When Jake finally leads her to bed, they lie side by side in the dark. Mallory says, “I’m sure this is the last place you want to be right now. It’s one thing for us to be together when Ursula is happy and preoccupied with work. But it’s another thing for us to be together when she’s dealing with this kind of life-changing loss. You shouldn’t be with me. You should be with her.”

Mallory is right. Dr. de Gournsey—Ralph, or “Ralphie,” as Jake and Ursula had jokingly referred to him since they were thirteen—is dead. Dr. de Gournsey was bald with a slight build, but he had a deep, powerful voice, which made him intimidating. That, and his formidable intelligence. Dr. de Gournsey was an expert on Southeast Asian culture; in the de Gournseys’ living room was a curio cabinet filled with jade and coral figurines that he and Mrs. de Gournsey had collected in their travels to Thailand, Singapore, the Philippines. Over the years, Ralphie had been an ally of Jake’s; both he and Mrs. de Gournsey (Lynette; she insists that Jake call her Lynette) had. The three of them bonded in order to deal with the force that is Ursula.

“Ralph loved model trains,” Jake says. He thinks of Ralph inviting him down to the basement to see the trains for the first time, Christmas of ninth grade. The setup was elaborate, a serpentine track on a custom-made platform with hills and curves and a meticulously detailed Christmas village. Ursula’s brother, Clint, had no interest in the trains, Jake knew, so Jake, hoping to win over Ralph de Gournsey, had been an enthusiastic admirer of his model trains. He wants to explain this to Mallory, but would she care or understand?

She might understand better than he thinks because she says, “Do you want me to sleep in the guest room so you have some space to grapple with this? I feel like such an interloper. I didn’t know him.”

“No, stay here,” Jake says. Part of what he’s feeling is anger and resentment that the timing is so bad—if only this had happened next week, or even tomorrow. But it had happened today, when all he’d wanted was to make love to Mallory one last time—and now the waters are muddy, indeed.

Jake flies to South Bend through Boston and Detroit and he lands there on Monday at four o’clock in the afternoon. He plans on taking a taxi to the de Gournsey house but when he steps off the plane, he sees his father. Alec McCloud opens his arms and Jake steps into them.

“You’re no stranger to grief,” Alec says. “You’ll help her get through this.”

When Jake and his father climb into the car, Alec says, “So Ursula told us you were…on Nantucket? With your friend from Hopkins? What’s his name again?”

“Cooper,” Jake says. “Cooper Blessing.”

“Right,” Alec says. “Ursula said it’s become quite the tradition.”

Jake’s heart feels like it’s being feasted on by jackals. After Jessica died, Jake made a vow to be good for his parents’ sake. They had been through so much; he didn’t want to add to their burden. He would meet or exceed his potential; he would stay out of trouble; he would not lie to them. Jake imagines telling Alec about his relationship with Mallory. Every Labor Day weekend, no matter what. It would be such a relief to tell someone. What would Alec say? What would Jake’s mother say? He’s too ashamed to even venture a guess. He can’t confide in his parents. He can’t confide in anyone.

“Yes,” Jake says. “I go every year. Labor Day.”

Ursula isn’t doing well. When Jake gets to the de Gournsey house, she’s lying facedown on her childhood bed.

“Hey,” Jake says as he eases down next to her. “I’m here.”

She starts sobbing into her pillow, eventually lifting her face to the side like a swimmer taking a breath. Then the words come, making sense but no sense: She’s a terrible daughter, the worst, she’s bossy, ungrateful, domineering, cold, harsh, superior. Both her parents feared her and they should because she’s held them in contempt all her life…until now.

“My father loved me but he didn’t like me,” Ursula says, whimpering. “You told me yourself they said I was gruesomely self-centered. And I was! I am! I am this very instant!”

Jake rubs her back. She’d sounded much stronger over the phone and Jake imagined that when he showed up, she’d be organizing the reception at the University Club, picking hymns for the service, writing an obituary for the South Bend Tribune. A part of Jake suspected that she might even be working.

But now Jake sees he was wrong. Ursula’s armor has been pierced.

They make it through Tuesday in a daze. Friends and neighbors stop by to visit with casseroles, flowers, banana bread, boxes of Chocolate Charlie, books about dealing with grief, and bottles of Jameson, which was Ralph’s favorite, though no one else in the house touches the stuff. Everyone says a variation of the following to Jake and Ursula: You two are so lucky to have each other. Also: When are you getting married?

Wednesday, at the funeral, Jake and his parents sit in the front pew with Ursula, Lynette, and Ursula’s brother, Clint, who has arrived from Argentina in the nick of time with one hell of a beard. Half the faculty of Notre Dame is there; President Malloy gives the eulogy, a soloist from the university choir sings the “Ave Maria.” The Mass is beautiful. Ursula cries through the whole thing. Jake had thought she might speak, but it’s clear that’s just not possible. Ursula is lost and sinking. Jake wonders if this is what he’s been waiting for all these many years: a chance to serve as Ursula’s buoy, a chance to swoop in like Superman and catch her as she plummets.

They both have to get back to work, so they fly to Washington together first thing Thursday morning. It’s only after they take their seats in first class—the gate agent looked at Ursula and gave them a free upgrade—that Ursula turns to Jake and says, “How was Nantucket?”

“Oh,” he says. “It was fine, I guess. With all that happened, I can barely remember.”

“There was a young woman’s voice on the answering machine,” Ursula says. “Who was that?”

“That?” Jake says. “I’m not sure.” He plucks the in-flight magazine out of the seat pocket in front of him in an attempt to seem unconcerned. “Coop’s sister, maybe? It’s a family cottage.”

“Coop’s sister?” Ursula says. “That’s the bridesmaid you danced with at his wedding, right?”

Jake lowers the magazine in mock frustration. “Honestly, Ursula, I don’t remember.”

“Well, was she there?” Ursula asks. “The sister?”

Jake has spent four weekends with Mallory. He’s lucky, he supposes, that he only now has to lie about it. “No, Ursula, like I told you, it’s a guys’ weekend.” He’d told Mallory before he left that he had given Ursula the number for the cottage in case of emergency. Obviously I never thought she’d use it, he said. I’ve known Ursula since she was thirteen and there has never been an emergency she couldn’t handle by herself.

Ursula nods—but does she look wholly convinced? “Okay,” she says.