Harriet tapped him gently on his flat abdomen. "That's what I like about you, Sam. You're so easy to please."

Cassie rolled her eyes, then turned toward the table and her niece.

Madison was busy throwing place mats, napkins, and silverware on the table with a heavy scowl on her face. A tall stack of dishes awaited her attack on the corner of the table. When she spotted her mother's sister, she beamed. "Hey, Aunt Cassie."

Cassie smiled back, admiring Madison's new hairstyle. "I like what you're doing with your hair."

Madison slid a spoon and fork across the table's surface, sending them almost careening off the table. "I've pinned it up to see if I like the shorter hair. Then I'm going to have it cut-just like yours." She slapped a place mat down in front of her before dumping silverware on it. "I wanted you to go with me to show Bitsy."

"Sure." Cassie grabbed a stack of plates and began placing them around the table, picking up the disarrayed silverware and placing it neatly next to the plates. "I'd be happy to." She shook her head. "I can't believe Bitsy is still cutting hair. She gave me my first real haircut."

Sam grinned. "It was a hideous David Cassidy shag, if I recall correctly. And you wore a handkerchief over your head for a week."

Cassie paused for a moment with a fork in midair, her expression a mixture of surprise and annoyance. "Yeah, I did. And you have my permission to forget about that, too."

The sliding-glass door opened, letting in Joe and the smell of barbecue. Cassie looked up and froze, unsure, still, of how she felt about him. She was no longer smitten by him, that much she knew. But he had been the source of so much pain for so long, she didn't know how to talk to him or even look at him. The few times she had spoken to him directly, she had found her gaze centered somewhere between the tip of his nose and his left ear.

"Hi, Cassie. Sam." He nodded in their direction.

Sam watched her intently, making her even more self-conscious.

Joe spoke again. "Hey, Sam. Why don't you grab a beer and come outside with me. I want to show you my new gas grill. Does just about everything but pluck the chicken and wash dishes."

Sam whistled. "Now that's an offer a man can't refuse."

Joe pulled two beer cans from the refrigerator. He left the room with Sam, sliding the door shut behind them as Harriet gave an exasper-ated sigh. "Men and their toys. They never really grow up, do they?" She turned toward the counter and started tearing lettuce into a salad bowl. But there was something in her smile that told Cassie there was nothing Harriet would want to change.

Over her shoulder Harriet said, "Please hurry up with setting the table, Maddie. You're moving slower than a herd of turtles through molasses. I need you to finish this salad so I can see to the rest of dinner."

Cassie spoke up. "I'm not that handy in a kitchen anymore, but I can help chop stuff for the salad." She stood next to her sister and grabbed a cucumber and sharp knife. Their arms brushed, and they looked at each other as if simultaneously remembering the same image of their helping Lucinda prepare dinner in their father's house.

Harriet grinned. "Remember when Aunt Lucinda went on that health-food kick?"

"Oh, Lord! How could I forget? That's when he almost set the house on fire trying to fry chicken in the middle of the night so he could get a decent meal." Cassie shook her head, smiling at the memory. "He said it was his God-given right as a Southerner to eat fried food." She sliced a few chunks off the cucumber, her voice quieting. "He still had those grease-fire burns on his hand, didn't he? Don't think he minded, though. Man, how he loved fried chicken."

They were silent for a moment as tears sprang to Harriet's eyes.

Cassie spoke, staring at the cucumber. "Don't you dare start or I'll start, too, and not be able to stop. Then dinner will never be ready."

Harriet sniffled, then nodded, tearing another leaf of lettuce into small bits.

They were eventually rejoined by the men, and when Amanda's fretting sounded from the baby monitor, Joe went upstairs to get her. He settled her in the baby swing in the corner of the kitchen, then joined his wife in the dinner preparations. Children ran in and out, the door swinging open and shut in a rapid procession, while all sorts of conversations were shouted across the room and to the backs of departing children.

"Supper's almost ready. Don't go too far, you hear?"

"Don't pick your nose, Joey. Now go wash your hands and get ready to eat."

"Go practice your scales, Sarah Frances, until it's time for supper."

Through all the commotion, Joe and Harriet created their own private space. When they were near enough to each other, they would touch. A brisk sweep of a hand on an arm, a pat on the elbow, a nuzzle on the cheek. And as much as Cassie found herself watching them, she found Sam closely regarding her with the same frequency. She shrugged and went back to slicing tomatoes.

The whole crew, with the exception of baby Amanda, who was busily gnawing on a rattle in her swing, sat elbow to elbow around the large pine table in the kitchen. Cassie was relieved to find herself far enough away from Joe that she wouldn't have to stare right into his face if she needed to talk to him. Unfortunately, Sam was seated to her direct right, and she felt quite certain that every time his arm rubbed against hers, it was intentional. She found herself anticipating the brush of his arm every time he reached for something, so she discreetly moved her chair an inch away.

Harriet said the blessing, forcing everyone to join hands. Cassie reached tentatively toward Sam's fingers, then found her hand swallowed by his. She bowed her head and listened to Harriet's voice, trying to ignore the warm pressure of Sam's fingers against hers. When the blessing was over, she looked up and found Sam watching her closely. Looking away, she reached for the collard greens.

The children were amazingly civilized at the table, with no arguing and lots of "No, ma'ams" and "Yes, sirs" when they were spoken to by their parents and the other adults.

Cassie had just taken a bite out of a tangy piece of barbecue brisket when Sam brought up the subject of Ed Farrell again.

"Did you give Ed the key to your house?"

She washed down her food with a quick swallow of sweet tea. "Yes, I did. How can he show the house if he can't get in?"

He didn't answer her right away. Instead, he got involved in a conversation with Joey about the best time to go fishing in Senator Thompkins's creek, and then Cassie's attention was diverted by a request from Knoxie for another glass of milk. Letting Harriet sit for a change, Cassie went to the refrigerator and retrieved a carton of milk, placing it in the middle of the table after refilling four glasses.

The family continued to eat in relative peace, and Cassie hoped the entire subject of Ed Farrell had been dropped. But during a lull in the conversation, Sam turned to her again.

"I don't think it's a good idea to give Ed access to your house." He began buttering a large piece of corn bread.

Putting down her fork, she stared at him. "Excuse me?"

He placed his knife carefully on the edge of his plate. "I don't think somebody like Ed should have free access to your house."

"Really. And you call me a snob. You're certainly no better. Just because the guy was poor as a child, you think he's out to rob us blind. Let me tell you something, Dr. Parker. If his office is any indication of how well he's doing, he doesn't need anything from me or you or anybody."

Sam slid his chair back slightly so he could turn to face her. A throbbing tick had begun on his left cheek. "He wasn't the only one born poor, Cassie, if you'll remember. But he sure as hell"-with a guilty expression, he looked across the table at the youngest of three children staring at him with large eyes-"um, heck, has not reached his current level of affluence by playing by the book. And I'm not just saying this because of the way he used to bully me in school. I'm referring to the way he's convincing all those families to sell out to him so he can bulldoze their homes and put some god-awful-looking poultry processing plant on the land. And now he's running for that town council seat and saying he's got Walton's best interests at heart." He forced air out of his lips. "He doesn't care about anything except lining his own pockets."

Cassie narrowed her eyes. "So what does this have to do with me giving him my house key? He seemed perfectly nice to me, and he sincerely wants to do what's best for me."

Sam dropped the corn bread on his plate. "I'm sorry, but I just don't trust the man. There's always the question that lingers in my mind of how he found the money not only to go to college but to start his own business. There's something there, and I don't like it. He's the last person in the world you should be giving your house key to."

Cassie picked up her fork again. "Well, I like him, and I want him to sell my house as quickly as possible. Whatever he wants me to do to facilitate that, I'll do."

Sam rested his hands on the table for a moment and stared down at his plate. The throbbing in his cheek beat faster. Finally, after wiping his mouth with a napkin, he pushed his chair back.

"Thank you, Harriet, Joe. It was delicious. But if you will excuse me for a bit, I need to go out to my truck and check my messages and make some phone calls."

Without looking at Cassie, he slid his chair out farther and left.

Harriet and Joe switched their gazes from Sam's retreating back to Cassie.

"What crawled into his boots?" she asked, trying to hide her chagrin by taking a heaping forkful of collard greens.

Joe spoke quietly. "I think it's stress about tomorrow's election. He's always hated to lose at anything, but especially this time, since he believes so much is at stake."

Reaching for her glass, Cassie asked, "Election? What election?"

Harriet dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. "Sam and Ed are both running for a town-council seat. Sam's under the impression that Ed will have Walton looking like an industrial park within a matter of years if he wins-no matter how much Ed shouts about being the 'good' developer in town." She sent Cassie a wry smile. "I don't know. I know Sam's heart is in the right place, but I also think a little bit of progress is good. Those old houses Ed had torn down for that poultry plant were eyesores, anyway."

Joe leaned back in his chair, lifting the front legs off the floor. "I dunno. I pretty much agree with Sam. Sure, Ed's raising a ruckus about that mall developer buying those lots, but it would take a miracle to make me believe that Ed wouldn't be doing the same thing if he'd thought of it first."

Cassie shook her head. "Oh, no, Joe. Ed loves my father's house. He even mentioned that if I couldn't sell it to a family, he would be interested in maybe making the house a clubhouse for a golf club. I mean, it's not ideal, but at least the house wouldn't be torn down."

Harriet and Joe looked at each other, but Cassie missed their expressions when she bent to retrieve a rattle Amanda threw on the floor.

Harriet cupped her chin in her hands. "I have to say I'm surprised Ed has done so well for himself. Remember how we used to tease him about the dirt under his fingernails?"

Cassie stopped chewing, the shame of the memory constricting her throat. "Oh, God. I'd forgotten about all that. You don't think he still remembers, do you?"

Joe leaned back, patting his ample stomach with one hand. "I don't think Ed Farrell's the kind of man who forgets anything. Like the time his father traipsed across the basketball court in the middle of the game to haul Ed back home. Said he needed help with the plowing and that was that, basketball game or not. I don't think Ed ever came back to school after that."

"Pass the cornbread, please," shouted Joey, his lips, chin, and cheeks covered with the remnants of his first piece.

Madison stretched her arm toward the bread basket.

Harriet nodded. "Remember how he used to cuss? I still don't know what some of those words meant. You'd think he'd grown up in the city or something."

Madison's fingers gripped the edge of the basket, shifting it in the opposite direction.

Joe sat up. "Now, really, Harriet. People in the city don't cuss any more than they do out here. I don't know where you get all these stereotypical ideas about city people."

Madison, still reaching for the cornbread, managed to flop her elbow on the table at the precise spot where a glass casserole lid lay.

The force propelled it into the air in a perfect somersault before crashing to the floor and splitting in half.

"Holy shit!" she yelled, effectively silencing all and sundry at the table, with the exception of the cooing baby and Knoxie, who had the sudden impulse to imitate her older sister.

"Bowly shit!" she shouted with glee.

Harriet stood quickly. "Madison Cassandra Warner! Get to your room this instant. You've never heard that kind of language in this house, and I certainly don't expect it coming out of your mouth. I've a good mind to wash it out with soap."

Cassie looked down at her plate, feeling the color deepen in her cheeks.

Madison slowly slid out of her chair. "I didn't mean nothing by it. It just sorta slipped out. . . ."

Her mother leaned toward her, her eyes lit with fury. "Where have you heard that word before?"

Madison glanced over at her aunt, and Cassie swallowed, then nodded her head.

"I . . . I must have said it without thinking, Harriet. I'm sorry. I didn't realize-"

Harriet shook her head, cutting her off. "It doesn't matter. Maddie is old enough to know what's inappropriate language for a young girl." She turned back to her daughter. "We'll discuss this later. Up to your room, please. And no peach ice cream for you tonight."

"Mama . . ." Madison's whole demeanor whined, along with her voice.

Joe spoke, his words soft but strong. "Do as your mama tells you, and do it without complaining or there'll be a worse punishment than being sent to your room."

Madison banged her chair up against the table and ran out of the room. Her feet could be heard stomping their way up the stairs, the sound punctuated by the slamming of her bedroom door.

The front door shut quietly, and Sam returned to the kitchen. "Was that an adolescent girl or a tornado I saw flinging its way up the stairs?"

Joe shook his head, then stood. "Don't go there, Sam. Don't even go there. I can only question God as to why he gave me four hormonal girls and just one levelheaded boy." He reached across the table and started stacking dishes.

Harriet stood, too, the stern expression on her face doing nothing to hide its inherent sweetness. "Watch it, buddy. The couch in the living room isn't all that comfortable."

Joey dropped his fork on his plate with a clatter. "Let's go catch lightning bugs!"

His pronouncement was followed by the sound of three chairs being scraped back from the table.

Harriet waved her hands in the air. "Don't think this excuses any of you from your after-dinner chores. They'll be waiting for you when you get back." She walked to a cabinet and pulled out four empty peanut-butter jars, all with lids that had small holes poked in them and a different initial painted on the front.

Sarah Frances grabbed two, then took Knoxie's hand and followed Joey out the door.

Harriet squatted and reached into the far back of the cabinet and pulled out two more jars. These appeared older, the bright yellow lids pale and faded. She approached the table again, holding the jars out so Cassie could read the "C' and "H" on the sides.

"I can't believe you kept these." Cassie ran her thumbnail against the ridged side of the lid.

"How could I throw them away?"

Without looking at her sister, Cassie examined the jar closely, try-ing not to think of all the things of her childhood she had discarded in the last fifteen years without a second thought.

Finally, she looked up. "Thanks. Thanks for keeping them." And she meant it.

Madison lingered in the doorway. "Can I come down now?"

Her mother turned toward her. "Are you ready to apologize?"

Madison nodded, then mumbled, "I'm sorry. I won't say it again."

Harriet just stood, looking at her eldest child with a mixture of love and incredulity, as if she couldn't believe she had a daughter old enough to be cussing like a sailor. Then she walked over and handed Madison a jar with an "M" on it.

A small smile tugged at the corner of Madison's mouth. "Thanks, Mama. Can I have peach ice cream, too?"

Her mother frowned. "Don't push it, young lady. Now go outside and keep your sisters out of the mud puddles."

The screen door banged open, and Joey poked his head into the kitchen. "Dr. Parker-c'mon. It's us boys against the girls to see who can catch more."

Sam looked up at Harriet and winked before turning back to the small boy. "Hold on a minute. I'm going to need another jar, and I need your permission to expropriate a female for our team."

Joey wrinkled his nose. "Huh?"

Sam laughed. "Okay. How 'bout your Aunt Cassie joining us on our team? It would make it more even."

A chair slid back from the table as Cassie stood. "Sorry-can't. Not only am I woefully out of practice, but somebody's got to help your mother clean up this mess." Cassie drained the last of her sweet tea, making the ice cubes tinkle against the glass.

Harriet touched her briefly on the shoulder, making Cassie start. "Oh, you go on, Cassie. Joe and I can handle this, and the kids will finish up when they come back in. I insist."

Cassie scanned the faces of the people around her like a caged animal. "But I've got loads of work to do back at the house, and I should really be getting back."