In the summer of 1997, Luna's great-aunt Alma bought a wedding dress from a trunk sale at the old Hemlock Creek Methodist Church. The dress was beautiful—ivory silk, seed pearls, a hand-stitched lace train that pooled like a secret. But every woman who tried it on, from Alma to her niece to the girl who found it in the back of a closet, woke at 3:33 AM with a name on their lips and a single white thread wrapped around their ring finger. This is the story of that dress. The way it smelled of roses and wet wool. The way it fit each wearer as if it had been waiting for them. And the way it always, always found its way back. Luna tells it from her own porch, the lantern low, the fireflies holding still as if listening. A story about wanting something so badly it wants you back.

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