T’S…UH, BEAUTIFUL,” I said, blinking down at the ring. Oh, heck, it was. The diamond was about a carat, maybe a little more, a nice chunky thing, pear-shaped, pretty setting. I loved it. I owned it, in fact. Well, no, that’s not quite true. I owned its twin, which sat in my jewelry box at home, waiting for me to pawn it. For heaven’s sake. Couldn’t Andrew be a little more original? I mean, come on! He’d picked sisters to become his fiancées…at least he could’ve picked out different rings, for crying out loud.

“Thanks,” Nat said, blissfully unaware that we now had matching engagement rings from the same man. We were sitting in the backyard of our parents’ house, just Nat and me. The rest of the gang was inside—Andrew, Mémé, Margaret, Mom and Dad.

“You’re sure this is okay with you?” Natalie asked, slipping her hand into mine.

“The only thing that’s not okay is you constantly asking if I’m okay,” I said a bit sharply. “Really, Natalie. Please stop.” Then, guilty at my irritation, I squeezed her hand. “I’m glad you’re happy.”

“You’ve been just amazing, Grace. Getting Andrew and me together…that was above and beyond the call.”

You’re telling me. I gave a snort, then glanced at my little sister. The sun was shining on her hair, her dark gold eyelashes brushing her cheeks as she gazed at her ring.

“So have you set a date?” I asked.

“Well, I wanted to ask your opinion on that,” she said, looking at me. “Andrew and I kind of felt it should be soon. Get it out of the way, you know? Then we could just be married. Nothing huge. Just the family and a few friends and some dinner afterward. What do you think?”

“Sounds pretty,” I said.

“Grace,” she began hesitantly, “I was wondering if you’d be my maid of honor. I know the circumstances are pretty weird, but I had to ask you. And if you don’t want to, of course I understand. But ever since I was little, I always imagined it would be you. Margaret as a bridesmaid, of course, but you as my number one, you know?”

It was impossible to say no. “Sure,” I murmured. “I’d be honored.” My heart was beating in slow, rolling thumps, making me feel a little ill.

“Thank you,” Nat whispered, hugging me. For a minute, it was like we were little again, her face warm and smooth against my neck, me petting her silky blond hair, breathing in the sweet smell of her shampoo.

“I can’t believe you’re getting married,” I whispered, a couple tears slipping out of my eyes. “I still want to give you piggyback rides and braid your hair.”

“I love you, Grace,” she murmured.

“I love you, too, Nattie Bumppo,” I said around the rock in my throat. My little sister, whom I had helped bathe and diaper, whom I’d read to and cuddled, was leaving me in one of the most profound ways a sister could. For twenty-five years, I had been Natalie’s favorite person, and she’d been mine, and now that was changing. When I was with Andrew, let’s face it, he hadn’t deposed Natalie from the throne in my heart. Sure, I loved him…but Natalie was part of me. Part of my soul and heart, the way only sisters could be.

Dozens of memories flashed through my head. Me at age ten, when I’d had my tonsillectomy, waking up from a restless, narcotic-induced sleep to find that Natalie had drawn eighteen pictures of horses for me, laying them on my bedroom floor, propping them on my chair and desk so everywhere I looked, I’d see horses. The time I beat up Kevin Nichols when he put gum in her hair. Me leaving for William & Mary, and Natalie’s face contorting with the effort of smiling so I wouldn’t see that she was, in fact, sobbing.

I loved her, and had always loved her, so much that it hurt. I could not—would not—let Andrew come between us.

She squeezed me hard, then sat up. “I can’t believe I still haven’t met Wyatt,” she said.

“I know,” I seconded. “He’s dying to meet you, too.” Wyatt was, alas, at a medical convention in San Francisco. I’d briefly flirted with the idea of telling my family Wyatt and I had broken up, then I decided I needed him a little longer. This morning, I’d Googled medical conventions and surgeons and found one in the City by the Bay. Extremely convenient.

“Things are good with you two?” Nat asked.

“Oh, I guess. He works too much. If there’s one fly in the ointment, it’s that.” My evil plan was to plant these seeds so I could ease everyone into the idea of a breakup. “He’s always at the hospital, and now he’s up in Boston…He’s so devoted to his work. I guess it’s the classic complaint of the doctor’s wife.”

Oops. Hadn’t actually meant to say that last sentence. Natalie’s face glowed even more beautifully, if possible.

“Do you think you guys might get married?”

Oh, crap. “Um, well…I don’t know. The work thing is something we have to figure out. And of course, I’ve been burned before.”

And again. Didn’t mean to say that last bit. Natalie flinched.

“I mean, I’ve picked the wrong guy before, so I want to be careful and all. Make sure he’s the right one.”

“But you think he is?”

I tipped my head, pretending to consider the question. After all, Wyatt and I were going to have to break up. Rather soon, in fact, since obviously I couldn’t keep this up forever. “He’s…” I smiled at Natalie in what I imagined was modest adoration. “He’s pretty wonderful, Nat. I just wish we had more time together.”

The back door banged open, and Margaret appeared before us. “Grace, your dog just broke a vulva. And Mom wants you to come in and eat, anyway.” She fisted her hands on her hips. “And did it ever occur to you two that I might be jealous of your little club? Christ Almighty and His five sacred wounds, girls! Can’t I be included once in a while?”

“She swears like some ex-nun turned sailor,” Natalie murmured.

“Yeah. You have to wonder how she spends her free time,” I seconded.

“Quit your whining,” Nat called to our big sis. “You two are living together, so don’t talk to me about clubs, okay?”

Margaret tromped over to us. “Move over, favorite,” she grumbled, shoving my shoulder so she could sit down. “Is everything okay out here? I’ve been spying through the windows.”

“Everything’s great. I’m Nattie’s maid of honor,” I said. It felt okay. Yes. It would be fine.

“God’s sandals, Natalie! You want Andrew’s former fiancée to be your fucking maid of honor?”

“Yes,” Nat answered calmly. “But only if she wants to be.”

“And I do,” I said, sticking my tongue out at Margaret.

“So? What am I, Nat? Can I maybe sweep up for you? Maybe I could do dishes at the reception and peek out at you once in a while, if you don’t think I’ll be blinded with your golden beauty, your majesty.”

“God, listen to her,” Nat giggled. “Would you be my bridesmaid, Margaret dear?”

“Oh, gosh, thanks, yes. I can’t wait.” Margaret shot me a look. “Maid of honor, huh? Freaky.”

“Margs, you’ve met Wyatt, right?” Natalie asked.

Margaret stuck her tongue in her cheek. “Sure,” she answered. I closed my eyes.

“What do you think?” Nat sat up straighter, grinning. She always did love girl talk.

“Well, aside from that sixth toe on his left foot, he’s pretty cute,” Margs said.

“Very funny,” I answered. “It’s barely a nub, Natalie.”

Natalie was laughing. “What else, Margs?”

“Well, the way he sucks on Grace’s ear is pretty disgusting. Especially in church. Yick.”

“Come on, I’m serious,” Natalie wheezed, wiping her eyes.

“That wandering eye freaks me out.”

When our mother came out to find what was keeping her girls, she found us helpless with laughter on the bench under the maple tree.

My good humor remained as Angus and I walked home along the Farmington. A path meandered through the state forest that bordered the river, and though the gnats were out, they were harmless enough if I ignored them. Angus trotted ahead on his long leash, stopping frequently to pee, sniff and pee some more, making sure that all the other dogs who came down this path would know that Angus McFangus had been there before them.

Natalie and Andrew had set a date after poring over Mom’s calendar. June fourth, the day after Manning’s graduation. Four weeks from now. Four weeks to break up with my imaginary boyfriend, four weeks to possibly find a date for yet another wedding. I imagined being stag at this one. Bleecch. Yet the thought of turning myself inside out to find someone was equally distasteful.

Angus barked and trembled. Up ahead, someone was fly-fishing in the river, hip boots on, the long line of his pole arcing out in a golden, serpentine flash. The sun shone on his messy hair, and I smiled, somehow not surprised to see my neighbor.

“Catching anything, or are you just trying to look pretty?” I called.

“Howdy, neighbor,” he called back. “Haven’t caught a thing.”

“You poor slob.” I picked my way over the rocks to get closer. “Don’t blind me with your hook, okay?”

“Why? Seems like I owe you a few cuts and bruises,” he said, sloshing over toward me. Angus began yarping. “Quiet, you,” Cal said sternly, which set Angus off into hysterics. Yarpyarpyarpyarp! Yarpyarpyarpyarpyarp!

“You have such a way with animals,” I said. “Do small children burst into tears at the sight of you?”

He laughed. “What are you doing out here, Grace?”

“Oh, just headed for home,” I answered.

“Want to sit for a while? I have cookies,” he said temptingly.

“Are they homemade?” I asked.

“If by homemade, you mean bought at the bakery, then yes,” he answered. “They’re good. Not compared to your brownies, though. Those things were out of this world. Worth all the pain I had to go through to get them.”

“Aw. Well, that was such a nice compliment, maybe I’ll bake you some more.” I sat on a rock that jutted over the river, holding Angus on my lap, where he growled at the man in front of us.

“Why don’t you let Angus off the leash?” Cal suggested.

“Oh, no,” I said. “He’d go right for the water and get swept away.” I hugged my little pal a little closer. “We don’t want you to drown, do we, sweet coconut baby? Hmm? No. We don’t.”

“Some of us do,” Callahan said. The cookies were from Lala’s—sad, really, that I could recognize baked goods from twenty yards—crumbly and delicious peanut butter cookies with crystals of sugar sparkling in the crisscross marks.

Cal offered a cookie to Angus who snapped it up, catching part of Cal’s finger. Cal jerked his hand back, sighed, looked at the wounded extremity and held out his finger for my inspection. Two tiny drops of blood showed.

“You poor thing,” I said. “Shall I call 911?”

“Why don’t you call a lawyer?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Possibly Margaret. Your dog is becoming a menace. Between the two of you, I can’t believe I’m still alive.”

“Tragic, really. Well, you’ll be moving soon, right?”

“Yup. I’m sure you’ll miss me.”

Dang it. I would miss him. The sun shone on his hair, illuminating all the shades of brown and caramel and gold. It wasn’t fair that this guy could look like an ad for Outdoor Living, oozing sex appeal in wader boots and a flannel shirt. The sleeves were rolled up to reveal his tanned forearms. His lashes were golden and straight and really just pointlessly attractive, and my girl parts were begging me to do something.

I cleared my throat. “So, Cal, how’s your love life? I happened to see you again with that blonde from the bar.”

“Spying again, Grace? I thought we had an understanding.”

I sighed in exasperation. “She was right on the front porch. I was weeding.” I paused. “You kissed her.”

“On the cheek,” he said.

“Mmm-hmm. Which some women find very romantic.” He said nothing. “So? What about the lawn you want to mow?”

“That’s kind of a crude way to refer to sex, isn’t it, Grace?”

I blinked, then laughed. “I meant what you said that time. You wanted a wife, some kids, a lawn to mow.”

“And I do.” He cast the line out again, not looking at me.

“So how’s the search going?” I asked.

“Not bad,” he answered after a beat or two. Angus growled.

Not bad. What did that mean? “Well.” I stood up and brushed off my jeans. “Thanks for the cookie, mister. Good luck with your fishing. For the wife and the trout.”

“Have a nice day, Grace.”

“You, too.”

As I walked the rest of the way home, I tried to talk myself out of lusting after Callahan O’ Shea. Reminded myself that he wasn’t husband material, not for me. We weren’t compatible. Because…um…well, because…

Let’s face it. Callahan O’ Shea was very fun to look at, that was true. Maybe he liked me. He flirted with me…a little. Sometimes. He flirted more with Margaret, to be honest. I’d seen them talking the other day, laughing like old friends over the back fence. Regrettably, I’d been on the phone at the time, so I hadn’t been able to eavesdrop.

One thing was certain however. I did not feel safe around him. Not that he would rob me, no, of course not. But if Andrew had broken my heart, imagine what Callahan O’ Shea could do to it. Crush it until there was nothing left but rubble. Let’s be honest. For someone like me—the little schoolteacher who danced with old people, loved Civil War movies and playing pretend—to be with someone like him, this vital, vaguely dangerous man who radiated and bristled with sex appeal…it had to be a bad idea. A disaster waiting to happen.

I just wished I could stop thinking about it.