She took a drink. The essence of cherries lingered on her tongue and the bubbles tickled her nose. This taste thrilled her just as much as her first one had, nearly thirty years ago, at Pokey’s birthday party. It still tasted new and full of promise. Mason was watching her. He held up his bottle, and they clinked them together.

Annajane got up and walked over to the windows. The sun was setting on the horizon, and the calm waters of the lake reflected the last amber glow of daylight. Mason stood by her side, and she nestled her head against his shoulder. They could hear the thrum of cicadas through the open windows and, from nearby, the soft hooting of an owl.

“You bought the cottage?” she asked. “And had all this work done?”

“Actually,” he said. “Sallie gave it to us. As a wedding gift.”

Startled, she turned to stare at him. “No way. She hates me. After the things I said the last time I went to Cherry Hill…”

“I was as shocked as you were when she sent the deed over,” Mason said. “When I called to ask her about it, she just said she’d had a change of heart about us. And she said something about a down payment on self-respect, which I didn’t get, but which she said you would.”

Annajane shivered, and he put his arm around her, thinking she was cold. She’d actually been thinking about Sallie Bayless and her self-imposed exile from Passcoe. Was this, the gift of the lake house, Sallie’s passive-aggressive way of admitting her guilt and asking forgiveness? Or was it the genuinely kind and thoughtful act of a loving mother?

“I didn’t want to do too much to the place before I brought you out here,” Mason was saying. “Mostly I’ve just been cutting back the jungle, planting some trees, and shoring things up. I knew you’d always wanted bigger windows looking out at the lake, so I went ahead and did that. And I had to evict the raccoons and have the fireplace relined and the masonry redone. All the rest, I thought we’d plan together.”

She turned and kissed him. “You did all this for me? And kept it a secret?”

“For us,” Mason corrected her. “But Sophie was in on it. She’s already picked out the paint color for her bedroom. Princess pink.”

“What would you think about adding a second story?” Annajane asked. “We’ll need more bedrooms. And bathrooms. And a home office for both of us…”

They stood and looked out at the lake for a long time, eventually switching out the Quixie for a bottle of good red wine. As they watched the new moon come up over Hideaway Lake and marveled at the clarity of the stars in the night sky, they talked about their plans. For their new old house, for the company, for their all-new life together. When Annajane shivered again, this time from the chill seeping in off the lake, Mason went to the fireplace and lit the wood he’d already stacked there.

When he turned to remark on the lateness of the hour, he found that Annajane was already standing by the brass bed. She’d pulled back the covers, slipped off her shoes, and was pulling the lucky jersey over her head. He admired her smooth bare skin as the candlelight began to flicker out.

“Come to bed,” she said.

And so he did.

Epilogue

The ruckus in the hospital room was close to deafening. Pokey Bayless Riggs was making a valiant but fruitless effort to look beatific while surrounded by her brood. Three little boys clambered onto the hospital bed, pushing and elbowing each other out of the way in hopes of being the first to hold their new sibling. “I wanna hold her.” “No, me. I’m the oldest,” “You’re too little.” “Mama! Make him stop!” while their father, who was trying to capture the whole scene on video, called out directions. “Look at the camera, Petey. Clayton, take your finger out of your nose. Denning, be careful, you’re squishing your mama.”

“Peterson Riggs, don’t you dare shoot a second of film with me looking like this,” Pokey cried above the din. She reached for her lipstick and a hand mirror and gasped when she saw her reflection. “I look like I’ve been rode hard and put up wet.”

“You look beautiful,” her husband declared, zeroing in on his wife’s face. “Now hold her up a little higher, so I can get a shot of those big blue eyes and all that gorgeous red hair.”

Pokey grinned and gently cradled the baby in the hollow of her shoulder. “Isn’t she amazing?” she cooed, looking directly into the camera. “World, meet our daughter. Olivia Pauline Riggs.”

Sophie stood close to her aunt’s bedside, holding Annajane’s hand tightly in her own. “My first girl cousin,” Sophie said, not for the first time that day.

“That’s right, Soph,” Pokey said. “And you’re going to have to help me figure out what to do with a little girl now. You can help me shop for dresses, and dolls, and all that girly-girl stuff for Livvy.”

“I brought her a present,” Sophie said, her eyes shining with pride. She reached into her pink pocketbook and brought out a lumpy package of pink tissue wrapped in what looked like a mile of cellophane tape. “I wrapped it myself.”

“She wouldn’t let me help at all,” Annajane put in, squeezing Sophie’s hand.

“I wanna open it,” Petey clamored. “No, me,” Denning hollered, shoving his younger brother completely off the bed, which set off a fresh set of howls from the injured party.

“That’s it,” Pete said, putting the camera down. “We’re outta here.” He leaned over and kissed Pokey and his brand-new daughter and extended a hand to the two boys remaining on the bed. “Come on, guys. Thanksgiving is only three days away. We’ve gotta get to the store and buy our turkey.”

“And pies!” Denning said. “I want pecan. And pumpkin.”

“And coconut custard,” his father said, swinging Clayton onto his shoulders. “That’s my favorite. Your mama makes me one special every year.”

“But everybody’s eating at our house this year,” Annajane reminded him. “And I’ve already bought the turkey.”

“Pete has to cook his own turkey, remember?” Pokey said. “He hordes his leftover turkey like it’s a treasure from King Tut’s tomb.”

“My turkeys are a treasure,” Pete proclaimed. “Wait til y’all taste what I’m doing this year. Deep-fried and injected with my supersecret sauce. Sweetest, juiciest thing you ever put in your mouth.”

“Nuh-uh,” Mason said. “Wait til you see what I’ve got up my sleeve. I bought a farm-raised free-range beauty from a farmer near Carthage. Then, I’m brining it for two days ahead of time. Kosher salt, cracked peppercorns, a bunch of other herbs Annajane’s got out in the garden, and a whole liter of white wine. I got a bastin’ sauce worked up with just the right essence of Quixie, too. You might as well leave that pitiful bird of yours at home, Riggs, because nobody’s going to want it after they get a load of the bird from Maison de Mason.”

“A brine?” Pete said derisively. “That’s all you got?” He looked over at Pokey. “Honey, would you please tell this fool why my turkey rules?”

“Oh, good,” Pokey said. “Dueling turkeys for Thanksgiving. This oughtta be interesting. Nothing like a good old-fashioned family food fight for the holidays.”

“Speaking of family,” Mason said, “What have you heard from the rest of our clan?”

“Sallie has been calling on the hour, demanding pictures and videos of Livvy,” Pete said. “Says she’s thrilled about us naming her Pauline after her mama.”

“But not thrilled enough to leave Palm Beach to come see her new grandbaby,” Pokey added, not bothering to hide her disappointment. “She wants us to come down for Christmas, even offered to buy us first-class plane tickets. As if! Like I’m going to load up all of us, plus a newborn, plus all the Santa Claus stuff, for a quick trip to Florida just to see her new house and meet her new boyfriend.”

“She’s got a boyfriend?” Mason asked, startled. “She’s never said anything about that to me.”