Harriet spoke softly. "Yes, you sure did, didn't you? They say that living well is the best revenge."

Cassie held up the doll head, wondering what her sister had meant by that last remark.

"Baby Betsy!" Harriet reached out her hands for it but didn't stand. She took the doll from her sister and stuck the head on top of the neck. "Remember when Cousin Nathan cut her head off with his daddy's hunting knife?" She laughed softly. "You went after him with the knife until Aunt Lucinda caught up with you. Then you glued the head back on, but it never would stay." She eyed the doll wistfully, then gave it a soft hug. "You were always trying to fix things for me. It made you mad when you couldn't fix everything."

Cassie stopped her rummaging for a moment and turned to her sister. Her gaze roamed around the dusty attic, touching on the piles of boxes, clothes, and trunks-all the reminders of their shared past. She faced her sister again. "I guess I didn't want you to know what it was like not to have a mother. It was bad enough that one of us did, but we both didn't have to."

"Keeper of hearts, right?" A corner of Harriet's mouth tilted up.

"Yeah. Right." Cassie turned back to the box she'd been digging into.

"Do you still miss her?"

Cassie didn't need to ask whom Harriet meant. She sat back on her heels. "Yes, I do. Not every day, like I used to. Just sometimes. Like when I get a whiff of that perfume she used to wear." She threw her head back and laughed. "Or when I walk around my apartment in my slip. I swear I'm the only woman under sixty in New York who wears a slip. Mama had such beautiful ones-all silk and all sorts of colors. She used to call it her 'secret femininity.' I just remember her running around before church, wearing her slip and jewelry and trying to get us ready. I remember how soft they felt on my cheek when I hugged her."

Harriet dipped her head. "I don't even remember that much. But I've missed her-especially at those times when a girl needs her mother." She tilted her head back, a distant smile on her face. "I missed her on my wedding day. I wanted her to help me pick a dress and put her pearls around my neck." She shook her head slightly. "Not that I ended up having those things, but I couldn't even ever dream about them. But most of all I missed her during all my pregnancies- especially the first. I needed her guidance." She looked directly at Cassie. "And I missed you, too. I wanted you to experience it with me. I will always regret that you weren't here with me when they were born." Her eyes misted, and she dabbed at them with the corner of her dress.

Cassie remained silent, not comfortable talking about these things. Her sister was supposed to be a stranger to her now. It had been too many years, and the hurt and betrayal still ranked up there on the list headed by the word unforgivable.

"You know, Har, I can clean up this attic myself. Just give me an idea of the things you want me to save for you and I'll pile them up in a corner."

When she received no response from her sister, she turned around. Harriet still sat on the trunk, but her eyes were closed, her eyebrows knitted together.

"Are you all right?"

Harriet opened her eyes slowly. "Yes. I'm fine. I'm just so . . . fatigued. I don't seem to be snapping back so fast after Amanda's birth like I did with the others." She gave a feeble laugh. "Guess I must be getting older."

Cassie reached deep inside the box. "I'm sure owning your own boutique and raising five children has nothing to do with it." Her brittle smile dimmed as she noticed what her hand had latched onto. Purple taffeta. After fifteen years the vibrant hue had hardly faded. She held it up, the small arc of light bouncing off it and making it sparkle. The place inside her, where a person keeps her deepest hurts, tightened, pushing the feeling of pain and humiliation into her blood, as if it had happened yesterday. She tried to tuck the dress, unnoticed, back into the trunk, but Harriet's voice called out.

"Wait, Cassie. What was that? It might be something Knoxie or Sarah Francis might want to play dress-up with."

With a resigned sigh, Cassie dredged up the dress again and held it up for her sister to see. "Here. You can have it. I certainly have no use for it."

She turned her face away, not wanting Harriet to see the shameful tears hovering in her eyes.

Harriet stood and walked over to Cassie, sitting down with a deep sigh. "I'm sorry, Cassie. I've always wanted to tell you that. I really am. Not about me and Joe but about the way you found out. And you leaving. We never meant that to happen."

Her voice broke, and Cassie could hear the tears but still could not look at her sister. She shrugged. "Yeah, well . . ." There was nothing she could think of to say. It wasn't okay, nor did she really want to hear an explanation for something that happened so long ago. She wanted to bury all of the old ugliness away in the old trunk, along with the dress. Just looking at it was like touching a bruise-tender to the touch but easily ignored if one didn't get too close.

Harriet kneeled next to Cassie on the dusty floor. "We've wanted you to come back ever since you left. It just isn't the same without you here. We want you to be part of our lives, part of our children's lives." As if to elicit a response from her sister, Harriet touched Cassie's arm. "We were hoping this visit would make you forget all the bad feelings and make you want to come back."

Turning, Cassie looked at Harriet. In fifteen years she hadn't changed. The wide green eyes and perfect features. The blond hair and trim body. The little sister Cassie had once loved and protected as if that were her mission in life. The woman who had run off with and married the love of Cassie's life. Cassie looked down at her fingers, studying the French manicure, sorely in need of a touch-up.

"It doesn't matter anymore, Har. All that old stuff is over now. I have a new life. I'm engaged. Moving back just isn't an option for me." She looked up, meeting Harriet's gaze. "I'd always wanted to get out of this town, and you gave me a reason to leave." With a stilted laugh, she added, "Maybe I should thank you."

Harriet's gaze didn't falter. "Do you still have feelings for Joe?"

Cassie shook her head slowly. "No, definitely not. I can see him as a friend-or a brother-in-law-but he's most definitely not the type I would marry."

Harriet tweaked her lips into a little smile. "Well, then. Maybe you should be thanking me."

Cassie threw a velvet hat with three peacock feathers at her sister. "Don't hold your breath for that one, okay?" Sobering, she looked at Harriet with clear eyes, as if seeing a truth for the first time. "Small hurts that are allowed to fester sometimes seem to grow out of all proportion."

"It wasn't a small hurt."

"Yeah, well." Cassie took a pair of moth-eaten woolen long johns out of the trunk, looking at them closely but not seeing them. "But I shouldn't have punished Daddy and Aunt Lucinda, too. I was just so busy trying to prove to me and everybody else that I didn't care."

Harriet stroked the smooth velvet of the hat, her fingers gently moving over the feathers. "No-I think you were too busy trying to prove to everybody that you didn't belong here."

Cassie stood, brushing off her knees. "Well, I don't. It's nice to visit . . ."

Harriet leaned back against a box, her eyes closed.

"Are you all right? You're as white as a ghost."

"I'm fine. I'm fine. Just tired." She waved a pale hand in front of her. "I think I just need some rest. But I need to get ready for inventory at the boutique. . . ."

Dropping the long underwear into a growing pile of things to be discarded, Cassie crouched in front of Harriet. "Don't be ridiculous. You're obviously unwell. Go lie down and I'll see if I can get ahold of Sam."

"No, really. This has happened before. I just need a quick twenty-minute catnap and I'll be as good as new. I'll just go to my old room and lie down. Just promise me you won't let me sleep longer than twenty minutes."

Cassie looked at her doubtfully. "Are you sure . . . ?"

Visibly struggling, Harriet hauled herself to her feet. "I'm sure." Unsteadily, she walked toward the stairs, then grabbed the banister tightly. "Twenty minutes, okay?"

Still frowning, Cassie nodded. "But only if you let me go to the boutique with you and help you out."

Harriet's voice had visibly faded. "All right. But only if you really want to."

Her footsteps padded away down the hall, followed by a door shutting gently.

Cassie returned to the purple taffeta dress lying in a puddle of fabric like a crushed dream. She started to turn away but stopped, lifting it off the floor instead. Holding it against her, she swayed, feeling the soft fabric brush the bare skin on her legs. She stopped as if something had bit her and dropped the dress back on the floor. Turning abruptly, she headed for the attic stairs to find a phone and call the boutique to tell them that Harriet was taking the rest of the day off.

Cassie stood in front of the pink Grand Am, thinking it even smelled like face powder. Aunt Lucinda had returned from her trip just in time to loan out her car to Cassie, who otherwise would have to walk. She pondered if walking wasn't a better alternative to being seen in the pink car.

She lifted her arms, already feeling the stickiness, and decided that pink or not, it had air-conditioning. With one last look at the license plate, which read lipstck, she climbed in behind the wheel. As she flipped on the radio, she casually wondered how many skin lotions, clarifying masks, and mascaras Aunt Lucinda had to sell to the fine ladies of Walton to win this car. She turned a quick corner and listened to the boxes and bags, filled with beauty potions, shift and titter on the backseat like giddy children.

The small ranch-style house on Orchard remained much as she remembered. She'd never been inside the Parker house before but had passed it every day to and from high school. The most memorable thing about it was its porch, almost as deep as it was wide, with plenty of hiding space behind large wicker rocking chairs. She had learned this firsthand the night she'd painted Principal Purdy's porch across the street.

After locking the car door and flipping the handle to make sure it was locked, she headed down the front walk. She recognized the tall form standing behind the screen door and immediately felt her anger rise.

"I know it sounds unnatural to you, Cassie, but you don't need to lock your car doors here. Especially not in our driveway." He held the door open for her, an insouciant smile crossing his face.

Cassie stopped, looking around nervously. "Is that animal of yours around here?"

"No, ma'am. On account of your skittishness, I left him at my place. He was mighty upset, though. Seems he's taken quite a liking to you."

Ignoring him, she stomped up the porch steps. "You've got some nerve, Sam Parker. How dare you call that maga-" Her foot caught on the door mat, sending her straight into Sam's chest.

Their arms were wrapped around each other when Mrs. Parker emerged from the kitchen. She caught sight of them, and her wide gray eyes beamed with what appeared to be surprise quickly shifting to satisfaction.

Cassie quickly extricated herself from Sam and allowed herself to be enveloped in the soft pillow of Mrs. Parker's hug. The woman hadn't changed one bit. Everything was the same-all the way down to the little apron with frilly lace sleeves.

"You're just as pretty as your mama, aren't you? Just a picture of her." She bent toward Cassie's hair and sniffed loudly. "That's Saucy, ain't it? Just bought some of that perfume from your Aunt Lucinda yesterday. Just drives my Walter wild."

She gave a throaty laugh just as Mr. Parker stomped down the stairs, rolling down sleeves over still-wet forearms on which the wet hairs curled themselves up like small tufts of cotton. "Yep-that's me. A wild man."

He reached his wife and gave her a big kiss on the cheek. His hand did something behind her, making her squeal like a schoolgirl. She slapped his arm. "Walter! Mind your manners, now. We've got company."

The same dark blue eyes she remembered from the gas station peered at her from under bushy gray eyebrows. The ubiquitous overalls covered his rounded abdomen, and he smelled faintly of soap. The thought of this man being wild with a woman made Cassie want to laugh outright.

"So I see. It's good to see you again, Cassie." He bent forward and kissed her loudly on the cheek. "I'll hardly be able to eat my supper tonight. I'll be too busy staring at the two lovely visions sitting at my table."

Mrs. Parker giggled again and slapped him on his arm. "Be careful, Walter. Flattery will get you everywhere."

He winked at his wife, and Cassie had the oddest compulsion to hug them both. There was something so refreshing and authentic about them. She tried to picture herself and Andrew as old marrieds, and the picture just wouldn't focus.

"Come help me in the kitchen, Walter. Sam, why not show Cassie to the parlor and get her something to drink."

Cassie caught the sly wink Mrs. Parker sent her husband and immediately offered her services. "I'll help!"

Mrs. Parker waved a pudgy hand. "Oh, no, darlin'. You just go sit and chat with Sam. Won't have our guest workin' in the kitchen."

The overalled Mr. Parker followed his wife, with a few lighthearted remarks about women's work, and disappeared into the kitchen.

Cassie faced Sam, her hands hugging her elbows. "Why does your mother think that I would rather talk to you than chop lettuce?"

He led her into a room off the small foyer and motioned her to sit on a green velvet love seat. "Because I'm her son and she thinks I'm the neatest thing since sliced bread and can't imagine everybody else not thinking the same thing."

He took a seat in a well-worn recliner, the remote control perched on the armrest. She rested her head against a homemade quilt on the back of the love seat and gazed at the angel figurines sitting on a lace table mat on the coffee table. Her fury over the magazine shoot lingered beneath the surface, but she was loath to unleash it here, within earshot of his parents. Their opinion of her suddenly mattered, and she didn't want to be interrupted before letting Sam get an earful.

Standing abruptly, Cassie approached the fireplace to examine framed pictures set among old sailing-boat models and bronzed baby shoes on the mantel. The brick fireplace had been swept clean, but the smell of old ash still lingered. Cassie bent forward to look at an old colored photograph of two boys, one about eleven and the other a mere toddler. Both wore cowboy hats and were grinning goofily into the camera. The younger boy also wore cowboy boots and a strategically placed holster-and nothing else.

"Nice outfit," Cassie said, grinning.

"That's me and Tom."

Cassie swirled around, surprised to find Sam standing so close to her. His eyes burned with a gentle blue light, making her temporarily forget her anger at him. She took a step back and looked down at the picture.

"Your brother?"

Sam nodded. "That was taken the year before he died. We'd gone to the State Fair and got those hats. Thought we were two tough customers."

Cassie ran her finger over the glass, wiping away a thin layer of dust. "I'm sorry. You must miss him very much."

He said nothing, but continued to regard her closely. She stepped back, her fingers toying with the charms around her neck. "Is that why you've come back? To make it up to your parents?"

Sam made a narrow hissing noise as he sucked in his breath, and Cassie knew she'd touched a sore spot. But she couldn't back down.

Gingerly, she placed the picture back in its place, staring at the picture so she wouldn't have to see his face.

"Is that why you're trying to make it difficult for me to leave? Because you're jealous that I have a choice and you didn't?"

Long, tanned fingers moved to the mantel within her field of vision, and she turned to find herself blocked in by his arm and his body. His voice was calm. "Maybe it's the other way around. Maybe you're jealous of me because I have a reason to stay."

His words stung, but she would be damned if she'd let him know it. "I have more reasons to return to New York than you could count. As soon as the house sells, I'm leaving."

He raised an eyebrow, then slowly withdrew his arm from the mantel. He turned away, but not before Cassie spied his furiously working jaw.

Mrs. Parker bustled in at that moment, carrying a steaming platter of fried chicken to the adjacent dining room. She was followed closely by Mr. Parker with a bowl filled with mashed potatoes and a gravy boat shaped like a football. It had the University of Georgia bulldog painted on the side.

Cassie plastered a polite smile on her face and sat down at the table. One glance around at the dishes told her there was more cholesterol and fat on that table than her body had been allowed near in over fifteen years. She closed her eyes and sniffed deeply, rationalizing that she could run an extra mile the next day. When Mrs. Parker came around the table with the platter of chicken, Cassie held her plate up with an eager smile.

After everyone was served, Mr. Parker cleared his throat as he tucked his napkin into the bib of his overalls. "Let's say grace." Everyone bowed his head, and Cassie was relieved she didn't have to hold anybody's hand.

Afterward, Mr. Parker turned to Cassie. "I sure hope you don't need your car before the end of the week. Seems that engine part I need to get it running again has to come all the way from Germany. I saved some time ordering it off the Internet, but it will still take awhile to get here."

Cassie's eyes widened, surprised that he knew what the Internet was, much less how to use it. She swallowed a mouthful of potatoes before nodding. "That's fine. I've still got stuff to clean up at the house. I haven't even gone through half the attic yet. I don't think anything's ever been thrown away since the house was built."

Mrs. Parker reached over and patted Cassie's hand. "More stuff to treasure, dear. Enjoy going through all those memories."

Cassie nodded and went to open her mouth in agreement. But she felt Sam's gaze on her and fell back, silent, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

After dinner, Mrs. Parker all but ordered Cassie and Sam out to the front porch, pushing aside protestations that Cassie wanted to help with the dishes.

"You two young people go out and enjoy that gorgeous night. It's going to be a full moon, and you can watch it rise over the magnolias. The sight will just break your heart." With a pat on Cassie's shoulder, pushing her in the direction of the door, Mrs. Parker turned to take the pitcher of iced tea off the table. "I'll bring y'all some lemonade and apple pie in just a minute."

Cassie walked on ahead of Sam, knowing if anything was going to break this evening, it would be his head. The cool blue light startled her, making her stop and gaze out at the sparkling night. She never noticed the moon anymore. If she ever thought to look for it, it had already drifted behind a tall building, hiding it from her sight. She stood still for a moment, bathing in its ethereal light, listening to the night sounds all around her.

The squeak of a porch swing made her turn. Sam patted the seat next to him. Turning her back to the moon, she ignored Sam and found a comfortable spot in a large rocking chair. She didn't allow herself to rock, but steeled her feet on the floor.

"I want you to call that stupid magazine and inform them that if they show up on my doorstep, I'll have them sued for invasion of privacy. And then I'll sue you for harassment just for fun."

He didn't even shift in his seat; just the slow, comfortable squeak of the swing answered her.

Annoyed, she asked, "Did you hear me? I'm serious. You're interfering with my life, and it's none of your damned business."

Sam continued the slow swinging motion. "How come you didn't change the color of your eyes when you got contacts?"

Her eyes widened, her fingers flying to her face. "What's wrong with the color of my eyes?"

The blue light made his smile glow. "Nothing. I always liked them. Sort of reminded me of a fine glass of whiskey backlit by a fire."

Cassie sat back, her arms folded in front of her. "My, my. So we're a poet, too."

He shrugged, and the swing groaned. "I guess I'm just a man of many talents."