The day of my sister’s wedding dawned clear but hot, unseasonably hot for September.

“Indian summer,” my mother said as she adjusted Alice’s veil before the mirror.

“It’s not on straight, mo-om!” Alice whined, and I wondered if she was actually going to throw a tantrum. I stuck my tongue out at her reflection and she screwed her face up into an ugly scowl.

We began giggling, schoolgirls again.

“Oh, will you two never grow up?” My mother chided, but her smile removed the sting from her words.

I ran out of the house, wondering if Stephen was fishing at the dock. I was 15 and still longing for the summer romance July and August had failed to produce.

As I hoped, he was there, standing barefoot at the edge of the dock, hands in his pockets as he stared at the horizon. I kicked off my sandals and ran towards him.

“Hey!” I called out and he turned to me. Stephen was 17, green-eyed and tan. To me, he was the epitome of beauty.

“Hey yourself,” he said with a lazy smile, and my heart somersaulted in my chest.