Jules' POVThe morning of my wedding came in clear and warm, the late-May light moving across the lake in the particular gold-green way it had been doing more and more often as the season properly arrived, and I woke before my alarm with a calm I had not expected, given the nervous, scattered energy of the night before.Madeline appeared at seven with coffee and a clipboard, transformed overnight from grieving best friend into a logistics commander of terrifying efficiency, and the next several hours moved in the particular blurred, golden way that important days tend to move — hair, the dress, Eli appearing in a small suit that he found deeply uncomfortable and complained about at intervals with the specific, repetitive insistence of a child being asked to tolerate something unreasonable, Madeline fixing my hair for the third time with the patience of someone who understood that today required patience.The garden had been transformed. Not elaborately — we had insisted on that, both
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