Ruth couldn’t imagine her mother being a trailblazer. She was as steady as the cycles of the moon. “Your family gatherings must be something to see at Christmas.”

“Loud is what it’s like,” Talley said. “Can barely hear yourself think.”

“Daddy barbecues a hog each Christmas and invites everyone to a big potluck meal. Like the restaurant, Daddy flavors his pig the exact same way each time, and he always serves sweet potatoes, collards, and fig pies.”

“No turkey?”

“He’s not fond of turkey. And he’d have to shoot a lot of ducks to feed the crowds he gets.”

“Girls, how are those towels coming?” Mama shouted.

“Almost finished,” Ruth said.

“We had our first guest pull up,” Mama said.

“They’re early,” Ruth said. “Check-in isn’t until one p.m.”

Mama always tried to work with guests. If the room was ready, she let them check in. Making a customer feel special didn’t cost much.

Ruth and Talley stacked the towels in the pool cabana and hurried out to the lobby. Both came to a halt when they saw the powder-blue car with the white convertible top. The paint glinted in the late-morning light, sparkling like a polished gem.

The woman behind the wheel was new to the Seaside Resort and didn’t look anything like the summertime guests. She wore a white scarf on her head tied at her chin, big dark sunglasses, and a bright-blue dress peppered with white polka dots.

“Is that one of the families?” Talley asked.

“She can’t be.” The mothers were always dressed nicely when they arrived, but they wore soft pastels and drove wood-paneled station wagons filled with children and suitcases.

“She looks like a movie star,” Talley said.

“She sure does.”

Mama stood behind Ruth close enough for her to feel the strain tightening her body. “She’s going to be the singer here for the next two weeks.”

“A singer?” Ruth asked. “You never said we were going to have a singer.” Most evenings, the music was either one of the local boys playing guitar or Daddy putting a record on the phonograph.

“I wasn’t sure if she could make it,” Mama said. “You never know with show people.”

The woman opened her car door, placed a high-heeled shoe on the ground, and, with a little white dog tucked under her arm, rose out of the car. The dog wore a blue polka-dotted bow on its head and a sparkly collar around its neck. The woman pulled her shoulders back, brushed the wrinkles from her skirt, and closed the door with enough force that it didn’t go unnoticed.

Mama’s smile tightened as she moved past Ruth to the woman. “I’m glad you could make it.”

The woman regarded Mama behind her dark glasses, and then her red lips spread into a wide grin. “I’m sorry I’m late. There were more repair details to take care of at the Maisy Adams.”

“The spring storm caught us all off guard,” Mama said. “I’m glad you were close enough by to visit.”