Don Morgan, the Points North magazine photographer, set up in front of the podium. “The only daughter of an only daughter of an only daughter all named Lillian,” Don said as Lil smiled, our heads tilted toward Mother. “Rusty, could you step away for this photo? I want to get the three Eddington women.”

Rusty didn’t move for a moment, and then he smiled—the charming smile. “Two of them are Calvin women, Don.”

“Yes, they are, aren’t they?” The flash went off.

Rusty stalked to the bar. My instinct was to go after him and soothe his hurt feelings, but then Mother tapped the microphone to make sure it was working. A high-pitched squeal brought the crowd to a quiet stop, and everyone turned to the podium.

There were many reasons the party had taken on a dreamlike quality, but the most striking of them was this: My husband and my mother had never been big fans of this art “hobby.” We’d had fights and disagreements and quiet evenings of hostility over the time and effort I put into something they didn’t truly deem worthy, yet that night they were my biggest fans.

The worst disagreement Rusty and I ever had had been when I forgot to pick Lil up from horseback riding. He’d thrown a jar of paintbrushes across my attic studio, where they’d scattered on the floor, skittering across the uneven floorboards as if to escape him, settling into the corners as if hiding. He’d compared my art to a drug, saying it was an escape. Maybe it was, but now that escape hung on linen walls with SOLD stickers on the frames.

Mr. Lomax, the art studio owner’s husband, took the microphone and welcomed everyone to the party. I smiled, but my curls shivered with nervous shaking.

“Tonight we’re here to celebrate Ellie Calvin, her birthday and her decade of work, but first I want to make an announcement.” Mr. Lomax motioned toward Mother.

Mother placed her hand on my arm. “Oh, I was hoping he wouldn’t do this.”

“Today the Atlanta Historical Society announced their brand-new exhibit for the spring of next year. And our beloved Lillian Ashford Eddington will be part of this new display about the Atlanta Woman of the Year during the decade of the 1960s. We are so proud of her and look forward to the event.”

Cheers and hollers came from the crowd. Mother took the microphone and blushed, looking out from under her eyelashes as a shy-girl. She wore a brand-new teal St. John suit with crystal buttons. Her silver hair was smooth and slick to her shoulders. She was a beautiful woman, and she knew it. We all knew it.