“I’m sorry.” Serena had focused on listening to Liza rather than advising her. What advice did she have to give, after all? Liza had been holding the truth in for years—about her feelings for Whit, about the burden of caregiving for Bill Sweeney, about the pressure to keep up in a town where keeping up was important, about pushing Vivi and Fitz to be high performers, about proving her worth through work. Liza had a lot to unload and Serena had learned over the years through her work that when someone wants to talk, you let them. Listen, ask questions that help them tell their story, and wait for the good stuff.

“I married Whit for the wrong reasons and I thought I was stuck. But Whit unstuck us; he walked away. I didn’t think he had it in him. I didn’t.”

“Now what will you do?”

“What I want, I guess. I’ve done what other people wanted for such a long time. Be there for the kids, run the gallery which I love. Move to a smaller house, maybe, and not care so much about stains on the couch and dog hair on the rugs. Hide from society for a little bit after this opening because I’m embarrassed that it looks like I couldn’t even hold onto Whit Jones. I’ll be fine.”

Serena saw a lot of herself in Liza, especially the benefits of being the oldest girl in a family. And the burden of expectations. Serena had shed those expectations the minute she headed to DC instead of the Today show, but Liza had managed to live up to most of them. No wonder she was exhausted, drawn, in her own words, “depleted.” For Serena, the role as confidante was new, at least in her personal life.

Even Tricia was starting to come around. They had met up on a run one morning by accident and now it had become a daily ritual, heading out for four miles after coffee. With Tricia, there was no soul-baring, no emotional

truth telling. They talked about work. Clearly Tricia was a news junkie, well informed, and had done her own research into Serena’s history, which Serena found flattering. Tricia peppered Serena with questions about articles she’d written, reporters she’d worked with, interviews she’d done with the likes of Malala and Madonna on the subject of human rights.

Serena did the same, interested in Tricia’s work life, how she’d settled on commercial litigation, what life was like inside a big New York City law firm. They’d swapped stories on bias and barriers, both real and imagined.

Serena saw the same focus and diligence in Tricia that she had. They were both grinders—talented grinders, but grinders nonetheless.

Maggie was a texter, the emoji queen, the type to send a link to a Lady Gaga video or a goofy GIF in the middle of the day and caption it “thinking of you” or simply “LOL.” It would be easy to dismiss Maggie as the crazy sister, truly a “mad Maggie” who amused herself with boy toys and sound baths and made her way in the world by sheer luck, not design. But Maggie’s artistic talent was undeniable. She had inherited the creativity gene, either from her father or mother, or maybe both. If only she’d had Tricia’s work discipline or Liza’s organizational skills, Maggie might be a household name. Instead, she floated along, sometimes on top of the current, sometimes below, and occasionally she needed a life preserver.

In a few weeks’ time, Serena began to see the role she might play in this sisterhood. A loyal friend to Liza. A workplace sounding board to Tricia. A source of support to Maggie. There is a place for me here, Serena thought, looking around the patio at the small crowd of attractive people, chatting, drinking, and laughing, comfortable in each other’s company, a family by birth and by choice. I can be one of them.

“I wanted to say a few words before we finish our beautiful meal and the fireworks start,” Maggie said, standing at the head of the table and tapping the side of her glass of rosé for attention. The lively dinner conversation ceased, all eyes on her. Liza, at one end of the long table, and Tricia, at the other, exchanged glances and then they both looked at Cap, who shook his head. This was an unannounced Maggie Sweeney performance.

“Thank you all for being here tonight. We all have our own memories of Willow Lane and what it means to us. Some have deep memories and some are relatively new. Cheers to Raj and Nina and Devon. We’re so glad you’re

here.” All raised a glass to the trio of academics, delighted to be anywhere with a sea breeze and very good wine.

Maggie continued, “This is a special place and it’s our pleasure to share it with you for one last Fourth of July. A big thanks to Tim for the fantastic job on the grill.” Maggie winked at poor Tim, who was in over his head conversationally with the Ph.D.s but had really nailed the perfect medium rare on the tri-tip. “And to Connor and David for the lobsters and the crabmeat. Can you come back on Labor Day?” There was general laughter and some light applause. It had been a delicious dinner.

“As you know, Liza, Tricia, and I recently lost our father. He was a man of many words and many, many stories, but there is one story he never told us in his lifetime, so I thought I’d tell it tonight.” Maggie stepped away from the head of the table, freeing herself from any constraints. Tricia looked at Liza in a panic and mouthed, Please, no.

“Tonight, I would like to introduce you all to a new family member that we’ve gained. Turns out the girl who lived next door was not only a neighbor, she’s our sister. Our half-sister, to be precise, because I know Tricia loves precision, but our sister nonetheless. That, of course, is Serena Tucker. Serena, please stand. We welcome Serena to the family.”

The moment could not have been more awkward. The last thing Serena Tucker wanted to do was stand and hug Maggie in this choreographed announcement, but she did so because Maggie was lifting her out of her seat with strong arms and hope on her face. There was stunned silence and then low murmuring amongst the guests, until Tim the Line Cook blurted out what everyone was thinking: “Wait, what?”

Tricia stood up, because it seemed the thing to do, explaining in the most saccharine voice she could manage, “Thanks to the magic of over-the-counter DNA tests, we’ve recently discovered that there is a fourth Sweeney sister. It’s been a delight to get to know Serena. If you’ve ever been to a party here at Willow Lane, you know that ‘the more the merrier’

is a philosophy our family embraces. And we thank you for your discretion in this matter in terms of sharing this information. When we are ready to share this news with the world, we will.”

“Well, you won’t have to wait long! Look what I found!” Maggie reached under the table that was serving as the bar. She pulled out several handled bags, hidden behind the blue tablecloth. Tucked inside the bags were what looked like reams of paper. It was the memoir. “I was searching the attic

looking for this fabulous patchwork skirt my mother used to wear on the Fourth. I thought it might be in the attic, in a trunk where we kept our dress-up clothes. When I opened the trunk, there was the memoir right on top.

Oh, and I found the skirt in the cedar closet with the mothballs. We can all read the full story here.”

Cap leapt up to intercept what he imagined would be the distribution of the manuscript like gift bags at a gala. That could not happen.

“Maggie, I have to step in here. As your father’s lawyer, a reminder that we do not own the rights to the book; the publisher does. We would be in breach of contract if it was distributed to the public. Why don’t you let me take a look at this first and then all these lovely people can pay full price a year from now when it’s published?” Cap deftly collected the bags of paper and carried them into the house. Anders put his arm around Maggie’s shoulders, in part comfort, in part restraint, and led her back to her seat.

Then he deflected the conversation. It all happened so quickly that Maggie couldn’t protest. “Tell us more about the attic, Maggie.”

As Maggie rolled into her material on finding the skirt in an antique chest of drawers tucked under an eave, Liza and Tricia followed Cap into the house. Serena was the only person left standing as the fireworks started from the beach club across the water. She turned to the guests, a table filled with complete strangers, and said, “Should we go watch the fireworks from the dock?”

Connor leaned over and whispered to David, “I think we already did.”

“What the hell was she thinking? She knows better than to hand out copies of the manuscript. She’s not that clueless,” Liza asked out loud to Cap and Tricia as they stood in the library, fireworks booming in the background.

“She literally has no sense of propriety at all. Did you see Serena’s face?”

“Poor Serena. Welcome to the family! Now she knows what it’s really like to have Maggie as a sister. She may want to go back to being an only child,” Tricia said.

“That is terrible,” Liza scolded, but she had been thinking the exact same thing. Being Maggie’s sister was a lifelong roller-coaster ride. One day, dancing in bare feet and a flower crown in the VIP section of Coachella; the next day, having to bail her out of credit card debt so she could charge her airplane ticket home. And the whole time, everything that went right was her doing and everything that went wrong was someone else’s fault.

Cap agreed, “Serena’s been so discreet with this information for months.

To her credit.”