The card on the front row said MOTHER OF THE BRIDE.
It was printed in gold letters on thick, creamy paper, the kind that costs three dollars a sheet. It was propped up on the first chair on the left side of the aisle, right next to a little bouquet of white roses tied to the end of the pew.
Underneath, in fancy black script, it said a name.
Crystal Dunn.
I stood there in the empty church and read it three times. My hand was still holding the little
beaded purse I’d bought for the wedding. I’d spent forty minutes in a department store picking it out because I wanted it to match my dress exactly. Dusty rose. Hannah’s favorite color when she was eight.
It was eleven-fifteen in the morning. The ceremony started at noon. The ushers were still setting out programs, and the florist was fussing with the arch at the front of the church. Nobody was paying any attention to me.
