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of our own, do we?”

      “Nope, sweetie, sorry. I don’t have any brothers and sisters, so I don’t have any nieces or nephews, and you don’t have any aunts or uncles on my side of the family.”

      “I have an aunt. Aunt Isabel.”

      “Aunt Isabel is just a very good friend in Natchez. She’s like an honorary aunt.”

      “Oh. Is Aunt Katherine my ornery aunt, too?”

      Mary Beth was tempted to say that Katherine was as ornery as they came, but instead she simply said, “No, Aunt Katherine is your daddy’s sister, so she’s a real aunt and you’re her niece.”

      “I don’t think Aunt Katherine likes me.”

      “Do you remember Aunt Katherine? You’ve only seen her once, and that was a long time ago.”

      “She had a red mouth and looked mean at me.”

      Yep, that was Katherine, the witch. Brad’s only sister had breezed into town, hired a lawyer for him, then breezed back to the social scene in Philadelphia. She had made it abundantly clear that she didn’t want to see or hear of any of them again. The whole sordid affair—embezzlement, jail, scandal—was dreadfully embarrassing to her. It had been embarrassing for Mary Beth, as well, but she hadn’t had the luxury of breezing off anywhere.

      “Mommy, can I have another doughnut?”

      “Not right now. Maybe later.”

      There was another rapping at the front door followed by a feminine “Yoo-hoo. Anybody home?”

      Now who could that be? Mary Beth wondered as she dried her hands and made her way to the dining area.

      Two older women stood there with foil-covered dishes. They looked familiar, but—She suddenly remembered one of them. “Mrs. Carlton?”

      Mrs. Carlton, her next-door neighbor from childhood, beamed. “Yes. And it’s so good to see you again, Mary Beth. You’ve grown into a lovely woman.” She hugged Mary Beth with her free hand. “Your mother would be so proud of you. This is my sister Opal McMullen. She moved here six years ago when her husband died. We’ve brought you a little something—homemade rolls and a squash casserole. I know how you used to love my homemade rolls, and I had some in the freezer. Found a squash casserole in there, too. Made just last week, and Opal brought a pint of her strawberry preserves. Nobody makes strawberry preserves like Opal.”

      The women set the food on the bar and chatted a few minutes after oohing and aahing over Katy. Soon another car pulled up with another of her family’s former neighbors, bearing a ham and two quilts. Then came the minister’s wife with potato salad and a pillow with a lace-edged pillowcase. Mary Beth was excited to see her old friends and was warmed by their hometown hospitality. She hugged them all and gushed her thanks and reminisced with those who called.

      When a very pregnant Dixie Anderson, an old and dear friend from high school, showed up at the door, Mary Beth let out a whoop. Dixie’s dark hair was cropped short instead of being long and lush, and her face was rounder, but Mary Beth would have known her anywhere.

      “Dixie Anderson!” she squealed as they hugged. “How wonderful to see you!”

      “It’s not Anderson anymore. Russo now. I married Jack Russo the year after we graduated. Golly, it’s good to see you, too. When I heard you were in town, I parked my two-year-old in mother’s day out, and here I am. I brought you some chocolate-chip cookies. My brood eats them by the bushel.” She set the box on the bar. “Looks like you’ve already made a haul. I expect you’ll be up to your a-double-s in cakes and casseroles before nightfall. Everybody was tickled to death to hear you were back in town. Ellen has an appointment, but she’ll be over as soon as she can shake free.”

      Dixie hugged her again. “Golly, it’s good to see you. Nobody had heard a thing from you after we read that your mother and daddy had died in that plane crash a few years back. We were sorry to hear about that. And this must be your daughter,” she said, smiling at Katy who was hiding behind Mary Beth. “She’s the image of you when you were that age.”

      Mary Beth laughed. “I can’t even remember that far back. Yes, this is Katy. She’s not usually shy. I think she’s overwhelmed with all the folks who have dropped by.” She coaxed Katy from her hiding place. “Katy, this lady is Dixie Russo. She was one of my very good friends when I used to live here. We were cheerleaders together.”

      “Hello, Katy. I brought a present for you.” She reached into her tote bag and brought out a coloring book, crayons and a package of stickers.

      Katy’s eyes lit up. “Thank you very much.”

      Dixie laughed in the wonderful rich way that Mary Beth remembered. “You’re very welcome. You’re much more polite than my herd.”

      “How many children do you have?” Mary Beth asked.

      Dixie rubbed her stomach. “This one makes six.”

      “Six? Good heavens, how do you manage?”

      “Some days I wonder that myself.”

      Mary Beth settled Katy at a table and offered Dixie a cup of coffee. No sooner had they gotten settled and started to catch up on news of the town than a pickup truck drove up. Wes Outlaw, the former sheriff, got out carrying two grocery bags. A gray-haired version of J.J., he’d gained a thickness around his belt that showed his enjoyment of Nonie’s cooking. His deeply lined face was that of a man who had spent too many days in the Texas sun.

      “Morning, ladies.” He smiled broadly. “Mary Beth, you’re a sight for sore eyes. Welcome home. I’ve come with milk and bread and eggs and peanut butter. Plus a few other items that Nonie added to the list. Keep your seat. I’ll put the stuff in the kitchen and set the traps.”

      “What traps?” Dixie asked.

      “Don’t ask,” Mary Beth said. “Sheriff Wes, it’s so wonderful to see you. Do I get a hug?”

      “You betcha. Let me take care of this first.”

      When he left for the kitchen, Mary Beth turned to Dixie. “Tell me about your family.”

      Dixie didn’t need much coaxing. She obviously loved her husband and kids. Jack Russo owned an insurance company and was on the school board, and the Russo brood, except for the two-year-old, were all in elementary school. “Two of mine are the same age as Ellen’s children. She’s divorced, you know. And selling real estate. Doing right well.”

      “No, I didn’t know. I’ve lost touch with everyone.”

      “Well, you’re back home now, and that’s all that matters. I gather that you’re divorced, too.”

      “Yes,” she said simply. Even though Mary Beth and Dixie and Ellen had been very close friends who told each other everything, she didn’t want to relate all the grisly details of her life with Brad.

      When Sheriff Wes—Mary Beth couldn’t bring herself to call him anything else—rejoined them, he collected his hug and took a cup of the coffee she offered, along with a cookie, and reminisced for half an hour or so. After another cookie, he stood. “If you ladies will excuse me, I have another couple of pickups and deliveries to make. I’ll see you later.”

      Ellen rushed in as he was on the way out. “Mary Beth!” she squealed, her arms open wide. “Puddin’, I can’t believe it’s you!”

      When Ellen grabbed her, Mary Beth’s tears began to flow. She’d kept herself together until now, but she couldn’t keep it up any longer. She was blubbering like a baby and laughing at the same time. Maybe it was hearing that old nickname or seeing Ellen and Dixie again, or maybe she was crying because she’d held back her tears as long as she could, but she couldn’t stop.

      She and Ellen held each other for a long time.

      “God, it’s good to see you, Mary Beth. You look fabulous!

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