Earlier, Asher heard the ice in Evona’s glass tinkling on the other side of the lattice, but Asher has made no attempt to invite her to join them. The fewer connections they make the better and he’s been lucky to be here this long without talking to the woman. He knows he has already revealed too much to Bell. Now Asher realizes that she is standing next to the lattice, studying them.

“My mother and I used to play rummy in the evenings,” Evona says when Asher turns to meet her eyes. She is a slender woman but somehow makes for a big presence. There is a sadness in her movements. Even in the shadows her eyes stand out, green as the Cumberland River.

“Is that right?” Asher says, not knowing what else to say.

“That’s right,” Evona says, and nods with emphasis.

Asher watches Justin’s face as he glances up over his fan of cards to look Evona in the eye. Asher can’t tell what Justin thinks of her just yet, but he sees his son considering her carefully, to make sure he has her figured before he decides whether to like her or not.

“I was lucky to have a real good mother,” Evona says, at last, as if knowing that every day Asher strives to understand his own. She is a very pretty woman, tall and long-limbed. Heart-shaped face with eyes that cause Asher to look directly at her longer than is proper. The thing that makes her the most attractive, though, is that she is so at ease in her own body. She leans against the porch post with one bare foot atop the other. And then, to Justin: “Looks like you’ve got you a good daddy, too, buddy.”

Justin gives a half smile, puts his green eyes back on the cards.

“Y’all should join us for supper tomorrow night. You can’t keep turning Bell down or you’ll hurt her feelings.”

Asher nods.

“She sure can cook.”

The polite thing would be to ask now if she wants to join them but Asher doesn’t want to. “Have a good night, then,” he says, finally, hearing how rude this sounds as soon as the words escape his mouth. He might as well have said, Get lost, lady.

“Alright then,” she says with a little, good-natured laugh, taking the hint instantly, and raises her short glass in a little, half-hearted toast—tipping it toward Asher just a bit so that the golden whiskey unlevels, ice cubes clinking—as she slips into the shadows and settles back on her side of the porch. Asher hears the creak of the rocker as she sits, another whine of wood as she shifts to pick up something off the table near her.