“Nope. We’re from East Nashville. My mom ran away from home before she turned sixteen. Because she was knocked up with me.”

“Charlie,” she said.

“What?”

“You don’t have to— I don’t care, you know.”

I don’t know why I wanted Miss Whitten to know these truths, which I would never dream of mentioning to anyone else at Yeatman besides Arch.

“I’d better go back inside,” Miss Whitten said. “Thanks for keeping me company.”

“Any time,” I said.

I waited until she was gone, and watched to see if she entered the room and approached her date, but she did not. After a few minutes, Mr. Haltom appeared, and my mother and Mrs. Creigh stood up from the couch and followed him out of sight, leaving Miss Whitten’s companion on the couch with no one to talk to.

By the time I returned to the pool house, Arch had his arm around Vanessa, whispering something in her ear as she nodded and giggled.

“Where’s Jamie?” I asked.

As if answering a cue, Jamie appeared in the doorway. He rounded the corner of the couch and fell in a great heap of drunken flesh into the plush cushion next to Vanessa.

“I love you, sis,” he said.

Arch looked over at me. “How’d you let him get like this?”

I led Arch back to the ash tree and showed him the bottle of Jack Daniel’s. It looked empty but for a bit of spittle backwash.

“How much was in here when he started?” Arch asked.

“I don’t know. Half, maybe?”

“Idiot,” he said. “Well, we can’t let him go into the house. Come on.”

From the dining room, we saw my mother, this time outside the kitchen, standing between Mrs. Haltom and a woman I didn’t recognize.

“Why have you been hiding your lovely mother from us?” Mrs. Haltom cried.

“I didn’t know I was hiding her,” I said.

Mrs. Haltom laughed as if I’d said something clever.

The buffet was spread out on the dining room table and two sideboards. At the center sat a large stewpot full of steaming gumbo, surrounded by gold-rimmed china bowls. On one of the sideboards: platters heaped with turkey, slabs of beef tenderloin, and roasted vegetables. On the second sideboard: pies and cookies and tarts. These were the leftovers?

“Fix yourself a plate,” Arch said. “I’ll take care of Jamie.”

When we returned to the pool house with the food, Jamie’s eyes were red and stained with tears. Vanessa sat beside him on the couch, arms folded, her eyes dark with fury.

“Fixed a plate for you, Jamie,” Arch said.

“I can fix my own fucking plate,” he said, but when Arch set the food in front of him, he grabbed the tenderloin sandwich.

“Come on, Van,” Arch said.

Vanessa stood and smoothed her dress. I followed the two of them out onto the pool deck.