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relationship. The universal disapproval of our match was sometimes daunting. I couldn’t deny that Michael “the Mick” Abruzzo had served time in prison. For a fact, he was the son of a convicted New Jersey crime boss, and from time to time he had encounters with the law himself. Even now Michael was in jail again, after pleading guilty to a charge of conspiring with his family. I knew he’d done it for good reason, and his sentence was short, so I was clinging to the hope I’d feel his powerful force in my life again by summer.
    Sutherland said, “Was I misinformed? You didn’t marry him?” Then his gaze fell on the diamond ring Michael had given me. His eyes popped at the size of the sparkling rock. “Or you haven’t yet, perhaps? Having second thoughts? Marriage is always a gamble with you Blackbird women, isn’t it?”
    â€œYou’re referring to the curse?”
    â€œWell, there’s no denying the female Blackbirds end up widows. Even Madeleine. My father took a chance, and look what happened to him. So, what’s the story with your convict? Did you marry him or not?”
    Was our marriage official? Well, perhaps the laws of Pennsylvania and most of its churches would say otherwise, but we had committed ourselves to each other, Michael and I, in an unorthodox ceremony conducted in the presence of my unorthodox family on a beach with weekend picnickers looking on. For better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health—­the works. Except for the license. Frankly, I was afraid to make our union more legal than that for fear of Michael’s life. I didn’t believe in curses—­not much, at least. But the Blackbird curse of widowhood gave me pause. So we had made our union a marriage in our hearts and in front of witnesses, if not on official paper.
    Trouble was, Michael had gone to jail only a few weeks after we made our vows to each other. He’d pleaded guilty to conspiracy and obstruction of justice in a deal that sent other Abruzzos away for longer sentences. He refused to let me visit him in prison, and although I thought we might have outsmarted the Blackbird curse by making our vows in an unconventional non-­ceremony, I couldn’t help wondering if the curse had taken him away from me anyway.
    When I didn’t answer Sutherland’s question right away, he said, “I hate the thought of you spending your evenings alone, Nora, that’s all. Now that I’m in town, I wonder if I might visit. Or take you out for dinner? I’ve always been so fond of you. We should catch up—­”
    â€œSutherland,” I said, “cut the crap. What’s on your mind?”
    He feigned surprise. Not very convincingly. “Nora, I don’t remember this side of you. You used to be so . . .”
    â€œGullible?”
    â€œSweet, I was going to say.”
    I turned and walked out of the pantry, through the breakfast room, across the loggia to the French doors. I unlocked one and gave it a shove with my shoulder to push the sticky door open. Sutherland followed me outside into the kitchen garden—­now a tangle of fragrant weeds running rampant around the brick wall. A rabbit dashed from the gravel path and into some bushes to hide.
    When I was sure we were alone, I turned to Sutherland and said, “Cuz, let’s stop playing whatever game you started.”
    â€œNora, I would never—­”
    â€œDon’t insult me any more than you already have,” I said. “Let’s be honest. You’re wondering why Aunt Madeleine gave this place to my sisters and me instead of to you—­her stepson.”
    â€œWell, it’s peculiar, I’ll admit.”
    â€œTo all of us,” I said.
    â€œI thought she had a few motherly feelings towards me, but perhaps not. It’s not that I need the cash,” he said quickly. “I’m hardly in beggar’s