There were four servants in the chocolate-colored house. Fannin, the cook, a maid named Adeline to clean the bedrooms, a maid named Edith to sweep the parlors and the porches, and a gardener to keep the yard and run errands. Later, when I came home with my babies, my father would add another servant for each grandson I delivered. I certainly never imagined taking care of them myself. They had come unbidden into the world and they were welcome to it but somebody else would have to keep them amused and fed. Babies bored me to death.

All of that was waiting for me, presaged by the blood on my underpants, but I did not know or sense it. It was the golden summer, the summer we came home to the South to live among our people.

In the days following my conversation with Mrs. Morgan I made every effort to be at the pool when she came. I would sit across from her reading. I finished Justine and moved on into Mountolive. I pictured Mrs. Morgan as Lelia Hosnani, the tragic heroine who gives up the beautiful Mountolive. Later when he returns to Alexandria as the British ambassador it is too late. Lelia’s beauty has been ruined by smallpox and she will never leave her summer-house. In one terrible scene she covers herself with veils, gets into her carriage, and goes to see him one last time. I was weeping all over the book as I read. “Where are you now?” Mrs. Morgan asked.

“Where she goes to see him covered with veils.”

“Oh yes. Well, adultery nearly always turns out badly. But it makes good fiction, doesn’t it? By the way, Rhoda, Clay is coming this weekend. We want to have dinner to celebrate. On Saturday night. Will you come out and join us? Nothing elaborate. Just the four of us.”

“I’d love it. Sure I’ll come. How old did you say he is?”

“He’s twenty. He’s a junior. I think you’ll like each other. I talked to your mother the other day, by the way. Did she tell you?”

“No, I don’t think so. She said she met you though. Oh, God, she’s so boring. I hope you don’t think I’m anything like her.”

“I thought she was charming. It isn’t good to hate your mother, Rhoda. It’s like hating part of yourself. Our parents create us. We have to make our peace with that, you know.”

“I just mean she drives me crazy. She’s always watching me.”

“She adores you. She was praising you to the skies. She told me about your newspaper column. She said people read your pieces on the radio.”

“Oh, well, that was a long time ago. That’s over now. I don’t think about it anymore. I’m a lot more interested in making sure I don’t gain back any weight. But I forgot, you don’t think people should go on diets.”

“I have too many opinions. Don’t take them to heart.”