“There should be barbecue on our doorstep any second,” Tara began, looking at her phone and not noticing Miriam’s mood. “I made sure there’s no hidden pork in yours. I’m almost done with trial prep for the day.”

“Tara,” Miriam interrupted, “I have to go to New York. Today. My great-aunt Cass died.”

Tara slowed, softened. “Oh, Miriam. Oh my gosh.” Miriam found herself being pulled into a hug. “Do I know who your great-aunt Cass was?” Tara asked, puzzled.

Miriam almost choked on a sob of surprise. She’d never told Tara about Carrigan’s. Of course she hadn’t.

Carrigan’s was the thing that had most hurt to give up when she’d cut ties with her family. The place closest to her heart. She never talked about it now, if she could help it, and Tara had met her in the time After. And if Miriam never talked about Carrigan’s, she never talked about Cass, because Cass was Carrigan’s.

Besides, she and Tara didn’t have a relationship built on sharing their deepest secrets. Tara had needed an interesting wife as an accessory to throw garden parties, and Miriam had needed a place to land with someone safe. Tara was often thought of, by Charleston’s old guard, as a bit of an icy bitch, partly because she challenged them and partly because she was prickly as hell. Miriam helped her project a softer public image, and Tara took care of Miriam’s needs even as her prickliness kept Miriam comfortably at a distance, where she preferred to be.

They were friends, lovers, and co-conspirators, but they were not in love. They had a pact: Miriam helped Tara create a faultless life, and Tara gave Miriam stability to build her career.

Neither their souls nor their pasts were a part of their arrangement. Miriam would never have agreed to marry Tara if she’d thought there was any danger of falling in love with her.

“I’ve mentioned Cass,” she insisted nonetheless, crossing her arms. “She owns a Christmas tree farm in the Adirondacks. My cousin Hannah works there? My family spent our vacations there when I was a child, and Cass was very important to me. Carrigan’s was very important to me, once.”

“I’m sure if you had mentioned that to me,” Tara bristled, “I would have remembered.”

“Maybe?” But Miriam knew she was unfairly picking a fight. Tara never forgot anything.

Tara hummed. “Well, we were supposed to be at a party for my firm, but we can make it up. The firm will understand that you were pulled out of town for a family funeral. Although for a great-aunt you haven’t seen in ten years, perhaps you could send a floral arrangement?” Tara was slowing her Southern cadence down even further, in that way she did when she wanted to give the listener time to change their answer.