* * *
On the drive to that Saturday's wedding, Anna was uncharacteristically quiet. I had the intense urge to ask her what was wrong, but I stopped myself each time the words floated to my tongue.
We weren't in that kind of relationship. We were barely friends. Besides, she didn't need to know that I noticed when she was quiet. Maybe she just didn't feel like talking.
When we arrived at the venue that was down on the beach, Anna flinched when I took her arm. Even when she was struggling to walk in heels in the sand, she refused to let me help her.
"Is this some feminist thing, or do I have the plague?" I asked when we sat down.
Anna was a little flushed. "I can walk without assistance, thank you."
I wanted to demand to know why she was suddenly as prickly as a f*****g cactus. I also
