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"Daphne isn't saying it quite right," Luke interjected. "I had to convince her that I was serious. I bought out every florist in Hyde Park and had the flowers delivered to the restaurant. Then I arranged for the chef to prepare a special dinner."

"Five courses with wine pairings from my favorite countries," Daphne said. "The dessert was a French croquembouche. The ring was perched on top."

Caroline had tried croquembouche once. It was a pyramid of chocolate pastry balls threaded with caramel and dusted with powdered sugar.

"I had to wipe off the sugar before I slipped it on her finger," Luke laughed.

"It was the most romantic thing I've ever seen," Daphne said. "We're going to have a croquembouche wedding cake."

Caroline felt a small twinge, as if she'd gotten a splinter that wouldn't come out. She wondered if she was jealous. Daphne seemed so happy, as if she'd found the one thing she'd been searching for her whole life.

But she was being silly. Stephen Cross, the first guy she dated after college, or Aiden Gray, who worked out at the same gym, would have proposed to Caroline over the years, if she had let them get close. But she had seen too many friends huddled on their sofas, sobbing into a blanket and going through a box of tissues. There were so many other things in life to care about. Her family and career.

Daphne was twenty-five, she was too young to get married. She wondered if Daphne was reacting to their mother's death. She had to talk to her. But Daphne could be stubborn; it was another thing she got from Anne.

"I'm going to take a bath and go to bed." Caroline stood up. "I haven't been sleeping well."

"It's only eight." Daphne frowned. "We're about to make dinner. We're going to try out a recipe from the restaurant."

"I'm not really hungry." Caroline turned to Luke. "It was so nice meeting you. We will talk a lot more tomorrow."

The upstairs of the cabin was just two bedrooms and a bathroom. Daphne's room was downstairs, behind the kitchen. Anne's bedroom looked exactly the same. The four-poster king-size bed that was too big for the cramped space. Tiffany-blue bedside lamps and a Lucite desk. Cashmere sweaters arranged in shades of the same color in the closet, next to Lilly Pulitzer summer dresses and rows of loafers and Anne's favorite driving shoes.

Anne worked hard for her money and she had been determined to enjoy it.

Caroline never knew her father. Anne's relationship with him had been a college romance, in Aix-en-Provence, in France. Anne never talked about him, and Caroline at some point stopped asking. A few years ago, she tried to find him, but there were thousands of Michael Palmers from Detroit. Caroline searched Facebook and LinkedIn but came up with nothing. Eventually, she had to give up. Anne managed to finish college while raising Caroline, and by the time she met Walter Greene, in the elevator of her new apartment building, she was a rising star at the House of Books literary agency. Walter was ten years older, and he adored her. Anne was thrilled to meet a man who seemed to love Caroline as much as she did, and who didn't mind that Anne had a career. They got married six weeks later. It was supposed to be Anne's housewarming party, but it turned into the wedding reception instead.

Caroline was four years old when they got married, and she remembered worrying what it would be like to have a man in the house. But from the beginning, Anne made it clear that being Caroline's mother was her top priority. A year later when Daphne was born, Caroline welcomed her little sister. It was fun to play with Daphne when she was sweet-smelling after a bath, and to read to her from the Beatrix Potter books on their shared bookshelf.

Anne and Walter had been complete opposites. Anne loved eating at fashionable New York restaurants, attending gallery openings, and traveling. Walter enjoyed fishing and quiet evenings at home, playing board games. But they had been happy. Then, five years ago, Walter died from a brain aneurysm. Anne spent more time at the cabin. Daphne and Caroline drove up on weekends and they'd make Belgian waffles and walk through the woods.

A pile of mail sat on the desk. Daphne must have brought it in from the mailbox. Her mother still received the occasional letter.

There were some Christmas cards and invitations to holiday parties. Toward the bottom was a red envelope. The return address was Santa's Little Red Mailbox, Main Street, Aspen.

Caroline opened it. It was dated June 30.