Mary Beth took a deep breath. Leafy trees on either side of the driveway made dappled sunlight, punctuated by birds that flitted from branch to branch above. One zoomed in front of the windshield and Mary Beth braked.

“Sorry. How’s your back now?”

“Don’t ask,” Alma said. “All I’m thinking about is how good it is to be here.”

Mary Beth saw white up ahead. “Is that the house?”

“Sure is.”

The driveway widened and then Mary Beth saw all of it. Sheila Palmer’s house was a fine old place, covered in white clapboard and trimmed with delicate gingerbread.

There was even a wraparound porch that overlooked a small, round pond from one side. Mary Beth looked more closely at it. It wasn’t a pond but a pool, designed to look like a natural part of the landscaping. Nice.

The tall, wavy-glass windows reflected the car as they drove up. “Now, what is that van doing here?” Alma wondered aloud.

A large van with a rental company logo had been pulled up at the other side of the house. The open rear doors afforded a glimpse of taped boxes stacked inside, shoved all the way to the back of the cargo space.

Alma didn’t have to wait more than a few seconds for an answer. Sheila, a reed-thin woman with pure white hair, ran down the stairs to greet them.

“Hello there,” she said, leaning into the open window. “They must be done tearin’ up the county roads like they always do in summer. You got here awful fast.”

Alma waved away the comment. “Mary Beth did the driving. She never once went over the speed limit.”

“Nice work,” Sheila said. “And hello, Mary Beth.”

“Hi, Sheila. Thanks so much for inviting us.”

“Oh, don’t thank me. I plan to put you two to work immediately.”

“Not me. Where’s the hammock?” Alma joked back.

“Under the sweet gum tree, where it always was. You two come on in and have some lemonade and pie first.”

She opened the passenger door and helped Alma out, taking the cane that Mary Beth handed to her.

“What’s the van doing here?” Alma asked her friend.

Mary Beth listened to the conversation as she got their overnight bags out of the trunk and slung them over her shoulders.

“I rented it and hired a fellow, Bud, to help pack. My real-estate broker told me to cut down on the clutter and there’s a giant flea market this weekend. A friend of mine has a table. He said to come on out. He’ll sell stuff for me. Thinks I could make a mint.”

“Then there’s hope for us all,” Alma laughed. “Bet you’re the only person who has more trinkets than I do.”

“Maybe so. Careful now.” Sheila kept a watchful eye on Alma as she mounted the wide front steps.

Mary Beth brought up the rear.