From The Club, the view of Vulcan is from the side, so he looks fairly majestic. Many of the guests had already moved onto the terrace and, like Vulcan, were looking over the city. The wedding party was in the ballroom, though. Debbie and Henry had decided not to have a receiving line, but we could see the white dress surrounded by well-wishers. Mary Alice was nowhere in sight.

"I wonder where Sister is," I said.

"Here," she hissed in my ear, making me jump. "Come help me do something with these pantyhose. They keep working their way down to my knees."

"Are those the pantyhose I sold you? I told you to get the extra-long queen. What did you do? Just get queen?" Bonnie Blue, who works at the Big, Bold, and Beautiful Shoppe, was taking Sister's plight personally.

"I think FH go get some champagne or something," Fred said.

Bonnie Blue frowned. "Cause if you just got queen

you're gonna be walking like a duck all day and not a thing we can do about it."

"I bought what you put on the counter."

"Then you got the extra long. Let's go see what's wrong, cause that's bound to be what I sold you. I don't believe that's what you put on, though. Extra long you got no trouble. Look at this." She held up her leg for our appraisal.

I watched the two of them walk away. Mary Alice was, indeed, walking like a penguin.

"Hey, Mama." My daughter Haley came by, holding the arm of Dr. Philip Nachman, who had stood in as the father of the bride for his late uncle. Uncle Philip is buried with Sister's other two husbands at Elmwood. Together.

"Have you heard them complain?" Sister asks.

"Where's Papa?" Haley asked.

"Gone to get some champagne."

"Go look at the cakes. They're incredible." Haley gave a little wave, and they headed toward the terrace. Philip leaned down and said something to Haley, and she smiled at him.

"Hmm," I said to myself, watching them.

I looked around for Fred, but he had disappeared. I decided to take Haley's advice and go see the cakes.

"Mrs. Hollowell?"

I turned to see Henry's cousin, who had filled in as the mother of the groom. A lot of substitutes at this wedding.

"Mrs. Bryan, how are you? Wasn't it a beautiful wedding?" I had met her the night before at the after-rehearsal party. Sister had introduced me to "Meg Ryan."

"Bryan," she had corrected gently.

"I'm sorry," Sister said. "I can't imagine why I keep saying that."

I couldn't either. Meg Bryan was nobody's gorgeous young movie star. More the Jessica Tandy type. Frail-looking with wispy gray hair, she had an intelligent face with strong echoes of youthful beauty. Our grandmother would have labeled her immediately "Southern Lady."