“You won’t be sorry either way,” Marietta said. “I’ll be back in a minute with your drink, and take y’all’s orders.”

Mel excused himself to call his secretary.

Deanna followed him with her eyes. “Not what I expected. I know it’s stupid, but I’d imagined him younger than me.”

“You have cousins younger than you, Deanna. I’m sure Mel will help you get in touch.”

Deanna looked at the drink that appeared before her. “Thank you,” she said. “I need this.” She took a long swallow.

Marietta gathered our order sheets and waved, sensing we were in the middle of discussing something serious.

“Ladies,” Mel announced, “I’m yours for the rest of the afternoon. Mrs. Detweiler can wait until tomorrow to discuss her case for increased alimony. Cheers.” He clinked his glass to ours.

The turkey and dressing was better than any I’d ever had, and I’m a connoisseur. I’d rounded out my carb festival with cheese grits and—yes—macaroni and cheese. Deanna seemed to savor her country fried steak, and Mel clearly relished every morsel of fried chicken.

There was no way we could hold dessert. Mel reached for the check, and I didn’t try very hard to stop him. He was probably amused by my feeble protest.

“All right,” I announced, “If y’all will please get into my car, we’re going to take a little ride.” Mel volunteered to sit in back, so Deanna could see Atlanta. “She’s not going to see too much,” I laughed. “We’re only going a few miles.”

When I pulled into the parking lot they looked at each other and frowned.

“Ronni, why are we at Whole Foods?” Mel asked.

“Just bear with me. Y’all come on, it’s not too far from here.”

“What’s not too far?” Deanna removed a shoe and rubbed her heel. “You could at least tell us.”

“I’d rather show you.” I led them to the edge of the parking lot, then around back past the array of dumpsters and loading docks. Both wore looks of utter boredom with a thin layer of determined politeness. “Here,” I waved a hand at the huge magnolia tree, “this is what you came to see.”

“Well, it’s lovely, Ronni, but...” Deanna was looking around as though she expected to be mugged or worse.

“Look, please, both of you,” I stood on my tiptoes and pointed at a spot several feet above us. “This tree was once in the outfield of Ponce de Leon Park, where a team called the Atlanta Crackers played baseball.” Deanna was shaking her head, confused. “And one bright spring day, two young lovers visited it and the boy carved their initials into its trunk. Do you see?”

They squinted and finally focused where I’d pointed at the faint VG + SD. Deanna released a tiny gasp and started to cry. I did, too.