"Oh, good heavens," Necie said. "We didn't fly in today! We got to Seattle yesterday. Caro got us a suite at the Inn at the Market, and we had the loveliest meal at Campagne."

"Outside in the courtyard," Teensy added. "Delicious foie gras."

"We slept late," Caro said. "Stopped twice on the way to the Peninsula. Would have stopped four times if I allowed Necie to have her way. Comfortable car."

"Not exactly the type of car any of us would drive at home," Teensy said, taking a quick sip of her drink. "But it'll do for a rental."

"How are the cocktails?" Sidda asked.

"My Gin Risque is very rain forest," Teensy said, gesturing toward the window dramatically, as though to invoke the trees.

"My Scotch is positively part of the ecological web," Caro added.

Sidda burst out laughing. She had forgotten that of all the secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood the most divine was humor.

Later, after Sidda had returned to the cabin and the Ya-Yas had rested, the ladies bombed up to the cabin in the convertible. Sidda knew they had arrived because no one else in the world would blow the horn quite that madly. The three women climbed out of the car, bearing two bottles of wine they'd bought at the lodge, and the ice chest Sidda had noticed earlier.

"All you need to do is pop this in the oven on 350," Necie said, lifting a casserole dish from the ice chest.

"What's in here?" Sidda asked.

"Your mama's crayfish etouffee, made from crayfish your daddy raised at Pecan Grove, and succotash made from his corn," Necie explained.

"Mama sent this to me?" Sidda asked.

"Well," Teensy hedged, "she didn't exactly say it was for you, but she dropped it off at my house the morning we flew out. There was a note on it that said 'Seattle.' "

With her first bite of crayfish etouffee, Sidda could see her mother in the kitchen at Pecan Grove. She saw Vivi first melting butter in a large cast-iron skillet, then slowly stirring flour into the butter, and cooking the roux until it became a chestnut brown. She smelled the onions, celery, and green peppers as Vivi added them to the roux. She saw the dish change color as Vivi added the crayfish tails, along with fresh parsley, cayenne pepper, and generous shakes of the ever-present Tabasco bottle. With each bite, Sidda tasted her homeland and her mother's love.

After she paused to brush the tears from her eyes, Sidda said, "So much good seasoning. It makes my eyes water."

"Right," Teensy said.

"Tabasco and cayenne can do that," Necie added.

After dinner, the four of them took a stroll along the lake, heading south along a trail cut out of the rock. Translucent red huckleberries hung like tiny Christmas balls on the nearby bushes, and on the rock face, vine maple leaves were already turning orange. The last rays of the sunset were bouncing off the lake water at the same time a summer moon was rising, cream-colored against a Wedgwood-blue sky. The four women stopped to take it all in.

"Never seen that happen before," Caro said. "Sunset and moonrise all at once. Must mean something."

Back at the cabin, as the long Northwest twilight stretched in front of them, Necie pulled a pound of Community French roast coffee out of her bag.

"Anyone for a demitasse?" she asked, before heading to the kitchen to put on a kettle.

As though the Louisiana coffee weren't enough, when Necie reappeared she bore a plate of tarts. "Petite pecan tart, sweetheart?" she asked as she offered the plate to Sidda.

"My God, Necie," Sidda said, "where did these come from?"

"I brought them in my carry-on."

"Mama did not make these too, did she?"

"Oh, no," Necie said. "I made these. Your mama won't fool with sweets. That's why she still wears an eight and I have to pray my way into a twelve."

Caro, having examined the collection of CDs, put on Itzhak Perlman playing old standards with Oscar Peterson.

Teensy and Necie sat comfortably on the sofa, Caro took the easy chair. Hueylene had crawled up into Teensy's lap, where the cocker was content to stare out at Sidda as if to say: See, we should have company more often. Sidda pulled up yet another chair and sat so that she could see all three women.

The strong coffee and the sinful tarts with their heady combination of dark corn syrup, nuts, and powdered sugar produced a happy buzz in Sidda's body. "These are delicious, but I better only have a tiny bite and a sip. Otherwise, I'll be up all night."

"So," Teensy asked, casual. "Where are you keeping the 'Secrets'?"

"Beg your pardon?" Sidda asked.

"The 'Book of Divine Secrets,' chere. Let's have a look."

When Sidda returned from the bedroom with her mother's scrapbook, the three Ya-Yas stopped their conversation abruptly. Handing over the scrapbook, Sidda watched the women's reactions closely.

Briefly, the women opened the album and gave it a cursory scan. After a few moments, Teensy spoke. "There's a lot in this book."

"There's a lot that isn't in that book," Caro said.

Sidda closed the scrapbook and set it on the coffee table between them.

"Sidda," Necie said, "Caro told us you had some questions."

"Yes, ma'am," she said, automatically falling back into the manners of her childhood.

"Sidda, please," Caro said, "let's eighty-six the 'yes ma'ams,' okay, Pal? It's from another regime."

"I have no idea where that came from," Sidda said, laughing nervously.

Teensy looked at Caro, then at Necie, before she picked up her yellow straw bag.

"My God, Teensy," Sidda said. "Not more Louisiana goodies!"

"Well," Teensy said, removing a large manila envelope from her bag, "goodies of a sort."

"Caro said you were asking about the time your mama got sick and went away," Teensy said.

Sidda's breath caught in her throat.

"I have some letters you gave me a long time ago," Teensy said, "when you were a girl. You asked me to give them to your maman." She paused and took a deep breath. "But I never did."

Teensy handed Sidda the manila envelope. "There are also some letters of your mama's that I-that we've saved over the years."

"We thought about mailing them to you," Necie said. "But it didn't feel right. I don't know if you still pray to the saints, but I prayed to Saint Francis of Patrizi-"

"Saint Frank Patrizi," Caro interrupted. "Not Frankie of Assisi."

"-He's the Patron Saint of Reconciliation," Necie continued. "Anyway, it seemed better if we were with you when you read the letters."

Sidda looked at the envelope, then at the three women. "Thank you. I'll look forward to reading them."

"Why don't you go ahead and read them now, Pal?" Caro said, standing. "Stretch out and read while we do the dishes."

"Oh, no"-Sidda said-"I can't let yall do that. I'll clean up after yall leave. After all, yall provided the meal."

"We insist," Necie said. "A good guest always helps clear."

"But aren't yall tired?" Sidda asked.

"Not a bit," Necie said. "Matter of fact, I'm wide awake."

"Me too," Teensy said. "You know it's two hours earlier here than at home."

"I just get started at this time of day," Caro said. "Take as long as you want. We aren't going anywhere."

While the Ya-Yas cleaned up, Sidda lay down on the sofa, the old feather pillow propped under her head. The letters were divided into two different stacks. The first was a series of unposted envelopes in a child's hand. It took her a moment to realize it was her own penmanship. She stared at the loopy letters on the first envelope. It was addressed to "Mrs. Shep Walker," but there was no address. The name seemed to hang misplaced, off-center, floating in space with no coordinates to anchor it. As she stared at the blank white space where the address should have been, Sidda's stomach tightened. Without being aware of it, she drew her knees close in to her body, so that she became smaller.

The first letter read: April 2, 1963 Dear Mama, Nobody will give me your address. Teensy said I can give my letters to her and she will get them to you so I hope she does. Mama, I am so sorry we were bad and got you upset. Buggy said we are too much for you. She said we can only write you cheery letters. Please get well soon.

I am sorry we were bad and got you upset.

I am taking good care of the others.

Sunday night we stayed at Buggy's. Then Necie came and got me and Lulu. Little Shep and Baylor went to Caro's. Daddy is gone. I don't know where he went. I wish I could stay at Teensy and Chick's so I could swim in their pool.

When I asked Necie where you are she said you are out of town getting well. Are you in the hospital, Mama? Are you visiting friends? I watched The Little Rascals and Superman on TV, and me and Lulu played Barbies with Malissa and Annie. We slept in Necie's attic guest room. I am sorry. I will write you again soon. Please write me and come home soon.

Love,

Sidda

Sidda closed her eyes. Sunday evening, winter. Third or fourth grade. Her father's cowboy belt in her mother's hand. The landing of the silver belt tip against her skin. Her wild attempts to protect the other children. The leather against her thighs, across her back. The hot craziness; Vivi's talk of hell, of burning; Sidda's shame at urinating on herself; her voice hoarse from crying out. Above it all, the belief that she could have stopped it all from happening.

These images were not new to Sidda. Her body knew them well. Nothing-not distance, not career, not Connor, not her therapist's suggestion that Vivi had suffered a breakdown-nothing had ever fully relieved her of the belief that she had been the cause of that Sunday's punishment.

Lost in the images, Sidda flinched as Necie leaned down and gently draped a light cotton blanket over her. She opened her eyes to see the look of concern in Necie's eyes. Without speaking, she went back to reading.

April 12, 1963

Good Friday

Dear Mama, Willetta came to see me today and guess what. She brought us Lucky the hamster who was at home all alone without us. He was lonely she said. Willetta was feeding him every day but he wanted us!!! So now we have him here at Teensy's where we all are now!! He is on his wheel going crazy. You should see him. He misses you.

I am waiting for a letter from you. Teensy said she thought I might get one soon. Teensy took me to see Hayley Mills at the Paramount. The others didn't get to go, just me and Teensy.

I prayed for you at the Stations of the Cross. This Lent is too long. I don't believe it's only forty days. Only one more day till Easter and I can eat candy again. I kept my Lent sacrifice to give up M&Ms. Please be home by Sunday. OK?

Teensy bought me and Lulu Easter dresses. Uncle Chick is real funny. We are having an Easter-egg hunt and you are invited. Shirley their maid and us are dyeing eighty-four thousand eggs. I called Willetta on the phone yesterday and she says everything is fine at Pecan Grove. I don't see why we can't stay at home with Daddy. Everything is not fine because you aren't here.

We will see you on Sunday. OK?

Love,

Sidda

Easter Sunday

April 14, 1963

Dear Mama, We got dressed up and went to 10:30 Mass and then came back to Teensy's. Necie and Caro and everybody came over and we had a brunch. Willetta and Chaney and Ruby and Pearl drove all the way over here to bring us an Easter cake. Willetta had on a big yellow hat with flowers on it. Daddy came too and picked me up in the air.

When I kept asking about you, he made me be quiet and play with the other kids. Uncle Chick dressed up like the Easter Bunny. We looked for eggs in the tall grass and on the lawn and by the sides of the flower gardens and in the pots around the swimming pool. Baylor found the golden egg and he got a big stuffed bunny and we all got prizes too.

The grown-ups had drinks by the pool, and when Daddy got ready to leave, Lulu bit him on the leg. Then it got all crazy. Daddy said, "Goddamn it to hell." And Daddy started crying, Mama.