“Jesus, Mom,” Jamie said. “Would you spit it out already?”

“Jamie,” Mr. Haltom said.

“As you probably know,” Mrs. Haltom said, “it’s going to be a very busy year for me. I’m chairing three different galas in addition to my normal slate of obligations. To make matters worse, the girl I’ve had for five years has decided to go and get pregnant, and I’m going to need someone more than three days a week given all of the big things that are coming.”

“It sounds like you’ll be very busy,” my mother said.

“The long and short of it is this,” Mrs. Haltom said. “I need a new assistant, and I’d like it to be you. I know you’re working by the hour for Kenton Tate, but I’ll need much more of your time, and it will be fairly flexible. So I’d like to put you on salary—say, thirty thousand, plus we’ll take care of whatever you owe Yeatman after financial aid. And I’d need you closer than East Nashville. So we’d like the two of you to live here.”

Mrs. Haltom swung her hand back in a long, circular wave around the room.

“I don’t know what to say,” my mother murmured.

“Say yes,” Mrs. Haltom said.

“But Mrs. Tate,” my mother started.

“I’ve already spoken to her. I’ll loan you out when she needs you until she can find a new girl of her own. She doesn’t really need you, you know. She just likes the company. Same for your deal at Serenity. That was just a favor to Ellen. They’ll get on fine without you.”

“So you would want me to start right away?” my mother asked.

“You can move in tomorrow if you like.”

My mother bowed her head. Her cheeks had turned crimson. Mr. Haltom and Vanessa seemed even more embarrassed.

I should have felt ashamed, or affronted, but I was giddy. I didn’t give much thought to the reasoning behind the invitation. If anything, I assumed it was just another case of competition between Belle Meade grande dames. All Mrs. Haltom wanted, after all, was to be Mrs. Creigh—to be revered as an icon of genteel grace and largesse. I had no real consciousness of humility, or humiliation—of that sort, anyway.