Jess didn’t respond, still wiping. A shadow of dip still remained on her black RAGBRAI shirt. She’d participated in the bike race last year, biking across Iowa with her mother.

When she had met me on the sidewalk, I’d lifted my eyebrows and said, “A RAGBRAI shirt? You really put that on, looked in the mirror, and went, ‘Yup. This is the one’?”

“I did.”

“I think it’s great, but I’m not sure Heather will approve,” I said.

“Yeah, because that’s what I care about,” she responded. “Let’s see her try and bike across an entire state.”

Jess was inordinately proud of completing the race, despite the road rash she got when she fell off her bike after a tipsy participant T-boned her. She also had a blister on her inner thigh that got infected, something she dropped her shorts and showed me in my kitchen, bending over right as Mark walked in.

“Didn’t realize the nudity started this early on your ladies’ nights,” he said with a laugh as he slowly backed out of the kitchen.

“It’s five o’clock somewhere. Or whatever the naked version of that is,” Jess called after him.

All in all, the RAGBRAI T-shirt was a better choice than the high school gym shirt she’d worn to the kids’ spring recital at school.

Melissa popped a bacon-wrapped date in her mouth and looked down at the appetizer’s description placard. “ ‘Sponsored by Elderberry Kitchen’? Who solicits sponsorships for a party at their house?”

“Incoming,” I muttered as I saw Sharon move through the crowd, a large white binder in her arms. She had on a black shift dress and pink heels, and her hair was pulled back at the nape of her neck. Her full face of makeup was laser-focused on Jess, a small smile on her pink lips.

“Ladies,” she said. “So nice of you all to join us.” She looked at Jess, her eyes lingering on the stain from the dip. “Isn’t it nice to have an evening together and . . . dress up?”

Melissa made a noise, and Sharon frowned in her direction before turning to me. “I understand you’ve volunteered to chair the carnival. How generous of you.” She held out the white binder. The front of it read, We All Scream for Ice Cream. “Here is all the information from last year. It’s quite a lot of work. I hope you’ve started building your committee.”

I swallowed hard. That thought hadn’t occurred to me. “Yes.” I gestured with my thumb to Jess and Melissa, who turned to me in unison, mouths open in silent protest.

Sharon laughed. “Well, good luck, then. What a unique event it will be. I will be looking forward to it.”

Jess shrank back slightly, and Melissa stepped forward. “You should,” she said.

Sharon gave Jess one more look before she turned, disappearing into the crowd of women around the ice sculpture.