But somehow I felt it was better that way. There were no statues of the Madonna (rumored to have once wept tears of blood because a virgin—me—graduated from the school) or Father Junípero Serra to gaze down upon us, only the familiar faces of friends and loved ones—our true friends and loved ones, because we’d invited only Jesse’s colleagues from the hospital and my friends and family members who happened to be home for Thanksgiving.

Father Dominic was still there to perform the ceremony, but it was from his wheelchair rather than the intimidating altar at the San Carlos Borromeo de Carmelo Mission, which I preferred.

The ceremony went off without a hitch, with the exception of the performance of the flower girls, who, in the tradition of flower girls throughout history, stole the show. Only Jesse, Father Dominic, and I knew, however, that their antics were due to the fact that a few additional guests had shown up to the ceremony uninvited . . . an elderly woman who’d passed away moments before in the cardiac ward and decided to stick around because, as she informed us, “I love a good wedding.”

Then there was a forty-niner (the gold mining kind, not a member of the professional football team) who simply stood in the back, his battered top hat in his hands to show his respect for the bride.

Finding a venue for the reception afterward was simple. We invited everyone—minus the deceased—back to 99 Pine Crest Road for cake, champagne, barbecue, and beer.

“Well,” my mother said as she stood with her arm around my waist on what had once been her back deck, but was now mine. “I don’t know how you did it, Suzie. Or why. But I approve.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I clinked her champagne glass with my own. “Jesse and Jake worked really hard on it. David helped, too.”

I didn’t mention how David had arrived unannounced at Snail Crossing on the Saturday afternoon that Jesse and I had first made love, demanding to know where everyone was, and accidentally walked in on Jake and Gina having a romantic interlude of their own.

Then, upon discovering that I had somehow managed to procure ownership of our old house, and that there was no longer any danger from “the curse” he’d flown over three thousand miles to help break, David had proceeded to have a miniature nervous breakdown, from which we’d had to nurse him back to health with great quantities of brewskis and za.

“I don’t mean the decorations,” Mom said, indicating the party globes we’d strung across the backyard to light the picnic tables at which our guests were enjoying the barbecue Andy—ever the chef—had insisted on providing. “I mean the house. Suze, I had no idea this house meant so much to you. Why didn’t you tell me? We’d never have sold it if we’d known.”

“Oh,” I said, sipping my champagne. “The timing wasn’t right. Jesse and I had some things to sort out first.”

What was I supposed to say? Well, the truth is, Mom, my husband—how I loved thinking, let alone saying, the word—died and was a ghost in this house for a while. He needed to work through that. And I needed to work through some crap that was haunting me.

But it’s all good now. Well, all good for now.

“But how much did you pay Paul for it, if you don’t mind my asking?” Mom looked around nostalgically. “Please tell me you didn’t blow all your savings.”

“Well, I won’t lie to you, the taxes are going to be a bitch, but nothing I can’t handle. I got a really good deal on the place, though.” It wasn’t hard to keep a straight face. “Paul practically gave it to me, as a matter of fact.”

Mom seemed impressed. “Well, wasn’t that sweet of him? See, I knew you two could work out your differences.”

“Yeah,” I said. “You weren’t wrong about him.”

“Simon!” A familiar male voice startled me from behind. I turned around to see Adam MacTavish, accompanied by one of my bridesmaids, CeeCee. “Or is it de Silva now?”

“We’ll see,” I said, and hugged him. “I haven’t decided yet. Wow, don’t you look like a young urban professional.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself, Simon. May I admire you?”

“You may.” I handed CeeCee my champagne glass and curtsied in my couture gown. Adam applauded.

“Love. Big fan of the sweetheart neckline and mermaid skirt, always have been, it’s a classic for a reason. Now spin.”

I spun. CeeCee pretended to be bored and studied the clouds overhead, which had turned orange and lavender as the sun sank into the western sky.

“Gorgeous,” Adam said. “Love the lace, and the corset back does amazing things to your boobs, Simon. You look like a Victorian hooker.”

“Geez, Adam.” CeeCee handed my champagne glass back to me, then took his from him. “You’re cut off. Her mother is standing right over there.”

“I don’t think she heard you.” My mother had become involved in a conversation with Debbie Mancuso’s parents, whom I’d noticed shaking their heads earlier at how little furniture Jesse and I possessed.

We didn’t care. We had each other (and Spike and Romeo, who’d settled into an uneasy truce), and that was all we needed.

Plus the sizable gift certificate Mom and Andy had given us to one of the home-furnishing stores Andy represented. He’d said I could use his employee discount. I already had new curtains and carpets picked out.

“Mrs. Simon didn’t hear me,” Adam was saying. “And it was a compliment. By Victorian hooker, Suze, I meant, you know, one of those virginal-looking hot ladies from a vampire movie, or an old Western.”

“Just the look I was going for,” I said. “Will you two excuse me? I spotted some people I want to say hi to.”

“Of course,” CeeCee said. As I walked away from them, I heard a muffled thump, and Adam cry out in pain.

“What?” he asked CeeCee defensively. “I said it was a compliment!”

“You’re such an idiot,” CeeCee replied, but there was affection in her voice. Since the story on Jimmy Delgado’s “suicide” broke, CeeCee had gotten a lot more confident about her professional prospects. The subsequent story she’d done on Father Francisco’s arrest—and the arrest of the several other prominent Monterey Bay area residents who’d been members of Delgado’s “private client list”—had been picked up by the Associated Press. CeeCee had been offered a promotion at the Carmel Pine Cone that she still claimed to be “mulling over.”