I dried my hands slowly and studied the three of them under the porch light. Behind me, laughter drifted from the dining room, and Lloyd’s pheasant tie bobbed past the doorway. Joyce Whitmore stepped closer, her chin trembling above the pies. “I asked your daughter where that table came from months ago,” she said. “She told me she bought it herself.” Melissa made a small sound, like a door closing on a finger.

Joyce took a breath. “I came to apologize, Loretta. But I also came to tell you what your daughter has been hiding from both of us since July.” Melissa gripped the porch rail until her knuckles whitened. “Mom, please don’t,” she whispered. Behind me, a chair scraped, and the dining room went silent. Austin stood in the hallway, holding a pie plate, looking at his mother as if he already knew.