As the mistress of Windsor Hill walked down the hallway toward the heavy beveled-glass front door, she realized she'd left her coffee cup in the sunroom. Well, it would have to stay there for another year. Or, until she felt brave enough to unlock the door and enter the room that was simply too full of memories. At the end of the hallway, she opened the door and walked out onto the veranda. She looked around as though seeing it for the very first time. She was surprised to realize the gardener had hung the giant ferns, cleaned the wicker furniture, laid down new fiber rugs, and arranged the colorful clay pots of petunias and geraniums. Even the six paddle fans had been cleaned and waxed. How was it possible she hadn't noticed? Because she was so wrapped up in herself, that was why. She tried to remember the last time she'd sat out here with a glass of lemonade. When she couldn't come up with any answer, she started to pace the long veranda, which wrapped itself around the entire house. Where was Rifkin? She looked down at the diamond-studded watch. He was ten minutes late. Rif was never late. Never. She wondered if his lateness was an omen of things to come.

For the first time since getting up, she was aware of the golden June day as she stared out at the Windsor grounds. Once the endless fields had produced cotton and tobacco. Now they produced watermelons, pumpkins, and tomatoes that were shipped coast to coast. The acres of pecan trees went on as far as the eye could see. The pecans, too, were shipped all over the country. On the lowest plateau of the hill, cows grazed, hence the Windsor Dairy. Horses trotted in their paddock. There was a time when she'd been an accomplished horsewoman. Once there had been a pony named Beauty and a little red cart that carried Emily around the yard. Just like Emily, they were gone, too.

Sarabess heard the powerful engine then. She looked down at her watch once more. Twenty-three minutes late. What would be Rif's excuse this fine Monday morning? Did it even matter? He was here now.

When the Mercedes stopped in front of the steps leading to the veranda, Sarabess waved a greeting before she rang the little bell on one of the tables next to a wicker chair, Martha's signal that she should serve coffee on the veranda. She walked back to the top of the steps to wait for Rif's light kiss on her cheek. She smiled when she realized there was to be no explanation as to why he was late. Rif hated to make explanations. It was the lawyer in him. She motioned to one of the chairs and sat down across from the attorney.