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greasy-looking. Like a gigolo at a cheap casino. But then“—she held up a finger and moved it back and forth like a metronome—“the clock is ticking. Livvy’s nearly thirty and it’s time to provide grandsons.”
    Jane sat down across from Eden. “You don’t like her, do you?”
    Eden looked shocked. “I do like Livvy. We grew up almost like sisters and you can’t dislike a sister—”
    Jane, who had a sister she wasn’t crazy about, nearly objected to this premise.
    “—but mostly I feel sorry for her,“ Eden went on. “She’s so vanilla custard, poor thing. So obedient. Jack Thatcher, her father, has thoroughly damped down any spirit or personality she might have had. She’s spent her whole life trying to please him.”
    Eden stared at a moose head on the opposite wall and went on, more to herself than to Jane, “I remember when we were about seven years old. We came out here for the weekend and Livvy and I wandered off to play. We found some perfectly luscious mud and had a great time making absolute messes of ourselves. When we got back, Jack went ballistic. She’d ruined her dress, she was a mess, he was ashamed to have a daughter who could make such a pig of herself.
    “Livvy cried for the entire weekend. I never saw her with so much as a smudge on her face or a wrinkle in her clothes again. And I never heard her laugh again, except politely.“
    “That’s very sad,“ Jane said. “Does her father approve of Dwayne?“
    “Good question. I don’t suppose he cares much one way or the other. It’s Livvy who has to live with him. Jack will probably just ignore him—as long as some handsome, healthy, intelligent grandsons come along pretty soon. And I’m sure Jack’s arranged for a prenuptial agreement that would result in Dwayne standing in the cold in his Jockey shorts if the marriage doesn’t work out or the grandsons don’t appear promptly.“
    “Grandsons mean so much to him?“
    “Oh, yes. Livvy is just the stopgap between him and the next generation of male Thatchers.”
    “Livvy’s his only child, right?“
    “Now she is. There was a son. A year or two older than Livvy. The light of Jack’s life, my dad said. But he died when Livvy was just a baby. Of mumps, of all things. And Jack, who hadn’t had mumps as a child, got it too. My dad said Jack nearly went crazy when the little boy died and Jack realized he’d never be able to father a replacement.“
    “And Livvy’s mother? What about her?“ Jane asked.
    “She was a nice woman, meek and pretty like Livvy. But she died of breast cancer when Livvy was about five. Poor Livvy. If she had to have a husband, I don’t know why she couldn’t have made a better choice.“
    “We don’t always fall in love with the best choice,“ Jane said, thinking about her own ill-fated marriage.
    “Love? I don’t think it’s love. It’s necessity. As I say, the clock is ticking. Oh, dear, is that the aunties’ shrill voices I hear?”
    The voices in the front hall sounded a bit like outraged chickens squabbling over a choice piece of corn.
    “Probably. They weren’t supposed to come until tomorrow, but insisted on coming today.“ Jane and Eden got up and went to meet the newcomers.
    The two tiny elderly ladies were virtually indistinguishable except for their hair. One had a snowy white do that towered over her like an impossibly fluffy cloud. The other had the identical style, but in a maroon red verging on purple that never grew from a human head. Jane wondered if they got a discount on the two dreadful wigs. They looked like something from a Disney cartoon.
    “Auntie Iva,“ Eden said, bending down to hug the maroon one.
    “Darling Eden,“ the old lady cooed. “You get taller every time I see you.”
    The white-wigged one was scrabbling at Eden’s sleeve for her share of attention.
    “Auntie Marguerite, you look divine,“ Eden said, and quickly added, “You both do.”
    Eden introduced them to Jane. “Miss Iva Thatcher,