Angie thought of Caroline Rose at Miss Zula’s table, and how she had disappeared from the conversation as soon as Harriet had come in.

She said, “Miss Zula asked Caroline to work with me and Rivera. She said Caroline is the best source of information about the town, next to her mother.”

After a while Rob said, “It’s true that Caroline is one of those people who’s good at listening, so she hears a lot.” He gestured with his chin. “Here we are. It’s not Old Roses, but it’s where my mother grew up and we’re all fond of it.”

Set back in a garden was a pale yellow two-story house. The windows were tall and narrow, with white woodwork and shutters, and a deep porch spanned the entire width of the house. The garden was in full bloom with flowers Angie couldn’t name, and more flowers bloomed in pots along the edge of the porch and between chairs piled with cushions. And, inevitably, there was John Grant sitting on the brickwork step, looking directly at her.

He had just come off the river. His skin was still flushed with exercise, water glistening in his short hair, his skin damp. Sweat was shining on his bare shoulders and in the hollow of his throat and on his legs, and Angie understood one thing: she should never, ever, have come.

SEVEN

I am going to say this straight out: I don’t think it’s proper to be digging around in matters that don’t concern you and that you can’t understand because you are, forgive my bluntness, Yankees. I don’t know what the university was thinking, inviting you all to come pry in our business, and I have written them a letter saying just that. The past is past. Leave it be.

Your name: none of your business.

I have a story you might want to hear about the summer of 1973, when my second cousin Anita Bryant came to visit. It has got nothing to do with Miss Zula but it’s a good story anyway.

Your name: Howard Stillwater. I own Stillwater Used Cars, and can be found there six days a week from seven in the morning ’til six at night. When you get ready to replace that pitiful excuse for a vehicle you drove down here, come and see me, I’ll do you up right.

It made perfect sense, John Grant told himself, that his brother would take it upon himself to force this reunion. Suddenly the wound on his upper thigh, mostly healed, began to itch. He pulled the towel from around his neck and laid it over his lap while he watched Rob cross Lee Street with Angie beside him, and he tried to think what he could possibly say to her, given the mood she was in.