“Right.” I nodded. “But she said the more brownies she sold, the better it was for the church, so God would understand.”

We both laughed again, and then that silence fell, this time a little heavier than before.

“That’s the Leigh-Anne I wish people would remember,” Mom finally said. Her voice wasn’t tight, and her lips were steady, but sadness clung to every word. “I wish people could focus on her, not . . . not how she died.”

I wanted that, too. More than anything. But Leigh-Anne’s death hadn’t only been a nuclear bomb going off in the middle of my family. It had been a scandal. A source of gossip. The pretty and popular Homecoming Queen getting drunk on prom night, wrecking her car, killing herself and nearly killing her boyfriend? It wasn’t something people would easily forget.

They wouldn’t forget no matter how much Mom wished, or how hard I tried to make up for my sister’s one stupid decision. Not that I thought running SGA or organizing charity bake sales could wipe out the memory of that night. But maybe I could . . . I don’t know, reset the balance.

Clearing my throat, I turned away and grabbed a few cake pans from the cabinets. I focused on pouring the batter, waiting for Mom to leave the kitchen and go up to her bedroom, the way she almost always did when we started talking about Leigh-Anne.

But to my surprise, she started unwrapping the packages of cream cheese for the icing. “I hope Saylor appreciates all the trouble you’re going through.”

“It’s not that much trouble,” I insisted, sliding the cake pans into the oven. “I’ve been meaning to make hummingbird cake for The Aunts for a while now.”

At the mention of The Aunts, Mom rolled her eyes affectionately. “Well, don’t let them know you gave their cake away to Saylor.”

The Aunts were actually my great-aunts, but since my grandmother—their sister—had died when I was a baby, they’d kind of adopted me as a granddaughter by proxy. They got together at my Aunt Jewel’s house every Friday afternoon to play cards, and I usually tried to stop by, but between school and Cotillion, I’d been too busy lately. It had probably been nearly a month since—

Suddenly, what Mom said registered. “What do you mean? Don’t The Aunts like Saylor?” They’d never said anything to me about her, and trust me, if The Aunts weren’t crazy about someone, they didn’t exactly keep it a secret.

Mom shrugged as she started to whip the cream cheese and sugar together. “Saylor’s monopoly on all major town events has never sat well with them. Especially since she’s still a relative newcomer and a Yankee.”

Now I rolled my eyes. “She’s been here for nearly eighteen years, and she’s from Virginia.”