“I mean, sure,” I said, nodding. “Who doesn’t celebrate American independence with some kind of dog costume contest?”

“And parade.” John David could not have emphasized those words more.

“I know you miss your father,” Lillian told him. “And I know you’re missing how things usually are.”

“No one’s missing anything!” Aunt Olivia stepped onto the back porch, an honest-to-God apple pie in her hands and a stars-and-stripes apron tied neatly around her midsection. She looked like something out of either a Norman Rockwell painting or an Alfred Hitchcock movie, depending on how soon she snapped. “Now, what’s this nonsense about us skipping the Fourth of July festivities? I certainly never said a word about that.”

Lillian arched an eyebrow at her. “You’ve never been overly fond of the lake, Olivia.”

“Go on with you, Mama. I love the lake as much as anyone in this family. I just don’t care much for the heat or the humidity or actually going out on the water. But in any case, we’re going. To the lake. For Fourth of July.”

That was unexpected. My mind went immediately to the texts that Lily and I had received. There hadn’t been any details, just enough to know that the White Gloves had plans for tonight.

“Is Dad coming?” John David asked tentatively. I couldn’t remember if he’d ever called J.D. Daddy the way that Lily did, but either way, he said Dad like a word that had lost nine-tenths of its shine.

“I’m afraid he can’t make it, sweetheart.” Aunt Olivia brandished the pie like she expected that to soften the blow. “But guess who is joining us?”

“Who?” John David asked, inching toward the pie.

Aunt Olivia beamed at me in a way that made me think she definitely hadn’t forgotten—or forgiven—the moment she’d seen me with Ana.

“Sawyer’s mama!”

CHAPTER 26

That was all of the warning I got. Within three hours, we’d made it most of the way to the lake, all of us in one car. Including my mom. And Lily. And every ax Lily had to grind with me.

I’d never been claustrophobic, but ignoring my mother while Lily ignored me was suffocating. Think about something else, I told myself, and my brain obliged.

I thought about my hands in Nick’s hair.

I thought about leaving him at the gala.

I thought about the fact that he hadn’t replied to any of the texts I’d sent him since. Presumably, he still needed an in to polite society. He needed me. I’d seen My Fair Lady. I’d seen Pretty Woman. This wasn’t a one-off kind of thing. And if he still needed my help . . .

If he still wanted it . . .