“These are the moments when we live,” JP says looking out into the evening sky, the sherbet sunset fading behind the leafless black-branches crisscrossing the winter landscape. “Hard to believe this is our third New Year’s without Charlie.”

“This is the opposite of what I expected just a few years ago.” Annie answers from her place next to JP in an Adirondack chair on their deck overlooking Dottie’s front yard. “Buying Nona’s house wasn’t something I’d have predicted.”

“Not sure this meets Mama’s expectations of my exceptionalism,” he smiles holding up the joint he’d just finished rolling at the table on the deck, the crystal ashtray set in the middle. “But this is a beautiful joint.”

On the day of the wedding, Annie stands on her bedroom balcony with a joint in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other watching the colors of the sky change above dark houses on the opposite side of the street. She feels the heat of the July morning begin to awaken the day and thinks of the winter wedding she’d always dreamed of. As the sun begins to rise above her neighbor’s rooftop she closes her eyes, with an inhale on the joint, and imagines cold air prickling her skin and the lightness of the frozen crystals cascading across her eye lashes, like her first night Cambridge. The only part of her dream wedding she’d insisted upon is that the ceremony end when the stars are sparkling in the night sky.

Annie sits on the chair she’d brought out for this moment and taps the ash of her joint on the edge of the crystal bowl she’d placed on a square folding-table in the center of the balcony. She sits with her joint and imagines herself a bride in a snowstorm – the beauty of the falling snow disguising her tears – on this day of mixed emotions.

“What are you doing out here so early?” Dottie’s words interrupt Annie’s moment of self-pity and she turns away from the rising sun to answer her.

“I got a text from Maeve around four this morning, said her flight was delayed. I was so irritated, and annoyed, I couldn’t fall back to sleep. She can’t miss my wedding.”

Annie walks into the yard, the spring air still warm well past sunset. The scent of the freshly cut grass calms her beating heart as she approaches the maple tree where JP sits cross legged with his eyes closed.

“When did you start meditating?” She stands for a moment peering down at his black curls before taking her place on the plaid blanket next to him .

“Mindy, my therapist on the island, she suggested it.” He answers without opening his eyes. “She said it would help me calm my mind and figure out my purpose. Turns out I like hearing the sounds in the world.”

As the words leave his lips Annie is aware of the trill of a bird in the distance hum just as  the bells of St. Catherine ring out eight times, the shrill call of a crow in the branches reminds her of the bittersweet loneliness she’s felt since her arrival now muddled with her desire to never be alone again. Annie feels grounded in her decision to invite JP to visit, but her fluttering heart and nervous stomach make her reluctant to give into hope.