in chagrin. “Oh, drat! I forgot that arrow. It didn’t used to be there.” She waved an apology at the other driver, but he had already disappeared—probably to vent his anger on another hapless motorist.
“The arrow has been there for years,” Katharine reminded her.
“I told you, I’m getting used to the car. I can’t think about everything at once.”
“Then think about driving.”
Posey sulked for several minutes, but she was seldom miffed for long. “By the way,” she said, as if they were in the middle of an amicable conversation, “don’t tell Hollis I was with you today. I told her I was lunching with friends, but I didn’t say who, because her car’s in the shop, and if she had known I was coming over to your place, she’d have wanted to ride over with me and work all morning. But I’d told Molly to take her to the club for lunch. I think she needs to get out a little.” Like many Buckhead matrons, Posey regarded the Cherokee Town Club as an extension of her own dining room. “Hollis looks a little peaky to me,” she continued. “I hope she’s not working too hard on your house.”
Katharine’s home had been vandalized in June. Since then, Hollis had been using her brand-new degree in fabrics and textiles from the Savannah College of Art and Design to help restore it. They’d been moving at a steady pace until Hollis had gotten shot the month before, during a weekend at Jekyll Island—a memory that still made Katharine shudder, for she had invited her niece on the trip. She had been doing all she could in intervening weeks to help Hollis take it easy.
“I don’t think she’s overworking,” she reassured Posey, “but she’s working me like a slave. Don’t tell her I’ve been with you , or she’ll wonder why I wasn’t home figuring out where all the new pictures go. She is determined to have the place finished before the party.”
Posey gave a huff of bafflement. “I cannot imagine why you decided to have a party for a hundred people this month, with Hollis still recuperating and everything you still have to do.”
“It’s a hundred and fifty people, and I offered to give the party before Hollis was hurt. I thought it would give us a deadline to work toward. It was Hollis who insisted that we not call it off. She is sure we can be ready.”
Posey sighed. “You are both crazy as loons.”
Hollis was normal enough, in Katharine’s opinion—she simply danced to a different drum. Her tall blond sisters had gone to colleges their mother approved of, married men Posey liked, borne children she adored, and were now devoting their lives to a routine of children’s sports and standard young-mother activities, while occasionally mentioning that when the children were a little older, they might go back to work. The fact that Hollis preferred a sandwich at her aunt’s kitchen table while poring over fabric swatches to lunch with her sisters at the club was only one of the traits that drove her mother straight up the nearest wall. Hollis’s tendency to bring home men with blue hair and multiple piercings was also high on Posey’s list of complaints.
Katharine, on the other hand, was very fond of Hollis, the only one of Posey’s children who was small and dark like her uncle Tom and her cousin Susan, and who had brilliant ideas for remaking the Murray home. “You’re going to be astonished at how proud you are of Hollis one day,” she said, adding, “if we live so long,” as Posey slammed on brakes to avoid rear-ending a yellow Cadillac driven by a white-haired woman who had come to a complete stop before turning right.
“Let’s enjoy the ride and not talk for a while,” Katharine begged.
Chapter 7
Bara arrived home to find a silver Mercedes convertible in the circle near her front door and a red Miata on the apron beside the garage, where her servants used to park. The Mercedes belonged to Uncle Scotty. She tried to remember if in some moment of weakness she had
“The arrow has been there for years,” Katharine reminded her.
“I told you, I’m getting used to the car. I can’t think about everything at once.”
“Then think about driving.”
Posey sulked for several minutes, but she was seldom miffed for long. “By the way,” she said, as if they were in the middle of an amicable conversation, “don’t tell Hollis I was with you today. I told her I was lunching with friends, but I didn’t say who, because her car’s in the shop, and if she had known I was coming over to your place, she’d have wanted to ride over with me and work all morning. But I’d told Molly to take her to the club for lunch. I think she needs to get out a little.” Like many Buckhead matrons, Posey regarded the Cherokee Town Club as an extension of her own dining room. “Hollis looks a little peaky to me,” she continued. “I hope she’s not working too hard on your house.”
Katharine’s home had been vandalized in June. Since then, Hollis had been using her brand-new degree in fabrics and textiles from the Savannah College of Art and Design to help restore it. They’d been moving at a steady pace until Hollis had gotten shot the month before, during a weekend at Jekyll Island—a memory that still made Katharine shudder, for she had invited her niece on the trip. She had been doing all she could in intervening weeks to help Hollis take it easy.
“I don’t think she’s overworking,” she reassured Posey, “but she’s working me like a slave. Don’t tell her I’ve been with you , or she’ll wonder why I wasn’t home figuring out where all the new pictures go. She is determined to have the place finished before the party.”
Posey gave a huff of bafflement. “I cannot imagine why you decided to have a party for a hundred people this month, with Hollis still recuperating and everything you still have to do.”
“It’s a hundred and fifty people, and I offered to give the party before Hollis was hurt. I thought it would give us a deadline to work toward. It was Hollis who insisted that we not call it off. She is sure we can be ready.”
Posey sighed. “You are both crazy as loons.”
Hollis was normal enough, in Katharine’s opinion—she simply danced to a different drum. Her tall blond sisters had gone to colleges their mother approved of, married men Posey liked, borne children she adored, and were now devoting their lives to a routine of children’s sports and standard young-mother activities, while occasionally mentioning that when the children were a little older, they might go back to work. The fact that Hollis preferred a sandwich at her aunt’s kitchen table while poring over fabric swatches to lunch with her sisters at the club was only one of the traits that drove her mother straight up the nearest wall. Hollis’s tendency to bring home men with blue hair and multiple piercings was also high on Posey’s list of complaints.
Katharine, on the other hand, was very fond of Hollis, the only one of Posey’s children who was small and dark like her uncle Tom and her cousin Susan, and who had brilliant ideas for remaking the Murray home. “You’re going to be astonished at how proud you are of Hollis one day,” she said, adding, “if we live so long,” as Posey slammed on brakes to avoid rear-ending a yellow Cadillac driven by a white-haired woman who had come to a complete stop before turning right.
“Let’s enjoy the ride and not talk for a while,” Katharine begged.
Chapter 7
Bara arrived home to find a silver Mercedes convertible in the circle near her front door and a red Miata on the apron beside the garage, where her servants used to park. The Mercedes belonged to Uncle Scotty. She tried to remember if in some moment of weakness she had
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