“Bye, Miss Carlotta,” Talley said.

“I look forward to seeing you both soon, girls.” Carlotta’s gaze warmed with a smile.

Ruth and Talley followed her mother outside, and as they walked across the sand, already growing hot in the late-morning sun, all her questions about the singer boiled inside her. “How did Miss Carlotta find us?”

Mama checked the small, slim gold watch on her wrist. “She wrote to me and told me her ship would be moored in Coinjock.”

“But how did she find us? I’ve never heard of the Maisy Adams. The only people that know about us have been coming for years!”

“I suspect she wrote to several hotels. When I received her letter, I thought she would be a nice addition to the summer entertainment. That new hotel is going to be competition. Always good to stay a step ahead.”

“She’s so pretty,” Ruth said.

“Her hair is so blonde,” Talley said.

Mama kept walking, her gaze on the hotel.

“Do you think she’s ever been to Hollywood? I mean, she could be a movie actress.”

“She is very pretty.”

“How old do you think she is?” Ruth asked.

Mama’s eyes squinted against the sun. “I’d say thirty.”

“She looks younger.”

“She’s not.”

“How do you know?”

“I know.”

“And she just wrote you out of the blue?” Ruth asked.

“As I said, she wrote to hotels near Coinjock.”

“I’m glad you said yes to her. I bet she’s going to be a big hit.”

Talley nodded.

Mama looked down at the girls, her fading red lips curling slightly. “Me too.”

When they arrived back at the registration desk, it was less than a half hour before the first wood-paneled wagon pulled up under the carport by the main entrance. The woman behind the wheel wore brown-tinted sunglasses and a white kerchief over her blonde hair, an eyelet dress, and small pearl earrings. In the front seat was a little boy with flaxen hair, and in the back seat a girl cut from the same pale cloth.

Ruth recognized Mrs. Manchester and her two children, who had been regulars at the Seaside Resort since the war ended. Mr. Manchester, who worked in a lumber mill in Elizabeth City, never joined his family the first week of their two-week vacation.

Mrs. Manchester rose out of the car, clutching her red purse, which matched a sash tightly cinching her waist. She ran a finger under a strand of pearls encircling her slim neck and looked at the hotel with a mixture of tenuous relief and worry.

Her daughter, Bonnie, and her son, Pete, both long limbed, winter pale, and trim, piled out of the car. Bonnie, wearing sunglasses like her mother’s, was a year younger than Ruth, but she was two inches taller, and her breasts—good Lord, her breasts had grown twofold over the winter and now filled out her pink sheath dress. Pete, five or six now, wore khaki shorts and a half-tucked white shirt. He rubbed his nose, already looking toward the ocean.