“Hiiiiiii,” I hear from behind, and, in a flash, Margo’s expression changes. Her eyes light with genuine pleasure, her arms open to hug her look-alike niece. It is a warm moment for me, even a comical one. What we have here is conservative versus funky wearing the same face. It has been this way since Joy began choosing her own clothes. But Margo adores her, for which I will always be grateful.

“You. Are. Gorgeous,” my older sister says against my daughter’s hair. As quickly, she holds her back and looks her up and down. “How old did you say you are?”

Joy glows. “Thirteen and loving the nail polish you sent for my birthday. I adore that it’s free of the worst baddies, like formaldehyde and camphor. The purple is delish,” she runs on, still half in Margo’s arms, “but my favorite, favorite thing is doing alternate nails purple and green, or two purple for every green? Like Gem and Tabitha—gorgeous shades. If I’d known you were coming, I’d have done that so you could see.” She slides a hopeful look past Margo toward the parking lot. “Jeff and Teddy?” She adores her cousins.

“No,” Margo apologizes. “They’re on a guys’ trip with their dad. They’ll be disappointed when I tell them I saw you.”

Accepting that, Joy says, “But I’m so glad you’re here.” She spares me a suspicious glance. “Did you know she was coming?”

“I did not.”

“Nor did I,” says Anne, joining us as my daughter had seconds before.

My sisters hug in a perfunctory way, and I can live with perfunctory. It could be worse. Anne resented Margo for siding with Mom; Margo resented Anne for siding with Dad. I’ve been the bridge between them over the years, orchestrating our every reunion. But those were in neutral space. Bay Bluff is ground zero.

Would Jack ever have a field day with that image, I think. I have a sudden urge to text him.

But Joy is impossibly touching us all with her arms, turning it into a group hug. “I love this,” she sighs, “everyone together.” Her pleasure makes my heart clench. This is the family she wants.

“I was in New York with friends,” Margo explains before Anne can ask. “I called Mal to see if I could stop by her place, and when she said she was here, I figured I’d better come, too.”

“Crazy,” Joy says, still in delight mode, which is probably good, since we three have no clue what to say.

When Margo slips free and approaches Dad, I gesture the other two off. Either they understand that simple is better for him, or Anne just doesn’t want to witness the reunion. Whichever, slinging an arm around Joy, she ushers her toward the kitchen.