Cade Rory wore leather pants and tall red boots to her sister’s wedding.

Luce and I watched from the attic, the dust-filled air around us almost unbreathable. Late June kept us too warm and cast everything around us in gold light. The ancient white church in the yard below us threatened to bust at the seams as more guests piled in.

“Like a clown car,” she’d said.

“They must be dying in there,” I replied, wiping sweat from my upper lip. 

“I’d never get married in the summer.” Luce fanned herself with her hand before pulling her hair up into a higher ponytail. She craned her neck in all different directions in attempt to catch a glimpse inside the stained glass windows.

When Cade stepped out of her sister’s beat-up car, Luce inhaled sharply enough to suck all the air out of the stuffy room. She slapped her hand against the window, mouth hanging open.

“Are you seeing this?” she asked me.

I nodded. I saw. 

Cara Rory’s long white dress spilled out the car door and Mrs. Rory helped her find her footing on the recently trimmed yellow grass.

Cade stepped out of the back seat looking politely bored. Her white-blonde hair was hanging down her back in delicate-looking waves. She wore a black blazer, black leather pants that reflected the afternoon sun, and shiny red boots that put her at least another head taller than her older sister. We couldn’t see her makeup very well from the attic window, but her bright red lipstick was impossible to miss.

“I can’t believe her mother lets her out of the house looking like that,” Luce said.

“How is she comfortable in those pants?” I wondered aloud, unable to tear my eyes away from the three of them. Cara hugged her mother and her sister before linking arms with them and walking up the front steps of the church.

“When you and Cade get married, you better make sure she doesn’t come out looking like that.”

“What?” I asked, feeling my face grow warmer for reasons other than the temperature in the attic. I avoided Luce’s eyes, though I could feel the weight of them on my face.

After the Rorys had disappeared through the front doors of the church and faint organ music hummed below us, I looked at Luce. She’d raised her eyebrows at me challengingly. “Do you think I’m stupid?” she asked. “You think I don’t know there’s something between you and Cade Rory?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I answered.

Luce laughed. “Izzy, I’ve known you for as long as we’ve been alive. I know when something’s going on.”

“There’s no ‘something,’” I said defensively.

“Oh, there’s something,” she assured me. “Whether you know it or not, there’s definitely something.”