The sprinklers were swirling in the garden and the fans were whirring in the barn. The scent of baby back ribs and hamburgers wafted in the air as David and John carried the barbecue to the serving table. Anna ladled her family’s recipe of red barbecue sauce into bowls with utmost care, proud of her contribution. Gordon served as bartender, making margaritas in the blender. Wine, beer, and Gordon’s favorite IPA were nestled in ice in the cooler.

At last the feast was ready. The table was overflowing with the Frogmore stew, crisp ribs and juicy burgers, steaming corn on the cob, all manner of greens and cold salads, hot biscuits sitting under cloth napkins, and, of course, the four pies.

Emmi and Cara hovered over the tables like mother hens, clucking directions, attending to every detail, refilling bowls as needed, feeling like the matriarchs they were. They were cracking jokes and bumping hips behind the table, serving up dishes, high on a friendship that had lasted decades and ripened with age.

Cara’s gaze surveyed the room, filled with the people she loved most in the world. Everyone was seated around the long table, their plates overflowing. She felt a stirring emotion run through her thinking of her mother, as she always did at family gatherings.

Lovie had been known as a consummate hostess in Charleston back when the family lived on Tradd Street. Cara remembered lurking in the background with Palmer, watching the grand parties her parents had hosted in the old days when waiters dressed in black carried trays weighed down with appetizers and flutes of champagne. She’d watched her mother glide through the rooms, a tiny doll in her pearls and blond hair pulled up in a French twist, chatting with guests, all while keeping a firm eye on the staff. Mama had made the extravagant events that her husband, Stratton Rutledge, demanded appear effortless.

Julia had followed suit for Palmer when she’d stepped into the Rutledge name and house. She’d been every bit as elegant a hostess as Lovie.

But times had changed. Lovie had passed, and Palmer had lost his fortune. Those grand fêtes, even the great house on Tradd Street, were now but memories of the past. Cara caught sight of Linnea leaning toward Gordon as they chatted. She was wearing one of Lovie’s vintage shirtwaist dresses and her double strand of pearls. She reminded Cara so much of her mother it took Cara’s breath away.

Yet she knew that she and Linnea were cut from a different piece of cloth. They both knew the rules of etiquette, but neither of them cared so much about such things as china, silver, and formality. This gathering of family, in a decorated barn festooned with handcrafted art, surrounded by family and friends, was the kind of party they preferred. And on second thought, Cara thought, her mother had too. Hadn’t she fought all through her marriage to keep the beach house and the casual lifestyle she enjoyed here?