N FRIDAY EVENING, I’m staring into my cupboard, realizing I have to make dinner, when my phone rings.

“Sweetheart, it’s Marie,” says my mother-in-law.

“Hi!” I say. “How are you?”

“Well, honey, we’re having a little party here tonight. At the restaurant, and of course we want you here.”

I open my mouth to respond, but she keeps talking.

“It’s our anniversary, see? Forty years, we haven’t killed each other, that’s worth celebrating, right? So Gianni, he says to me, ‘Call the kids, we’ll have a party. Call everyone.’ So I’ve been on the phone all day, and your mother and aunts are coming, and that nice sister of yours, too, and Ethan of course, it would be good to see him before he starts gallivanting all over the world, and of course Parker and Nicky will be there, the more the merrier. Of course, I tried you before, but you were out, and machines, who knows if you’d get the message or not, so—”

“Marie,” I interrupt. “I’m so sorry. I’d love to come, but I…I just can’t tonight.” I just don’t want to see Ethan. And God knows, he probably doesn’t want to see me.

Marie is silent for a beat or two. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I should’ve thought…Of course you don’t want to come to the party. I’m so insensitive.”

“No, no,” I say, a guilty heat in my face. “I just…I have plans.”

Her voice rises to operatic levels. “I ask my son’s widow to a party celebrating a long marriage. So stupid! Oh, I hate myself!”

“Marie, please! No, seriously, I would come…I just have plans.” And it wasn’t your first son I was thinking of, by the way.

“Are you…seeing someone?” Marie asks, a suspiciously hopeful note in her voice.

I take a slow, long breath. “Um…I might be. It’s a little early.” My nails dig into my palm. “Um, remember that man who looked a little bit like Jimmy? The one who works for the supermarket chain?”

“Him? Oh, he seemed so nice, honey! And a little like Jimmy! I thought I was seeing things!” She pauses, and there’s a sniff at the other end of the line. “It was good to see him. I know he’s not Jimmy, but it felt good, anyway.”

I swallow. “I know what you mean.”

Five minutes later I manage to end the conversation and hang up gently. There’s the pebble. I try relaxing my throat muscles, let my jaw hang open and stick out my tongue. No improvement.

So it’s true. Ethan’s taking that other job. Good. That’s good. I clamp down on the part of my soul that wants to scream in protest. Can’t have everything. Let him go, Lucy.

With a sigh I pull a jar of store-bought spaghetti sauce from the cupboard. Tonight is my second date with Jimmy Lite—really should drop that nickname—and though I’m the one who suggested we stay in for dinner, I regret that now. Inviting a man to your place…there’s a certain expectation in that type of date, an expectation I have no intention of honoring. But the idea of going out to a restaurant was a little…tiring. Matt asked me to his place, but I preferred to stay on my own turf and reversed the invitation. I can handle Matt, and being involved with someone will help me get over Ethan. Again my heart protests, and again I shut it up. Can’t have everything.

So here I am, in yoga pants and a sweatshirt, not pulling out any stops whatsoever. Stop acting so pathetic, I urge my lazy-ass self. Matt’s perfectly nice. This is what you wanted. And so, obedient to a fault, I obey my orders, empty the sauce into a pan and pull out some breaded chicken patties to thaw. Not my best effort, but hey. Matt took me to a chain restaurant called the Olive Grove. He’s not a true Italian. Not like the Mirabellis.

An hour later I’m showered, changed and waiting. When the knock comes, I take a deep breath and go open the front door.

“Hi,” Jimmy Li—Matt says. He holds a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine.

“Hi,” I say, and to show that I’m completely normal, I stand on tiptoe and kiss his cheek. “Pretty flowers.”

“What a great place!” he exclaims, stepping in. “Wow. Have you lived here long?”

It dawns on me that with Matt—or any other guy I meet—I’m going to have to tell them everything. Every scab, every bump.

“About five years. Right after Jimmy died,” I say. “My brother-in-law found it for me. Jimmy and I had just bought a house, and…well. Would you like some wine?” I head for the kitchen without waiting for an answer.

“Sure,” he says. “Lucy?”

I turn around and look at him. “Yeah?”

“I think you’re really brave.” He smiles.

I suppress a sigh…so brave, that’s me. “Thank you.”

As I uncork a bottle, I picture myself with Matt DeSalvo. Maybe we wouldn’t live in Mackerly, but somewhere close. He’s polite and charming. I could even come to love him in that nice, arranged-marriage way. I take a slug of wine to try to loosen the tightness in my throat, then tell him about my sister and Emma, even whip out a couple pictures.

“Listen, Matt,” I say carefully, putting Emma’s picture back on the fridge. “Um…about our date. I didn’t want you to think, um…well, that because I invited you here, it meant…” I pull a face, hoping that a grimace will express there’s no way in hell you’re sleeping with me.

“Oh, no! No, that’s fine,” Matt says. “No, it’s nice. Taking things slow. Sure, Lucy. I’m on the same page.”

I’ve always hated that expression.

I serve dinner (cloth napkins and everything, I’m really trying).

“How is everything?” I ask after I’ve swallowed a few bites of the unremarkable meal.

“It’s excellent,” Matt say, grinning. “You’re a wonderful cook.”

“Thanks,” I answer.

After dinner, Matt helps clear. “Want dessert?” I ask, glancing in the fridge. Pear tarts with fresh nutmeg and lemon rind, whiskey reduction with a cranberry and ginger confit in the middle, pretty as rubies. Last night was our final pastry class. I didn’t make these especially for Matt—they were just available.

“Um, maybe in a little while?” Matt suggests, patting his stomach. “I’m a little full. Can’t eat like I used to.”

“Right,” I say, closing the door. “Well, come in the living room. Have a seat.”

Matt takes our wineglasses and brings them in. He hands me my glass, which I drain, then wanders over to the TV, glancing at my movie collection. The Bourne trilogy. Die Hard. The Hunt for Red October. Body of Lies. “You like guy movies,” he comments, sounding happily surprised.

“Yes, I do,” I agree.

Then he sets his wineglass down and looks at another case. “Your wedding?” he says, holding it up.

I jolt upright. “Yes.” God, hadn’t I put that away? Rather daunting, dating a woman who’s recently been watching movies of her wedding…

Matt looks at it carefully. “May 17, Lucy and Jimmy.” He looks over at me. “Can we watch it? I’d love to see what he was like.”

My mouth drops open. “Um…”

“You know, if we’re going to be, ah, closer, it’d be good to…know him a little.”

My breath is a little shaky. “Sure.” I stand up, walk over to the DVD player and put the disk in. Matt sits on the couch and pats the seat next to him. A little hesitantly, I sit next to him. He slings his arm around my shoulders and kisses my cheek.

“Thank you for letting me see this,” he murmurs.

I look up at his nice face, and his eyes are kind and smiling. “You seem like a good guy, Matt DeSalvo,” I say, resisting the urge to wipe my cheek.

“I am,” he answers with a wink.

The DVD starts. And there I am, awfully young. Twenty-four years old, an age burned into my soul as the last year I was the old me. Corinne, in college at the time, flutters around me, pulling my hair back and twisting it, chattering about how nervous she was.

I look so happy. I was so happy, after all. There’s Mom, ageless and beautiful, her apricot-colored, floor-length dress sleek and lovely.

“She’s still so gorgeous,” Matt says.

“You’re right,” I murmur.

On screen, I get into the car, waving at the camera guy, and the scene fades to black. And then there’s Jimmy, standing at the altar with Ethan, both laughing. Ethan…God. He looks like a teenager, skinny and cute as anything. He doesn’t look like a man about to watch the woman he loves marry someone else. My shoulders relax a little.

And I see something else…Matt and Jimmy only have a superficial resemblance. Jimmy had a spark, a life force that just flowed out from his big heart. Matt doesn’t have that. I’m sure he has other qualities, but he’s…well, he’s no Jimmy.

“Let’s fast-forward,” I suggest and hit the appropriate button. “Wedding ceremonies are all the same, after all.” The DVD skips ahead jerkily, and I hit Stop when I see the tent.

“Ah, here we go. My cousin Stevie. Very entertaining, this.”

During the cocktail hour, Stevie had done a pretty fair impression of John Travolta gyrating to “You Should Be Dancing” from Saturday Night Fever. Right up until he accidentally smacked a waiter carrying a tray of champagne.

“Oops,” Matt laughs. He starts playing with my hair, his eyes on the screen.

There are Anne and Laura, the classiest relatives, kissing me, patting Jimmy’s cheek. Iris, Rose and Mom…Gianni and Marie, my father-in-law looking proud and handsome, more hair and less fat than he now has. Marie dieted for months to get into the dress she bought, a pale green chiffon nightmare.

Matt’s fingers are now caressing my neck. It feels…okay. Nice, I guess. I try not to tense. On screen, oh. Here we are, one of my favorite parts. Ethan’s speech.

“He’s a great-looking guy,” Matt says.

“Ethan?” I say, not taking my eyes off the TV.

“I meant Jimmy.”

I look up at Matt. “Right. Yes, he was.” I turn my attention back to the screen. The DJ taps the mike and says, “Ladies and gentlemen, if we could have your attention, the brother of the groom, Ethan Mirabelli, would like to say a few words.”

Something flips in my stomach, and I lean forward a little.

“You okay?” Matt asks.

“Oh, sure.”

On screen, Ethan takes the mic. “I’m a little nervous,” he says sheepishly. “I want to do a really good job here, because Jimmy says if I do, I can be best man at his next wedding, too.” The camera pans to the laughing crowd, me smacking Jimmy on the shoulder, Jimmy grinning. “Seriously, I’ve always looked up to my big brother—usually because he had me pinned…”

We’d loved it. Ethan was perfect that day, full of mirth and mischief. “Jimmy, you’re a lucky, lucky man…you leave here with a wife who’s gorgeous and funny, someone who radiates warmth and love wherever she goes. And Lucy, you leave here today with…well…at least you can keep the pretty dress.”

“Funny,” Matt murmurs. I barely hear him.

I’ve watched this video hundreds of times. And always in the past, I’d stared at Jimmy’s beautiful face, the love he had for me so evident on that happy, happy day.

But today—for the first time—I’m watching Ethan, not Jimmy. Staring at Ethan. Twenty-two years old when we got married. A consummate best man, charming, funny, kind. He describes how Jimmy used to hook a fish, then hand the pole to Ethan and let him reel in the catch. How Jimmy would make him hamburgers when their parents went out, because Marie viewed hamburgers as pig food. And then he tells how Jimmy and I met.

“I was there the first time these two laid eyes on each other,” he says, turning to Jimmy and me. You can’t see our faces, as the camera stays on Ethan, but we were snuggled together, loving every word. “One look, and that was that,” Ethan says gently. “They fell in love, they’ve stayed in love, and today they promised to love each other for the rest of their lives.”

An audible sigh rises from the wedding guests.

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, please stand and raise your glasses. Enduring love, healthy children, long, happy life together. To Lucy and Jimmy.”

“To Lucy and Jimmy,” the crowd echoes.

“Sweet,” Matt says.

But I’m frozen. Unable to breathe or speak. Because there it is.

As Ethan finishes, the camera cuts to Jimmy and me…we kiss, and then Jimmy gets up and hugs Ethan, who thumps him on the back and grins.

I fumble for the remote and hit Rewind.

“What’s the matter?” Matt asks.

“Shh!” I hiss. I rewind too far, then fast forward. There. There it is again. Then Jimmy and I are kissing…

I rewind again, more slowly this time, and watch again.

Ethan, who gave that beautiful, funny, touching speech, raises his glass, and toasts us. And for one second, just before the camera cuts over to us, I see it.

His job was done. He’d made the toast, and all the attention was back on Jimmy and me, and for one second, the mask dropped, and there it was. The love. The loneliness of watching the one you love choose someone else.

And I see something else, too. As Jimmy looks up at his brother, his face has a momentary flash of apology. Of guilt. And then gratitude.

Ethan loved me. And Jimmy knew it.

Check the toast.

Oh, my God. My body breaks into gooseflesh.

“Lucy?” Matt says.

“Um…” I breathe, still not looking away from the screen, “Matt, you need to go.”

“Are you okay?” he asks, leaning forward.

“I’m…I’m in love with him,” I say, jerking my chin toward the screen.

“Jimmy?”

“Ethan,” I say. My breath rattles in my throat. “I have to go. So you need to leave. I’m really sorry. I can’t…it’s just…I need to go.”

“You—you don’t want to go out with me?” Matt asks slowly.

“Um…I’m sorry. No. I really have to go now.” I leap off the couch, grab his coat from the closet and shove it into his hands. “Okay. Bye. Really sorry.” I jerk open the door and usher him out.

“Well. I don’t know what to say.” Matt frowns, stepping slowly into the hall and turning to face me. “This is quite a surprise. I thought—”

“Sorry. Bye,” I say, closing the door in his face.

Once more, I stand in front of the TV and watch Ethan’s face fall. It only lasts maybe a second and a half, but it says everything.

Three things are clear. One, Jimmy wasn’t perfect. He knew how Ethan felt, and it didn’t stop him.

And, two, Jimmy had loved me with all his heart.

And three…oh, number three. Ethan loved me, too. He still does. Or he did, before I ground it out of him.

Fat Mikey is crouched on the kitchen counter, eating the remains of the crappy chicken. “I have to go,” I call to him. Check the toast. My hands are shaking so hard I can barely open my closet, but I manage, shove my feet in some shoes and race out the door. I pound upstairs, but God, it takes so long, my feet feel like they’re made of lead. I explode onto the fifth floor and run down the hall to Ethan’s, bang on his door. “Eth! Ethan, open up!” I yell. “Ethan, it’s me!”

And my God, I love him, too. The idea of living without him suddenly seems breathtakingly stupid and absolutely unbearable. Ethan Mirabelli is, simply put, the best person I know. The only one I want.

Oh, dang it, the party, the Mirabellis’ anniversary party. Down the stairs I run, swinging around each landing, jumping the last few steps. Then I burst into the foyer and onto the street. The air is sharp and cold, and my breath fogs the air.

Without another thought, I run across the street, into Ellington Park.

Toward the cemetery.

It’s time.