I sat down and rubbed my left wrist, my fingers finding the pale, smooth band of skin where my wedding ring had been fifteen years ago. The skin there was still slightly lighter than the rest of my hand, a permanent mark of what had been lost.
The kitchen refrigerator gave a sudden, loud rattle, its motor straining against the morning heat before settling back into a low hum. We both looked at the old appliance, then back at the papers spread between us.
“Piper called at six,” Adele said, looking down at her notepad. “She wants to know if we need to pick up the extra rental chairs ourselves or if the church has enough in the basement.”
“The church has enough,” I said. “I checked with the sexton last week.”
“She’s worried about the seating plan,” Adele added. “She wants everyone to be fed and calm before the ceremony starts.”
