Inside was glorious pandemonium. People were swapping gifts with ceremony and unwrapping each other’s to reveal boxes of tissues, pairs of scissors, pillowcases, cans of beans, tubes of toothpaste, and various personal tchotchkes.

Greta exchanged her Times-Picayune–wrapped gift with Muriel, who handed her a box wrapped exquisitely in matte yellow paper embossed with shiny yellow pineapples and tied with a green bow.

She slid the paper off, careful not to rip it, revealing a fancy black box. She lifted the lid and peered inside. Nestled in glitter-specked black tissue paper was one of Muriel’s signature pink sugar cubes.

Greta grinned. “Thank you ever so much!”

“My pleasure. Thank you,” she replied, holding up one of Horse’s dog toys.

Around them, people laughed and teased one another and exchanged the gifts back again.

“You know,” Muriel said, leaning in conspiratorially, “I don’t really need the sugar cube back.”

Greta grinned and popped it in her mouth, letting the sweet sugar dissolve on her tongue. Then she paused. “Er, I do need mine back. It’s Horse’s favorite.”

Muriel handed it back and leaned in again. “I like your Carys very much.”

“Yeah?” Greta hadn’t realized she’d been nervous about Muriel not liking Carys. “Me too.”

She waited, hoping that perhaps Muriel might elaborate on all Carys’ wonderful qualities. But instead, she just kissed Greta’s cheek.

“Happy Chanukah, my dear. I’m going to take my leave. Thank you for inviting me, and please do pass my compliments on to your friends. Tell them that I’d be delighted to have them cater the next gardening get-together that I host.”

“Oh my gosh, amazing. I’ll tell them. Thank you!”

She walked Muriel to the door and confirmed that she had a ride. When her ride pulled up, Muriel cupped Greta’s face in her hands.

“You can’t know this yet. In fact, we rarely know it until it’s too late to need to know it. But you are going to be just fine.”

Then she was gone, waving a final time from the car window, and Greta stood at the curb, watching her drive away and trying to remember everything she’d just said. But it slipped from her tipsy mind one sentence at a time.

Chapter 23

Truman

When Truman and Ash walked through the ornate wooden doors of Sunflower Seed, a small white woman with wild platinum curls was smoking out the tiny side window. She knelt on a stool and sucked hard on her cigarette.

“Hey, Ash,” she said through a mouthful of smoke as they entered. Then she looked at her cigarette. “Hey! Ash.” She pointed at the glowing tip.

“Rayanne,” Ash said. “Got a sec?”

She waved them in, then waved them over, clearly unwilling to put out the cigarette.

“Day won’t let me smoke in the kitchen anymore,” she said with a roll of heavily kohl-lined blue eyes.