With her mind on wedding matters, she thought for an instant he meant the kind of ring you wear on your finger. She looked at him blankly. Then Eliza, sailing past with a three-tiered cake stand, said, “Why they need ushers anyhow, with no one but family attending and seats for not more than a dozen…”

“It’s so these glamorous bridesmaids will have somebody’s arm to hang on to,” Driscoll said, winking at the twins. Marie-Claire giggled, and Thérèse sent him a solemn, worshipful stare and stood straighter inside her tepee of mint lace.

Delia gave up and left the kitchen. She would go see if Susie had decided to get married after all. Who knows, she might have. (For it was easy to believe, in such company, that she was at this moment adjusting her magically reconstructed veil.) And if so, then Delia would check on the boys, make sure they were awake and dressed.

But the boys were already downstairs, standing by the front door in their suits. They looked astoundingly grown-up-Ramsay square-jawed and almost portly now, Carroll as wiry as ever but taller, with something more carved about his face. With them were Ramsay’s girlfriend, Velma, wearing an upside-down pink hollyhock of a dress that ended just below her crotch, and her little daughter (who? oh, Rosalie) in aqua. Ramsay said, “Hi, Mom,” and kissed Delia’s cheek, and Carroll allowed her to hug him, and Velma said, “Well, hey! How was your trip?”

“It was fine,” Delia said.

So that was the way it would be, evidently. She had been settled into a convenient niche in people’s minds: just another of those eccentric wives you see living year-round in an Ocean City condo or raising horses on a farm in Virginia while their husbands continue their workaday routines in Baltimore. Nobody gave it a thought.

She passed through the assembling guests, smiling and murmuring greetings. Sam’s uncle Robert squeezed her hand but went on listening to Malcolm Avery rehash a recent golf game. Sam himself was helping his aunt Florence out of a black rubber raincoat that looked capable of standing on its own.

“How do we know when the ceremony starts?” someone asked at Delia’s elbow.

It was Eleanor, in a gray silk shirtdress. “Oh, Eleanor!” Delia cried, and she threw her arms around Eleanor’s spare figure.

“Hello, dear,” Eleanor said, patting her shoulder. “How nice you came for this.”

“Of course I came! How could I not?”

“I was wondering about the procession,” Eleanor said smoothly. “Do they plan any kind of music? Susie has been admirably sensible about the arrangements, but how will we know when the bride walks in?”

“Eleanor, I’m not even sure there’s going to be a bride,” Delia said. “She claims she’s reconsidered.”

“Ah. Well, you’ll want to go see to her, then,” Eleanor said, unperturbed. “Run along; I can take care of myself, dear.”

“Maybe I should go,” Delia said, and she fled up the stairs.

Susie was alone now, dressed in jeans and sneakers, lounging on the cot and reading People magazine. She glanced up casually when Delia knocked on the doorframe. “Oh, hi,” she said. “Are they having conniptions down there?”

“Well, they don’t… exactly grasp the situation yet,” Delia said. “Susie, should I send Driscoll up?”

“Driscoll’s here?”

“He’s here in his wedding suit, waiting for you to come marry him.”

“Well, shoot,” Susie said, lowering her magazine. “It’s not like I haven’t informed him in plain English.”

“And his parents are here, and Dr. Soames-”

“Did you talk to the realtor?” Susie asked.

“I left a message.”

“Mom. This really, really matters. If I don’t get that lease revoked, it’ll be me they come after for the money, do you realize that? I’m the one who actually signed my name. And I didn’t want to say this in front of Driscoll’s sister, but the fact is, I am dirt poor. I’m in debt for the wedding, even-four hundred twenty-eight dollars, no thanks to that father of mine.”

“What did the four hundred twenty-eight dollars go for, exactly?” Delia asked out of curiosity.

“My dress and veil and the bouquet in the fridge. Aunt Eliza’s footing the bill for refreshments. Please go call Mr. Bright. If he’s still not there, tell his machine it’s a life-or-death situation.”

“Well, all right,” Delia said. “And then should I send Driscoll up?”

“He knows where to find me.”

Susie went back to her magazine. Delia started to leave, but in the doorway she turned. She said, “How come the house looks so different?”

“Different?”

“All the furniture’s gone from your room, and Eliza’s room seems… unlived-in.”

“Well, it is unlived-in,” Susie said, flipping a page. “Nobody lives here but Dad anymore.”

“What?”

“Didn’t you know that?”

“No, I didn’t know that. What happened?”

“Well,” Susie said, “let me see. First Ramsay and Dad got into a fight about-no, wait. First Eliza and Dad got into a fight. She claimed it was because he didn’t let her know he’d be late for dinner, but the real truth is, she was making a play for him, Mom, like you wouldn’t believe. It was pitiful. All us kids told her so, but she was like, ‘Hmm? I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ and meanwhile there was Dad, out of it as usual, just going about his business and paying her no mind. So one day she picks a quarrel about a totally nother issue and flounces off to visit Aunt Linda, and when she comes back she announces she’s leaving for good. Now she lives on Calvert Street; that’s where Linda and the twins are staying for the wedding. Okay, so then Ramsay and Dad got into a fight, on account of Dad calling Velma ‘Veronica’ by accident which Velma swore he did on purpose, and Ramsay moved to Velma’s in a huff; and then Carroll moved there too because he missed his curfew one night and Dad was pacing the floor and picturing him dead on the road, he said… And me: you know about me. I moved out in July, just before Ramsay.”

“Yes, I suppose I…,” Delia said abstractedly.

“So are you going to call the realtor, Mom?”

“Oh. Right,” Delia said, and after a brief pause, she walked out.

In Eliza’s old room, she sat on the edge of the bed, lifted the receiver, and then stared into space.

Imagine Sam pacing the floor. Always before, it had been Delia pacing the floor, and Sam pooh-poohing her and telling her to simmer down. “How can you be so cool about this?” she used to ask him. “What have you got in your veins: ice water?” And it seemed to her that he had given a little smile at that, a gratified, sheepish little smile, as if she had paid him a compliment.

She dialed the realtor’s number again. “This is Joe Bright,” the machine said. “I can’t come to the…”

“It’s Delia Grinstead again, Mr. Bright. I’d appreciate your calling me at your earliest convenience,” she said. And just to oblige Susie, she added, “It’s a matter of life and death. Bye.”

Downstairs, the voices were a woven mass, as if people had given up on the wedding and settled for a party instead. But when she descended to join them, conversation halted for a moment and people turned expectantly. She smiled at them. She was glad now she’d worn the forest-green, with the skirt that swung so alluringly just above her ankles.

She crossed the hall to the living room, and the others followed. Probably they thought this was a signal of some kind. In fact, Carroll, killingly attractive in his usher’s suit, caught up with her to offer his arm and lead her to a front seat, and a moment later Eleanor joined her, escorted by Ramsay. “Put Aunt Florence in a straight chair,” Ramsay muttered to Carroll. “She says her back is acting up.” Delia heard the usual audience sounds-coughs and rustling skirts. Driscoll’s parents settled on the couch. Dr. Soames took his place on the hearth, smiling benignly toward the room at large and extracting a folded sheet of paper from his breast pocket.