She just had to convince Byron at least to look into whether it might be for sale. All week, she had concentrated on making his favorite dinners, ones that had received at least an “Mmm-mmm” in the past. She had worn her sexiest negligees to bed, even though the summer nights in Pine Rapids were really too cool for them. She had feigned more excitement than she felt at his news that Motor Trend magazine had just proclaimed the 1950 Chrysler “a car of comfort and a car of class.” She had listened carefully to his explanation of the Prestomatic Fluid Drive Transmission. Her plan was to continue working on him; she would know when the moment was right to broach the topic of buying the Mickelson house again.

“Isn’t it nice that Cecilia got so much quilting done over the week,” Corinne Olson said, breaking into Dolly’s thoughts.

“Well, someone has to do it,” said Mrs. Fryt. “We have to have this quilt done in a matter of weeks. And you know what happened last July and August. Everyone coming and going like butterflies, anytime they pleased. No sense of commitment.”

As if on cue, there was the sound of Mrs. Fryt’s front door opening. Dolly turned with everyone else to see a thin girl with short copper hair breeze into the parlor. “Sorry I’m late, Grandma,” the girl said, making her way toward an empty chair. Her green dress was loose on her angular body.

“As I was saying,” Mrs. Fryt said. “Here’s my granddaughter, Judy Wasserman—who couldn’t be bothered to come last week.”

“Hello,” Dolly said, glad to see another younger person, hopeful she might become a friend. “I’m Dolly.”

But Judy looked down her beaky nose at Dolly and sniffed. “Hi,” she said, as she sat down, and Dolly knew just by her tone of voice that friendship was unlikely. Besides, Dolly could see now that Judy was older than she had looked at first glance. There were crow’s-feet at the corners of her eyes, and her skin was the hue of an unbaked pie crust; she wore bright pink lipstick that was completely wrong for her. She might have been thirty, and there was no wedding ring on her finger. Dolly suddenly felt sorry for her.

“Hello, Mother,” Judy said to Jeannette, whose nose twitched in response. So, Dolly realized, Jeannette must be Judy’s mother and Mrs. Fryt’s daughter! No wonder Jeannette twitched! Immediately, Dolly could see the resemblance among the three of them: Not one of them had any color in her eyebrows or eyelashes, for one thing, and they all had that pie-crust pallor.

“I’m sorry about last week, Grandma,” Judy said, as she got a needle out of her sewing basket. Dolly didn’t think she sounded very sorry. “I told you, Dad needed me at the store.”