I stood mannequin-still as she reached out to cradle my damp hair in her palms. Then she drew me in for a hug and I grinned so wide it hurt. She was wearing that jasmine perfume she liked. She was soft and warm—the exact temperature of a mother.

“Surprise,” she laughed.

I’d missed her. Oh God, I’d missed her.

I inched back. “I don’t want to get you wet.”

“I’m sweltering, cool me off.” She pulled away, glanced at her outfit, then back at me, sighing happily. “You are a sight for sore eyes.”

“The two of you standing next to each other,” Grandma Jean said, shaking her head. “It’s uncanny.”

Mom smiled softly. “She’s more grown-up than I was at that age.”

I felt a swell of pride, but Grandma Jean looked strangely pained. “I don’t know about—”

The front door opened and I turned to see a man coming through, lugging bags. He was unfamiliar but recognizable, like I’d seen him in pictures before. I spotted a cello case already sitting beside the umbrella stand.

Is that . . . ? I thought as Mom said, “Ruby, this is Victor Durant, the cellist.”

“Wow. Hi.” I extended a hand to shake, then laughed as Grandma wrapped my towel back around me, tucking it in at the edge and pulling it flat.

“Pleasure to finally meet you, Ruby,” Victor said, his voice lightly accented.

Finally?

Mom swiveled to wrap an arm around his waist. My body went very still, numb with understanding.

She patted his butt, pointed him up the stairs. “We’re on the left.”

Before I could ask any questions, Mom turned and started twirling my hair, tucking it behind one ear. “I swear, you’ve grown an inch since I last saw you.”

“Half an inch,” I admitted, leaving the rest out. Half an inch in a year. A year.

“And your voice must have changed too, to get in with Odile . . . !”

All possible responses fled my head.

“You’ll probably keep growing into college. I did. Oh, speaking of which . . .” She touched my shoulder. “Where are you going?”

I stammered another non-reply, my mind buckling under the weight of everything wrong with that question—but was saved from answering by Victor trundling down the stairs in loose linen trousers and a matching jacket.

“I’m not changing,” Mom called past me, shrugging, her resort sundress flouncing with the gesture. “We’re running downtown for a quick drink.”

Downtown Charleston was half an hour away. She made it sound like it was down the block. And it was the afternoon—shouldn’t she be practicing?

She started toward the door and panic blurred my vision. Mom was back. Mom was leaving.

As if sensing my reaction, she stopped with a smile. “We’ll be home in time for dinner. I’m so excited to catch up, Rooster.”