Her voice faltered as grief rippled across her heart. The spacious corner bedroom on the second floor still carried a trace of her grandmother’s perfume, Chanel No. 5, and one of Monica’s favorite photos hung on the wall opposite the queen-size bed: a recent, framed picture of Lexi, Junior, Monica, and Lily, dressed in their Sunday best and sitting on a wooden bench at the Atlanta Botanical Garden, surrounded by multi-hued roses. Her memory of that golden summer afternoon was more bittersweet than ever.

Grace gave Monica’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. She strolled into the room, her suitcase trailing behind her.

“This is perfect, my dear.” Grace traced her fingers across the flower-patterned bedspread. “I’m so thankful for your hospitality. With everything that you’re dealing with right now, you didn’t have to offer to let me stay overnight.”

“Are you kidding? We have so much to talk about!” Monica laughed. She knew she sounded a bit manic, whipsawing from one emotional high to the next, as if adrenaline and nothing else was keeping her standing. Whenever she crashed later on, she was going to crash hard. “I couldn’t let you leave so soon.”

“Your family is as beautiful as your home,” Grace said. “Those children of yours are absolutely adorable. And your husband? Goodness, what a piece of work he is.”

“Pardon?” Monica’s smile flickered. “Piece of work?”

“Oh, come now.” Grace chuckled, eyes twinkling with mirth. “You know that man is a hopeless flirt. I lost count of how many women he’d mentally undressed at Lily’s service. That includes me, before he learned my identity, of course.”

Frowning, Monica glanced over her shoulder, down the long hallway, and confirmed that Troy and his mother were out of earshot.

“Troy is a great husband and father, but he’s still a man,” Monica said in a lowered voice. “You aren’t going to stop a man from looking. I accepted that a long time ago. I’m not naive.”

“Are you certain that he’s only looking?” Grace settled onto the bed, crossed her long legs, and offered Monica a conspiratorial smile. “Woman to woman: he doesn’t seem like the kind of man who would be satisfied with a ‘look but don’t touch’ policy. He’s got a swagger about him that I’ve recognized in many other men I’ve known over the years, and honey, they did a lot more than look.”

“Now, hold on a minute.” Monica crossed her arms, heat rushing to her face. “You just met Troy. I’ve been married to him for eight years. If he was fooling around on me, I promise you, I would know.”

“Of course you would,” Grace said, but her voice dripped with sarcasm. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’ve got no filter, darling, you’ll come to learn that about me. It’s gotten me into trouble before.”