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Fifth!”
    “Well, dahlin’? Ah ’magine you are.” These words came from his mother’s lips. I had not known she was watching us.
    J.D. plopped my feet on the terrace and I looked up to the unenthusiastic face of my future mother-in-law, Louisa. She was standing in the doorway, leaning against its side, and did not move a step toward us. J.D. ran to tell her what she already knew, but her chilly pronouncement told me all I would ever need to know. What would it be like to be a Langley? A living hell, no doubt, when she was around, I thought, then quickly scolded myself for being so cynical,reminding myself that I was marrying J.D., not his mother. But when our eyes met, I knew differently.
    She would always resent me. Her only son was marrying into the enemy camp, but I also saw that it wasn’t just me she resented. In Louisa’s mind, no one would ever be good enough for J.D. or worthy of becoming a Langley by marriage.
    “Would you like to see the ring?” I said.
    My question just burst forth, motivated by my heightened sense of insecurity. But wouldn’t the ring show her that our intentions were real, that our decision was ours to make and not hers? She could join in and celebrate our joy from this moment on, couldn’t she? Was I giving her an invitation to be a part of this occasion, or was I, in fact, drawing a line in the sand and staking my claim?
    It was a line in the sand. That’s just the truth.
    Despite my insecurity, I held my hand out for her to see the beautiful round solitaire diamond that flashed and sparkled. It was the most gorgeous ring in the world.
    “Well, it’s lovely, dear. Simple. Perfect for you.”
    Was that a barb? “It was such a surprise!” I said. “I mean, I had no idea…”
    “Of course you didn’t, or you would have had a manicure,” she said. “Come now and give me a hug. I imagine we will have to figure out how you will address me from now on, won’t we?”
    Why don’t I just call you Huge Bitch? I thought, and hugged her from the greatest distance possible. She patted my back twice, in little pats that wouldn’t plump a pillow. Then she stood back, raising her chin to me.
    “What if I call you Miss Louisa?” I was not about to call her “Mother” or “Mother Langley,” and she certainly was not a mom, momma, or mommy type. She gave me the shivers.
    “Lovely,” she said, with a sigh of resignation. “That would be lovely. Just fine. Ah ’magine we should have some champagne to celebrate? Y’all want a glass of champagne?”
    “Should we wait for my parents to get here?” I said.
    “They have arrived, dear. Let’s go inside…”
    I thought I heard a distant thunderclap, and sure enough, over the next few minutes a vicious summer storm descended without warning. Torrential rain began pouring from every direction, so thick and so heavy you could barely make out the silhouettes of the trees across the yard. But as frightening as all the sound effects of a huge storm could be, the smell of its approach was an aphrodisiac.
    Freshly mowed grass mixed with black dirt. Air infused with the life found in the Wappoo and all around it. Marsh grass. Twenty species of fish. The mud banks. The ripe smells of decomposing branches and leaves. Birds and fish bones. Maybe this sounds unappealing or unappetizing, but once this smell finds its way to your senses, you’re hooked on its crazy opiate effect. These elements were spun with roses into a wave of fragrance so strong it would make you forget every trouble in the world. And that’s exactly what I allowed myself to do. Taking a deep breath, I remembered J.D.’s love for me, pushed aside his mother’s poor manners, and ran to my own mother’s arms. My left hand was extended and waving; splashes of light from the facets of my ring splashed the walls.
    “Momma! Look! Look!”
    “What? What’s this? Let’s see!” she said. My beautiful mother stared at my hand and then my face. “Oh, my dear child! Are you