"God, life is so complicated, isn't it?"

"How do you mean, sugar puss?"

"Well, look at Momma, now that you brought her up." We rarely spoke of her because Harlan was a great fan of Momma and I wasn't. "There we were, growing up on Logan Street, South of Broad by a hair."

"Well, after Daddy died, she wasn't going to live anywhere else. It gave her emotional security. You probably don't remember the big house on King Street."

"No, I was too little. But the point is that we couldn't afford Logan Street. She should've moved us out to west of the Ashley or east of the Cooper."

"Are you kidding? She would've rather died than live in the burbs! You know that!"

"Excuse me, so she worked as a cocktail waitress in a dive bar on Rivers Avenue outside the gate to the naval base so we could pay the rent and say we had bragging rights on a South of Broad address? Do you see a conflict here?"

"Honey, what she saw was two hundred dollars a night in cash and your Ashley Hall tuition paid in full. It was honest work. You want more tea?"

"No, thanks. If Ashley Hall had known what Momma was doing, they would've thrown me out the front door."

"She was the Merry Widow, hon."

"Carrying on with Willie who owned the bar for how long? And she never married Willie because?"

"He had too many tattoos. I know, I know. It's confusing. But he let her work there until the day she died. He was a good man. Most bars wouldn't have women over forty selling drinks. There's terrible age discrimination, even today."

"You're telling me? That's part of what brings me to your door, Harlan."

"Come on, Leslie, let's bury Momma for the moment and let me have the big story."

"Oh, Harlan, I don't even know where to begin."

But I did begin and over the next hour or so all my worries were laid on the table to be considered, and at last I got to the horrible money business.

"Back up the bus, baby. What did you just say? Did you say twenty-two million dollars?"

"Yes. Harlan, I'm just worried sick about it. You and I both know that Wes has never earned that kind of money. He's got to be involved in something very bad. I don't care what kind of bonuses he makes or how well the company is doing. It just doesn't make any sense to me."

"Look, who knows?"

"I shouldn't have done it, but I took his bank statement from the house. I have it upstairs. Should I go get it?"

Harlan was incredulous.

"Not now. We don't have time. God knows, but he's a cheap son of a b. He probably invested his First Communion money in IBM. I'll have to give this some thought. There's never been a great love between us, but I don't think he's a crook, Les. I just don't see it." He sat back in his chair and exhaled long and slow. "Do you remember if there were any specific stocks listed?"

"Wes owns a single share of Coca-Cola his great-grandfather bought for his father in something like 1920. Right when the company went into business. And he's got some Apple and Microsoft. Maybe some others. I know he has some money in funds."

"Well, look, if he still has that Coke stock, it has to have split like a thousand times. I'll look it up on the Internet in the morning. I promise, first thing tomorrow. Come on, let's set up the bar and the dining room table. Marge will be here soon."

"Who's Marge?"

"Local talent. She helps me with parties."

"Oh, well, that's good!" I was chewing on my lip, something I'd done since childhood when I was worried. "What do you think Wes will think when I'm not there with his supper?"

"Don't worry so much. You'll get wrinkles. But you should tell Wes you're here."

"I can't deal with him. I just can't. And I don't want to."

"Okay. I understand that, but he's going to be very angry, you know."

"How about I don't care?"

"Okay. Do you want me to handle him? I can call him if you like."

"Do whatever you want. I just don't want to talk to him right now."

"All right, in the meanwhile, let's get rid of that ugly old hospital supply sling-I have a big silk Hermes scarf that will look ever so much more Hepburn!"

I giggled. "Which one? Audrey or Katharine?"

"Does it matter?"

It did not.

"And I meant what I said about you staying here. It's only a month."

"I'll really think about it, Harlan. Thanks."

When I went upstairs to change, there was my sundress on the bed. I didn't remember putting it there. Nonetheless, I slipped into it, Harlan changed my sling, a definite upgrade, and with a little makeup I looked so much better. I still hadn't turned on my cell phone because I didn't want to hear from Wes. And I wondered if Harlan called him.

The doorbell began to ring, and soon, from the garden to the living room, Harlan's friends were milling about, telling stories, gobbling up sandwiches, and drinking all kinds of cocktails, the most popular being Dark and Stormys-a mixture of rum and ginger beer-and Manhattans made with rye, vermouth, and cherries. Funny. In Atlanta we mostly drank wine. It looked like Charleston still liked her cocktails. Anyway, our mother always had, and this crowd sure did. There was something very comforting about traditions being honored. And I remembered then that Dark and Stormys were Leonard's favorite drink.

I heard a voice behind me and I knew I recognized it from somewhere in my past.

"Cocktail parties were invented in Charleston, you know."

I turned around and ran right into the smirking smile of Jonathan Ray, my first serious boyfriend. I knew immediately that Harlan had invited him for my sake. As good as he was, Harlan liked being controversial from time to time.

The years had been kind to Jonathan. He was gray around the temples, but he still had a full head of hair and the prettiest blue eyes the good Lord ever gave to a man besides Paul Newman.

"Well, look at you! Jonathan! How wonderful to see you again! And what do you mean cocktail parties were invented here? I've never heard that."

"That doesn't mean it's not true. Thirty years later and she's still the skeptic? Can I freshen up your drink?"

"Sure, why not?"

We stepped over to the bar where Marge was shaking one mini cocktail shaker after another with such enthusiasm I wondered how her elbows could stand it.

Clack! Clack! Clack!

The super cubes banging against the stainless steel made a riotous noise.

"What are you drinking?" Jonathan said.

"Oh, just vodka with a bunch of tonic and a lime," I said.

"I've got one for you!" Marge said. "How about a Georgia Punch?"

"For a Georgia Peach!" Jonathan said. "Perfect!"

"Great! But I'm a transplant, you know," I said and managed a weak smile, thinking that this peach had already been bruised enough.

"Haven't you been there long enough to claim Georgia?"

"Jonathan, when you're born in Charleston, you should know it's impossible to be anything but a Charlestonian. The last thing you want is dual citizenship."

"That's actually comforting to hear," he said.

She handed the frosty glass to Jonathan, and he handed it to me with a napkin. No ring. Wedding ring, that is. Why was I even looking?

"I'll have a Manhattan," he said to Marge.

"Right away!" she said, and inside of a minute she handed the tumbler to him.

"Thanks," he said and turned to me. "So why don't we sneak out to the garden where we can hear ourselves think?"

"Sure, but shouldn't we tell your wife where we're going?"

"Can't do that," he said, with the funniest expression. "She's ancient history."

"Really? Didn't you marry Clare Mullarney? What happened to her?"

We worked our way through the dining room to the kitchen and finally to the open French doors in the den. Then we stepped out onto the terrace where fig ivy climbed the walls and the sweet smells of Confederate jasmine were all over us as though we had walked into a cloud of it.

"Wow? Smell that?" he said and I nodded. "What happened? Well, let's see. We got married, we had two children, she started painting landscapes with a bunch of en plein air pot-smoking hippies."

"Nuh-uh. She must have lost her mind to leave you!"

"Exactly. She said being married to me wasn't interesting enough. Then soon after painting no longer interested her, she was overcome with an all-consuming urge to go make artisanal cheese in Vermont."

"Yikes. She sounds like my son."

"Oh?"

"He's currently in residence in Nepal, smoking weed with hippies from all over the world. He's a stoner on an international level. I'm so proud." I could hardly believe I was actually saying what I was saying, and then I thought, It's the damn truth, isn't it? Until that moment I had always made excuses for him.

"I thought Harlan said he was a photographer for National Geographic?"

"I think he'd like to be one, but so far? No go."

"Too bad."

"It's okay; he has an IV right into his father's wallet. It keeps him in clean water for his bong. So what happened to your wife again?"

"So I just told her, fine, she should go make cheese, just leave me the kids. I was in my third year of medical school. She said I was a workaholic."

"Well, here's another nice mess you've gotten me into, isn't it, Ollie?"

"What?"

"You never watched Laurel and Hardy when you were a kid?"

"Oh, right! Right! Now I get it! Nice one!"

"Yeah, nice lead balloon, but continue." My face was flushed. I was so embarrassed. Maybe Wes was right about my sense of humor-it was pretty dumb.

"Well, she left me the kids, I raised them, my mother helped, God bless her heart, and it all worked out okay. When my grandmother passed away, she left me her house out on Sullivans Island. Remember that house?"

"I surely do! We spent as much time with her sitting around that kitchen table as we did walking on the beach. She was a great lady."

"Thanks. Yeah. I love to remember those days with you. Anyway, my daughter's married to a dentist and they live out in Portland. She teaches first grade and my son's doing his residency in sports medicine out in San Diego."

"Really? Weren't you in sports medicine too?"

"Yeah, I actually run it for the Medical University. I treat all the big athletes in the Southeast."

"Really?" Why was it when men made their careers sound grandiose it was okay, but if a woman had said the same thing she'd be bragging?

"Yep. I had hoped that when my son graduated, he'd come into my practice and eventually take it over. Now I think I'm going to move out there, maybe live in Napa."

"Ah, Napa. Is he married?"

"Not yet. And I wasn't going to bring it up, but what happened to your arm?"

"Oh, this? I sort of fell in an open manhole in Edinburgh last month. It's just a crack."

"How in the world did that happen?"

"It's a long story. But you never remarried?"

"Not so far. There have been sort of a long series of women who came and went, but between my practice and my children I was too busy to get serious."

"Oh, come on . . ."

"Okay, there was Blanche, but she had five children."

"Five children. I'd run like hell."

"I did."