“Like Aquaman,” Max said with a nod.

“Hang on a sec!” Bill was looking down at his phone, scrolling through it fast. “Judges can also marry people in Connecticut. Even retired judges. They retain the ability to marry people in the state. And it’s totally legal.”

“That’s good,” Max said, nodding emphatically. “That could be good. Um . . . do you know any judges?”

“I don’t,” I said, trying to think if there was a possibility either of my parents would be able to call in a favor, on a Saturday, for someone to perform a same-day wedding.

“So, should I tell them?” Max asked, meeting my eyes.

I glanced over at Bill, then looked back at Max. I really didn’t want to start off my sister’s wedding day—which was supposed to be the happiest day of her life—by telling her we were down an officiant. “Let’s see if we can figure something out,” I said slowly, wondering if it was the right decision even as I was saying it. I met Bill’s eye, and he gave me a small nod.

“Morning.” I looked over to see Rodney standing in the doorway, yawning.

“Everything’s fine!” I said too loudly.

Rodney frowned. “What?”

“I mean . . . morning to you too. How’d you sleep? Want some juice?”

“I’m okay,” Rodney said, yawning again as he headed for the coffee maker. “Did anyone make coffee?”

“Did someone say coffee?” J.J. asked, vaulting himself over the last two steps of the kitchen stairs, then stumbling slightly, managing to recover without falling over, and shooting me a big smile. I glared back at him.

“I’m making it,” Rodney said as he started filling the pot with water. “Apparently.”

“What’s your damage?” J.J. asked, pushing himself up to sit on the counter.

“Um, remember I was supposed to stay in your room last night?” I asked, then immediately hoped Bill wouldn’t think I was upset that I’d had to stay in the same room as him. “It wasn’t a big deal,” I added hurriedly. “But—”

“Why couldn’t Charlie stay in your room?” Rodney asked.

J.J. just looked at me, his eyes wide, and I realized this wasn’t something he wanted Rodney to know about, which surprised me—usually J.J. was the first one to tell you about any sort of romantic development in his life, always convinced after the first date that he’d met the girl he was going to marry.

“He, um,” I said, looking at my brother, “locked the door.”

“I did,” J.J. said quickly, shooting me a grateful look. “Sorry about that, Charlie.” I gave him a small smile back, and then J.J. squinted at Max, who looked like he was about to fall over, or vomit, or both. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Bill and I said at the exact same time, which I had to admit, didn’t help things seem less suspicious.

“Yeah, right,” J.J. said, shaking his head. “What is it?”

“Um . . .” I tried to think of something non-wedding-related. “I think we have a ghost?”

“A ghost?” Rodney asked.

I nodded. “I think the dog saw something this morning. He kept growling at the ceiling.”

J.J. rolled his eyes. “Well, that’s all the proof I need.” He looked around. “Is there breakfast?”

“Morning.” I looked over to see my dad pushing his way through the door to the kitchen, rubbing his hands together. “It’s cold today, isn’t it?” Rodney shot him a look, and my dad immediately shook his head. “I meant, not cold. It’s not cold at all. Perfect wedding weather. Is someone other than Charlie making coffee?”

The kitchen door swung open, and my uncle Stu stepped inside from the backyard, wearing a bathrobe with WESTIN embroidered on it. The dog trotted in after him, and I noticed that his paws looked dirty. I went to try to grab him and clean them off, but maybe sensing what I was after, he took off at a run toward the family room. My uncle slammed the door, and it let out the same three beeps that had sounded when I’d closed it.

“Huh,” Stu said, peering at it. “I think there’s something wrong with your alarm system, Jeff.”

“Thanks for pointing that out, Stu.”

“So,” my uncle said, looking around. “Is breakfast on the way? I could eat a horse.”

J.J. nodded. “That’s what I said! Well, except for the horse part.”

“What’s wrong?” Rodney asked, and to my alarm, I saw that he was looking at Max like he was trying to figure something out. “Max? What’s going on?”

“I’ll do a bagel run,” I said quickly, stepping a little in front of Rodney. “It’s no big deal. I have to get your suit anyway, so . . .”

“What’s wrong with your suit?” The General came into the kitchen from the front hall, and I noticed nearly everyone in the room—aside from Max—stand up a little straighter. It was just his effect on people. It may have also been because while everyone else in the kitchen was either in jeans or pajamas, the General looked like he was ready to play a round of golf, wearing khakis and a button-down, both perfectly pressed.

“Nothing,” Rodney said, walking over to his dad. “It just wasn’t ready yesterday.”

“Well, that’s unacceptable.”

“I agree,” I said quickly. “So I should go pick it up. Along with the bagels.”

“I’ll help,” Bill said immediately, and I could tell just by looking at him that we were thinking the same thing—that it really wouldn’t matter about the suit if we had nobody to perform the ceremony.

“In the meantime, I know we have food in here,” my dad said, crossing to the fridge. “Let me see what’s what. . . .”

“I’ll just . . . ,” I said to Bill, nodding upstairs, so hopefully he would understand I meant I just needed to get dressed. He nodded, and I dashed for the kitchen stairs, nearly crashing into Priya and Jenny W., who were coming down.

“Whoa,” Priya said, her eyes widening. “What’s the hurry?”

“Oh,” I said, starting to edge past them toward the stairs. “Just a lot to do today. You know. Weddings.”

“Is J.J. in there?” Jenny W. asked, fluffing up her hair. I looked at her and noticed she looked awfully good for someone who’d allegedly just woken up.

I just smiled at her, then took the stairs to the third floor two at a time.

* * *

I put the car in park and glanced at Bill. We had found a spot up the street from Swift Tailors, where Rodney’s suit was waiting for us. The whole ride over, Bill had been trying to find a judge who would be willing to work last-minute on a Saturday, but from what I could hear on this end, it hadn’t sounded like he’d made a ton of progress. “Any luck?”

He lowered his phone slightly, then shook his head. “I keep trying all these offices . . .” He paused. “Chambers? I’m not sure what a judge’s office is called.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “We can ask Rodney.” A second later, though, I remembered that we couldn’t ask Rodney—because as far as Rodney was concerned, Max was still going to be performing his ceremony and Bill and I were not currently on a wild-judge chase.

“Anyway, nobody’s answering the phone,” he said, lowering his cell and looking at it. “I guess when you think about it, court’s not in session on Saturday, so maybe nobody’s there.”

“I guess we should tell them,” I said, glancing over at him. “So we can . . .” I stopped when I realized I didn’t know how to finish that sentence. So that we could what?

“Well,” Bill said, frowning down at his phone, “I’m sure we can think of something. Right? It’s not like the wedding’s not going to happen.”

“Right,” I echoed, hoping I sounded more confident than I felt.

I killed the engine, and we headed up the street and into Swift Tailors. I’d been worried that it wouldn’t be open this early, but Bill had looked it up, and since their adjoining dry-cleaning business, ImPRESSive Cleaners, opened at seven, the tailor shop was open too. But maybe not that surprisingly, since it wasn’t even eight on a Saturday, we were the only people in the store.