The closer the wedding got, the stranger Claire became.
Mom snapped, “Just because your sister found someone nice doesn’t mean you get to ruin it, Claire.”
Claire’s expression changed; that old family hurt where she’d been cast as the “difficult one” so many times she almost wore it like a name tag.
“I’m not trying to ruin anything,” she shot back.
Dad pushed back from the table. “Then stop talking like this.”
Claire stood, left the room, and her door slammed down the hall. No one followed her. I sat there and let my parents turn her warning into bitterness, into jealousy, and into Claire being Claire.
She’d been cast as the “difficult one” so many times.
The next night was my bachelorette party. Balloons, sparkling drinks, and too much pink. I was trying to be present in my own happiness when Claire walked in late, hair damp from the rain, still in her work clothes.
She found me near the bar. “Alice,” she said, looking like she’d run out of time, “cancel the wedding.”
I stared at her. “What did you just say?”
“Please. Just cancel it.”
“Why?”
“I can’t explain right now.”
I felt every head in the room turn toward us. “So you came here to wreck my night for fun?”
“I can’t explain right now.”
Claire reached for my wrist. “Please listen to me…”
I pulled my arm away. “You’re jealous. You can’t stand that I have something good.”
That landed. I saw it land.
Claire’s eyes filled. “I am trying to keep you from making a mistake, Ally.”
“Then say what you mean.”
She shook her head. “I can’t. Not yet.”
I pointed toward the door. “Then leave.”
She did. And that was the last thing I ever said to my sister while she was still alive to answer me.
“I am trying to keep you from making a mistake, Ally.”
***
My wedding day dawned bright at first.
The church smelled of lilies and wax. Ryan stood waiting for me at the altar, calm and steady. Afterward, everyone drove downtown to the restaurant for the reception.
I kept glancing at the entrance, but Claire never appeared. I called her, but it went straight to voicemail.
My father said she was upset and would come around. My mother told me not to let her spoil my day. So I smiled at cousins and thanked people for gifts and pretended my stomach wasn’t folding in on itself.
An hour passed. Then my mother’s phone rang.
Mom listened, then went pale and pressed her hand to her mouth. “There was a crash,” she whispered.
I kept glancing at the entrance, but Claire never appeared.
For one second, nobody in the room seemed to know how to move. Then chairs scraped, keys were grabbed, and we were all rushing for the cars before the call had even fully ended.
Rain had started on the drive. Heavy, slanting rain that turned headlights into smears.
The rescue crew was still searching when we got there. Flashlights swept across the riverbank. My dress hem soaked through with mud.
Claire had taken a different road, a shortcut by the river. Her car had gone off the side and into the water.
The next day they found her body, and then there was a funeral instead of a honeymoon. Black dresses. Casseroles on the counters. People saying, “She knew you loved her,” with that awful soft certainty people use when they have nothing useful to offer.
The rescue crew was still searching when we got there.
And through all of it, one thought kept pressing at the back of my mind.
Claire had tried to tell me something.
***
A week later, Ryan left for work. Twenty minutes after he drove away, my phone rang.
“Megan?” I said, surprised.
Megan was Claire’s closest friend at the office, the woman I’d met twice and liked immediately because she talked to Claire without flinching.
Her voice was strained. “Alice, I need you to come to the office right now.”
“Why?”
