Hunter John didn’t notice, but then he never did, so she looked immediately for her mother. Her mother would tell her she was beautiful and that everything was all right. Hunter John kissed her cheek, then made a beeline to the bar, where his buddies were gathered. Young men at gatherings like this were like dust skittering to corners, trying to get away from the movement of skirts and the breath of ladies’ laughter.

She ran into Eliza Beaufort while searching for her mother. Eliza had been one of her best friends in high school. “Keep the Beauforts as friends,” Emma’s mother always said, “and you’ll know what people are saying about you.”

“Oh, my Lord, I couldn’t wait for you to get here,” Eliza said. Her lipstick was smudged and lopsided from talking out of the side of her mouth. “I want to know all about how you heard.”

Emma smiled slightly, distracted. “How I heard what?” she asked, looking over Eliza’s shoulder.

“You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Sydney Waverley is back in town.” She almost hissed the words, like a curse.

Emma’s eyes darted to meet Eliza’s, but she didn’t move a muscle. Was that why everyone was acting strangely tonight? Because Sydney was back and everyone here couldn’t wait for Emma to arrive in order to get her reaction? That disturbed her for many reasons, the most important of which was that people thought she would even have a reaction, that this warranted some kind of concern on her part.

“She came back Wednesday and she’s staying with her sister,” Eliza continued. “She even helped Claire on a job in Hickory this afternoon. You really didn’t know?”

“No. So she’s back. So what?”

Eliza raised her brows. “I didn’t think you’d take it this well.”

“She was never anything to us, anyway. And Hunter John is very happy. I have no worries. I need to find my mother. We’ll do lunch next week, yes? Kiss, kiss.”

She finally found her mother seated at one of the tables, sipping champagne and entertaining people who stopped by to see her. Ariel looked queenly and elegant and ten years younger than her real age. Like Emma, her hair was blond and her boobs were big. She drove a convertible, wore diamonds with denim, and she never missed a homecoming game. She was so Southern that she cried tears that came straight from the Mississippi, and she always smelled faintly of cottonwood and peaches.

Her mother looked up as Emma approached, and Emma knew right away that she knew. Not only did she know, she wasn’t happy about it. No, no, no, Emma thought. There’s nothing wrong. Don’t make this wrong, Mama. Ariel stood and left Emma’s father with a provocative smile that would have him waiting eagerly for her return.

“Let’s take a stroll out to the veranda,” Ariel said, hooking her arm in Emma’s and firmly leading her outside. They smiled as they passed some small groups of people who had come out to smoke, because smiling meant everything was okay. Once in a far corner, Ariel said, “No doubt you’ve heard about Sydney Waverley. Don’t worry. Everything will be all right.”