Greta nodded, proving that, to her immense credit, Laura had told the truth. There had been a lot of talk about what to do with this sticky situation. The signs had obviously been made. I didn’t exactly feel sorry for her, but I did know what it was like to be put in a morally ambiguous position. And, as much as Laura hadn’t made things particularly easy for me lately, I knew she appreciated Bill’s big fat check. And she would want another one. So she would swallow her pride and fix this. Because what was better than publicly humiliating someone? Being the hero who beat the fundraising goal.

“Thank you so much, Laura.” She slipped rhinestone tennis bracelets—quite good ones, in fact—that served as the “tickets” for the evening onto our wrists and said, “I apologize again for the oversight. I will make up for the lost time with an extra mention in the Arts Council newsletter.”

“That would be just great.” I was going for a charitable tone, but I think it bordered on patronizing, which, honestly, was fine.

“I loathe that woman,” Grace said into my ear as we walked toward the bar.

“So do I. But, on the bright side, Laura will rehash that exact conversation—Bill’s innocence and all—to everyone at this party.”

I grabbed a glass of champagne and looked around. I was so caught up in my own mini-drama, I had forgotten to look for my daughter. Her friend Dabney walked by, holding a tray of sweet potato ham biscuits. “You look fabulous,” I said. She did. Predictably. Dabney was one of those beautiful, lithe, shiny people that you wanted to hate, but she was just too sweet. And she wasn’t just teenager shiny. She was forever shiny, would grow from a lovely girl into a bombshell of a woman. You just knew it. She, Chloe, and Iris had picked out matching dresses in pink, yellow, and blue. Dabney was yellow, Chloe blue, Iris pink. They were the cutest little things. I was so happy for my daughter’s supportive friendships. I knew that it was a gift to have a shield from high school girl drama. But I hadn’t known until now how very sustaining female friendships could be. I’d never had any quite this good.

“Not as fabulous as you, Mrs. Sitterly. You’re the talk of the party.”

I laughed, and she put her free hand to her mouth. “I didn’t mean it like that!”

I put my hand to her shoulder. “It’s fine, sweetheart. Thank you. If you see Iris, tell her to embarrass herself for just a moment and come say hello to her humiliating mother.”

Dabney laughed. “Yes, ma’am.” She looked at Grace. “You look beautiful too, Mrs. McDonald.”

Mrs. McDonald did, indeed, look beautiful.

“Would you like me to tell Merit to come find you?”

“I wouldn’t put that on you, Dabney.”