This Story Might Save Your Life(24)

“This old thing?” Benny did a twirl.

He was very handsome. My mom was equally lovely in her pink sheath dress, and he made sure she knew it. She waved off his compliments with a flush, and then abruptly left the room under the pretense of getting more water, though we already had plenty.

Benny and I were alone.

“You’re stunning,” he said quietly.

“Thank you.” My hair was down, veil-less, over a backless ivory gown (simple and easy in case I needed to lie down for a quick nap, which I did a few hours in), and I was wearing my grandma’s blue topaz drop earrings. I felt like the fantasy version of myself. I also felt cold. Los Angeles hadn’t yet shaken its June gloom. Rubbing my goose-bumpy arms, I said, “Is everyone ready?”

“Guests are still arriving.”

“Then we have time to share this.” I grabbed the bottle of champagne from the vanity, took a careful swallow so as to not mess up my lipstick, and handed it over.

He coughed from the bubbles, then ran a hand through his hair; his curls were tamer than usual, recently cut. “So,” he said. “Are you ready for this?”

I reached out to adjust his silky pocket handkerchief. “I think so.”

“Think?”

“I’m just nervous.”

His face was oddly difficult to read. Tapping the side of his head, I asked, “What’s going on in there?”

Eventually he said, “Let’s say you’re stuck in a loop, reliving the same day over and over. Like Groundhog Day, only you get to decide which day you’re reliving. Which day would you choose? And how do you stop the loop?”

“A two-parter,” I said, unsure if this was Benny changing the subject or getting to it in a roundabout way. “Is this you telling me you’re stuck in a loop? Are you reliving today over and over?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Not yet.”

“What if you were?” I tugged at his tie. “Would you try to stop my wedding?”

I said it like a joke, but in truth, I wanted his answer. Was I doing the right thing? I’d spent nine months focusing on flowers and songs and linens and paper stock, but a wedding was bigger than the sum of its parts. Was I ready for forever? The closer the day came, the less certain I was.

He didn’t answer my what-if. “This is your theoretical scenario, not mine.”

I took a deep breath and said, “I guess I would pick a day I regret. That way I could change things for the better and stop the loop.”

“Any day in particular?”

“I have a few in mind,” I said quietly.

He nodded. “Same.”

I stared into his watery green eyes, and as the seconds passed my heart began to race. In ten minutes I was supposed to walk down the aisle, where Benny would officiate, saying words that bound me to Xander till death do us part. A string quartet was playing music for our guests as they took their seats. Xander was probably already accepting congratulations. And here I was, wearing my ivory dress, holding Benny’s tie, waiting for him to utter aloud what his eyes were already saying.

“Are you trying to tell me you object to this marriage?” I whispered.

“You’re my best friend,” he whispered back. “I just want to make sure you’re happy.”

His best friend. The words hit me with the jolt I needed. I pasted on a smile, pressed a hand to his cheek, and feigned my most confident voice. “I’m good, Benny.”

He bit his lip and brushed my bangs out of my eyes. “Then let’s get you married.”





Benny Abbott


Day Two

Joy’s street is a beehive of cargo vans, police cars, cameramen, and gawkers. I am woefully underprepared for this level of commotion.

“No use trying,” says a middle-aged woman as we approach the gate. Her earlobes are stretched to the size of quarters, and there’s a hardened streak of yellow paint in her hair. “They haven’t let anyone in.”

Blinking into the morning sun, she points to her pink bungalow several houses down and breathily explains that a pair of detectives paid her a visit last night asking for information. “I guess the girl who lives here is kind of famous? I had no idea. She pretty much keeps to herself.”

Twenty feet away, Carlotta and Emil wave for my attention from their driveway. I excuse myself, and Luna follows me next door while Mallory and Quinn attempt to flag someone down beyond the fence.

“I can’t believe this,” Carlotta says. The flowy arms of her silky green wrap flutter in the breeze as she motions toward the chaos unfolding at Joy’s house. “Is all of this really necessary?”

“What would you have them do instead?” I search her face, looking for a clue, any indication as to what she, a former criminal court judge, would have done. “Do you not think it’s necessary?”

Emil frowns, deep lines etching his face. “I think what she’s asking is, have there been any developments since we spoke? Apart from Potsie reappearing. It doesn’t sound like they have any leads.”

I notice two things as he says this. One, that his shirt is half closed and misbuttoned at the bottom. Two, that his and Carlotta’s fingertips are stained with ink. “They fingerprinted you too?”

“I’m his personal trainer,” Emil says. “I’ve got my hands all over that house.”