And Claire would answer, straight-faced, as every Waverley had, “Of course.”

When Sydney was a teenager, the Fourth of July always meant spending the day at a friend’s pool, then showing up on the green just in time for the fireworks. She felt older than other people her age now, people like her old high-school friends, most of whom had obviously come from backyard barbecues or pool parties and had tans and bathing-suit straps peeking out from under their shirts. Emma was at the Presbyterian church’s table, talking with Eliza Beaufort. Knowing what she knew now, Sydney didn’t envy that life of privilege anymore. Curious then, that she felt sad for losing something she never had. Maybe she just missed friendship in general, the camaraderie of people her own age.

Sydney looked away. “I can’t remember the last time I sat here at the Waverley table,” she said to Claire.

“It has been a while.”

She took a deep breath. “It feels okay.”

“Why are you so uncomfortable? No one is going to throw rotten tomatoes at us.”

“Right,” Sydney said. She could be like Claire and not care what anyone thought. She was even starting to dress like Claire—crisp sleeveless button-downs, khaki pants, madras shorts, flowy sundresses. What Claire had said that day at the salon, that she had Waverley magic, changed her mind-set completely. She felt like a Waverley. But right now it was a little like living in a country where she didn’t speak the language yet. She could dress like the natives, and it was nice, but a little lonely. “It’s okay to be strange. I can get used to this.”

“We’re not strange. We are who we are. Hello, Evanelle!”

Evanelle had walked up to them and taken a cup of wine. “Whew, I need this,” she said, throwing back the wine like a shot. “There’s so much to do. I need to give something to Bay.” She set the cup down and brought a truly gaudy brooch out of her tote bag. Faintly 1950s, the brooch was made of clear but yellowing crystal in a starburst pattern.

“She’s getting her face painted right now,” Sydney said.

“Okay, I’ll stop by there. Fred is helping me organize my house. He’s been a real help. I found this in an old jewelry box we came across, and when I saw it I knew I had to give it to Bay.”

Claire leaned forward in her seat. “Fred has been helping you?”

“He’s come up with a system for all the stuff I have. He created something called a spreadsheet.”

“I’ve been offering to help you do that for years, Evanelle,” Claire said. Sydney turned to her curiously. Claire seemed hurt.

“I know. I didn’t want to bother you with it. But since Fred is living with me—”

“Living with you?” Claire exclaimed. “I thought he was just staying with you for a while.”

“Well, we figured he might as well be comfortable while he’s there. He’s turning the attic into his own little apartment and making some improvements around the house. It’s been real handy having him around.”