“I’ll help you do it. But you know Sam won’t turn up until she’s good and ready.” I take her elbow and guide her back to where JoJo is staring out of the living room window and undoubtedly eavesdropping the whole time. “Now, who’s hungry for lunch?”

JoJo takes my free arm. “I’m starved, doll.”

I lead Mama and JoJo out to a table set beneath a vine-covered trellis on the north side of the lawn. There is much oohing and aahing over the ocean view before they inspect the table. I managed to find a natural linen tablecloth, some tumbled glass votives, and a large chrome-and-wood hurricane lamp. Mixed with his everyday creamware plates and Mexican-style glasses, the setting is as nice as I can make it.

“This is lovely, pumpkin,” Mama says, touching one of the sprigs of rosemary I tucked into the linen napkins. “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”

“It’s your birthday lunch, Mama. And it was no trouble.”

“I can’t believe this view.” JoJo sighs as she stares at the ocean. She turns our way, and her salt-and-pepper curls lift in the breeze. “That boy has excellent taste.”

“He always has.” Mama takes the seat I pull out for her. “Thank you, dear. Though I will say, I had no idea TV acting paid so well. Oh, don’t give me that look, Dee. I know it’s tacky to mention money, but we’re family.”

I roll my eyes and pour her a glass of sweet tea.

JoJo takes the seat to her right. “He’s a star in one of the most popular shows on cable, Andie. I expect it pays well.”

“Not this well.” Mama waves a hand in the general direction of the lawn.

Knowing that Macon might return home at any moment makes me itchy. I cringe to think of him overhearing my mother and her best friend being gossips.

“Lemonade or sweet tea, Ms. JoJo?” I cut in before they can say more.

“Lemonade for me, angel.” She leans past me to look at my mother. “This is likely from his family money. Turns out Cecilia’s family was richer than a shiny-toothed television evangelist.”

“I knew they had money, but not to that extent.”

JoJo gives a careless shrug. “Old money doesn’t like to be showy.”

Mama nods sagely, and I press my lips together in irritation.

“Does it really matter if Macon comes from money?” I snap without thinking.

Mama grimaces and sets her cool hand on top of mine. “Of course not, baby.” She smiles brightly. “Well, obviously you two have made nice this time around.”

A noncommittal hum is all I can manage.

“I always thought Macon was secretly sweet on you.”

I can’t help but snort. “Sweet on me? Not a chance. His loathing was real.”

“Now, I know he could be . . .”

“An asshole?”

Mama pretends to be shocked. “Language, Delilah.”