“Well, don’t you look eye-talian with your dark hair and Sophia Loren dress. Your picture should be on a bottle of olive oil,” Evanelle said. She was in her green velour running suit, and slung over her shoulder was a rather large tote bag full of quarters and stamps and egg timers and soap, all things she might feel the need to give someone at some point.

“I was just about to make some coffee,” Claire said, stepping back. “Come in.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Evanelle entered and followed Claire to the kitchen, where she sat at the kitchen table while Claire made the coffee. “You know what I hate?”

Claire looked over her shoulder as steam carrying the smell of coffee curled around the kitchen. “What do you hate?”

“I hate summer.”

Claire laughed. She loved having Evanelle around. Claire had tried for years to get the old lady to move into the Waverley house so she could take care of her, so the house wouldn’t feel as if the walls were moving out of her way as she walked, making the hallways longer and rooms bigger. “Why on earth would you hate summer? Summer is wonderful. Fresh air, open windows, picking tomatoes and eating them while they’re still warm from the sun.”

“I hate summer because most of them college kids leave town, so there aren’t as many runners and I don’t have any nice male backsides to look at when I walk the track.”

“You’re a dirty old lady, Evanelle.”

“I’m just sayin’.”

“Here you go,” Claire said, setting a coffee cup on the table in front of Evanelle.

Evanelle peered into the cup. “You didn’t put anything in it, did you?”

“You know I didn’t.”

“Because your side of the Waverleys always wants to put something in everything. Bay leaves in bread, cinnamon in coffee. I like things plain and simple. Which reminds me, I brought you something.” Evanelle grabbed her tote bag and brought out a yellow Bic lighter.

“Thank you, Evanelle,” Claire said as she took the lighter and put it in her pocket. “I’m sure this will come in handy.”

“Or maybe it won’t. I just knew I had to give it to you.” Evanelle, who had twenty-eight sweet teeth, all of them false, picked up her coffee and looked over at the covered cake plate on the stainless-steel island. “What have you made over there?”

“White cake. I stirred violet petals into the batter. And I crystallized some violets to put on top. It’s for a dinner party I’m catering tonight.” Claire picked up a Tupperware container beside it. “This white cake, I made for you. Nothing weird in it, I promise.” She set it on the table next to Evanelle.

“You are the sweetest girl. When are you going to get married? When I’m gone, who will take care of you?”

“You’re not going anywhere. And this is a perfect house for a spinster to live in. I’ll grow old in this house, and neighborhood children will vex me by trying to get to the apple tree in the backyard and I’ll chase them away with a broom. And I’ll have lots of cats. That’s probably why you gave me that cat bed.”