“I reckon you’ll have to get your own food and drink and do your own dishes tonight,” he said. “Don’t wear yourself out.” And with that, he was gone.

The women were sitting around the kitchen table where Carrie had put out a selection of her best hors d’oeuvres. As Ray Anne moved toward the table, Gina held up an empty wineglass, more than ready for Ray Anne’s contribution to the party. She quickly uncorked one chilled white and one red.

“Will Rawley come back?” Ray Anne asked Carrie. Carrie merely shrugged and reached for a crab ball from the platter in the center. “Does he stay over?”

“Sometimes,” Carrie said. “If he doesn’t want to drive all the way to Elmore, to his house.”

Ray Anne put both bottles on the table and sat down. She lifted one of Carrie’s amazing crab balls and raised her eyes heavenward. “I have such a hard time picturing you and Rawley together. Romantically, that is.”

“Then don’t,” Carrie advised.

“But seriously, are you a couple now? I mean, I know he’s been around for months, like your boyfriend and partner, but...”

“Not everyone is as comfortable talking about the personal side of things as you are,” Carrie said.

“He has his own room,” Gina pointed out. When everyone stared at her, including her mother, she added, “Well, he does! He has my old room. Which doesn’t mean anything, just that it’s the way they want it! But believe me, I knock before walking in now.”

“Seriously?” Lou said. “His own room? Jesus, are you set in your ways or what.”

“Very much so,” Carrie said. “Rawley is, too. I’ve gotten so used to him, I don’t know what I’d do without him. He loves to cook, clean up, shop and run errands.”

“Very exciting,” Lou said.

“That’s all the excitement I can stand.”

The women were incredibly different. Just a look at them would make anyone wonder what they could possibly have in common. Carrie was plump and grandmotherly; she had never colored her short, steel-gray hair. She nurtured with food that was lovingly and thoughtfully prepared. Lou was small, trim, fit, kept her shoulder length auburn hair free of gray and looked younger than her sixty-two years. Gina was lovely, blond, midthirties with an eighteen-year-old daughter and three stepchildren and had been working at the diner for years and years, yet she looked like a girl.

And then there was Ray Anne. She teased her blond hair, wore her clothes on the tight, short, sexy side, her heels as high as possible. Well, she was short. But that had nothing to do with it, really. She liked them. She’d always worn more makeup, long nails, fancier and, for lack of a better word, spicier clothing. Lou called her a Dolly Parton knockoff and Ray Anne was not offended.

The women weren’t alike in many other ways, either. Lou was an educator who had raised her nephew Mac and then helped him raise his three children after his wife left him. Carrie had been a single mother and small business owner—the deli and catering. Gina had only married Mac a year ago or so and became the instant mother of a big crowd. Only Ray Anne had been this solitary, childless woman. But somehow they understood one another.

“Remember my cousin Dickie?” she asked, sipping her wine. “Remember his daughter, Ginger, whose baby died a while back?”

“Terrible,” Lou said, shaking her head. “Was that almost a year ago?”

“Almost nine months. Last summer,” Ray Anne said.

“Nothing could be harder than that,” Carrie said.

“Poor thing,” Gina said.

“She’s coming to stay with me for a little while,” Ray Anne said. “And I’m terrified.”

“You?” Lou asked. “Terrified? I didn’t know anything scared you.”

“This does. Her daddy called me—he said she was still in a world of hurt. I knew she wasn’t getting better. She’s been so depressed she can’t work and can hardly get out of bed, lost a ton of weight and is so pitiful she can’t talk to anyone for five minutes before she just has to go someplace to be alone. She’s still in terrible pain.”

“How sad,” Carrie said. “Are you going to try to cheer her up?”

“Oh, Lord, what do I know about that kind of grief?” Ray Anne said. “If her daddy hadn’t asked me, begged me really, I never would’ve signed up for this. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do!”

“Has she had counseling?” Lou asked.

“Yes, they’ve tried that. She even took antidepressants for a while. And I know there was some grief group at the church or something. That didn’t go well, either.”

“We can look around here for a counselor or grief group. Wouldn’t hurt to try again,” Lou said.

“I thought she was your niece,” Gina said.

“She’s like a niece. Dickie’s like a brother. He and Sue had two little boys then along came Gingersnap and I was in heaven! A pretty little thing who could have fun spending the night at my house—we’d curl our hair, paint our nails, cream our faces, shave our legs...we shaved when she was a little older. We watched musicals and Disney shows together, dressed up, went shopping. I drove to Portland to help her pick out a prom dress, and I helped her stage her wedding—I was the official bridal assistant. Got way under Sue’s skin, I’ll tell you that, but my little Gingersnap was so happy!”

“She’s married?”

“No,” Ray Anne said. “No, her marriage only lasted a couple of years and was falling apart right as she realized she was pregnant and her husband, the bastard, didn’t even try to give it a chance to help raise his own baby. So Ginger did it on her own. At the end of her pregnancy she moved home with her mom and dad. They’d fixed up the upstairs for her so she and the baby had rooms of their own and she could save some money. She worked right up till she started labor. Four months later her little baby boy died in his sleep.”

“What did your cousin ask you to do for her?” Gina asked.

“Nothing,” Ray Anne said with a helpless shrug. “He said the change might help, but he didn’t ask anything specific of me. I think they’re worn-out, that’s what I think. It was Dickie and Sue’s loss, too. They have other grandchildren, but this little one lived with them—their baby’s baby. And I suppose the others can’t get any attention because everyone is busy grieving.” She rested her head in her hand. “I’ll be useless. I’ll probably just sit around and cry with the poor thing.”