Kennedy tugged on his arm. “Let’s go out to the truck and get you out of those wet things. And for your information, we’re having a reception. That’s why we need a cake and not a dress. One more thing: my size is none of your damned business. You’re certainly not a skinny person, either.”

Tears flowed down Tabby’s cheeks. “Accidents happen. You don’t have to get mean with me. I try to lose weight, but it’s so hard.”

“Let’s get out of here.” Lyle ushered Kennedy away from the table.

“I’ll call you about when and where to deliver that cake,” Kennedy called out to Glenda.

Mitzi draped an arm around Tabby’s shoulders. “Are you all right?”

“Couldn’t be better.” Tabby wiped the tears away and grinned at her sister. “How’s that for a performance?”

“That was standing-ovation material,” Dixie giggled. “Who was that?”

“The sorry sucker who hurt our Jody,” Tabby said.

“Then the reviews for your acting skills will be out of this world. I’ll share my drink with you,” Dixie said.

It started as a hardly audible giggle, but soon Jody was guffawing and wiping at her own tears with a paper napkin. “That was incredible,” she finally said between hiccups.

“You are welcome.” Tabby curtsied. “Now let’s get into that chicken salad. Acting always makes me hungry.”

Dixie set her two cups on the table. “She’s not as pretty as you, Jody.”

“Thank you for that.” Jody set about making five sandwiches.

Mitzi unloaded two cups and opened a bag of chips. “Did you two take acting classes?”

“Nope, we’ve just put on shows for each other and for Daddy since we were little girls,” Dixie answered. “Tabby can cry on demand. I can’t, so I’m glad she was the one who knew who that sorry son of a gun was.”

“Oh, honey, she did an amazing job. I just wish I’d have known what you were going to do. I’d have filmed it so I could watch it over and over,” Jody said.

Paula held up her camera. “You are welcome.”

“I’ve got the best friends in the whole world,” Jody said past the lump in her throat.

Mitzi’s stomach clenched as she and Tabby pushed through the double doors into the room where the models and their assistants would get ready for the show that evening. So this was the maternal instinct that people talked about. Anxiety and pride all rolled into one big ball.

A lady in a blue vest took a look at their lanyards and ushered them back to a table with a card that said “The Perfect Dress.”

“You can set up right here. You’ll be in the first fourth of the models in alphabetical order.” She pointed toward the end of the room. “Your number is on the card on your table.”