Ouch is right. You wouldn’t believe the pain. It’s agonizing.” Without further ado, Corinne canters off to nurse the baby.

Ethan sets his son back on the floor. “Nicky,” he says, “will you go find me another squid?”

“I will, Daddy! And then I’ll come back and be your tick again, okay?”

“Okay, baby,” Ethan says, his face so gentle and loving it hurts my heart. Nicky bolts off once more, and then Ethan looks at me. The pebble in my throat cuts like a lump of quartz. “Come here,” Ethan says, reaching for my hand. An electric jolt runs down my arm—I’d forgotten how warm and strong his hands are. Jimmy had hands like that. It’s the one place where the brothers look alike.

Ethan leads me into the kitchen. The party is winding down, and the kitchen is miraculously empty for the moment, as all the food was served buffet-style in the dining room.

Ethan takes a long look at me, still holding my hand. His eyebrows come together in a frown. “You okay, honey?” he whispers, and the endearment is like a nail in my heart. Oh, God, I miss him.

“Ethan,” I say, my voice cracking. I squeeze his hand hard, swallowing repeatedly. His mouth opens slightly, and in those brown and gold eyes is a question waiting to be answered. “Ethan,” I try again, but my throat clenches.

Hot, helpless tears fill my eyes, and I look away, automatically locating Jimmy’s shrine. Handsome, blue-eyed Jimmy Mirabelli, tall and strong. And gone. Just a memory now.

I let go of Ethan and wipe my eyes with the heels of my palms.

“This is where you guys met,” Ethan murmurs. I nod, letting the moment where I might have said something pass. I can’t have everything. Ethan was right.

The kitchen door opens, three servers come in with trays stacked with plates and glasses. Gianni follows.

“Hey, Dad,” Ethan says. “How’s everything going?”

“That idiot Carlo overcooked the chicken and it’s like fucking rubber,” Gianni growls. “Lucy, baby, sorry for the language. You okay? You get enough to eat?” Ethan’s father steps between us, slings an arm around my shoulders. “You’ll come visit us, yeah? It’s beautiful out there. Lotsa flowers. A golf course.” His eyes, like mine did just a moment ago, go to the picture of his son, and his face spasms.

“You bet,” I say, hugging my father-in-law. I feel the big man choke on a sob and hold him tighter, closing my eyes against the sorrow he has to carry for the rest of his life. Poor Gianni. Poor, poor man.

When I look up, Ethan’s gone.