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confidence around other children was a source of never-ending concern to her—and gave Sara’s hand another supportive squeeze.
    ‘‘Miss Olivia grew up here, just the same as your daddy did,’’ Martha said to Chloe in a scolding tone. ‘‘She’s your cousin in all the ways that count, and this is her home, just the same as it’s yours.’’
    Olivia smiled gratefully at Martha, then looked at Chloe again. The child was scowling at her. Maybe she was just having a bad day, Olivia thought, trying to be charitable. She knew from experience that even the best-behaved child could occasionally turn into an adult-mortifying monster. Giving Chloe the benefit of the doubt, she tried to explain the situation in a way the girl would understand.
    ‘‘Big John had four children, you know: Michael, James, David, and Belinda. Your grandfather was Michael, Big John’s oldest son. My stepfather was James, the second oldest. Your father is the big cousin who looked out for me when I was growing up. Your nana is my aunt Callie, and Big John is my stepgrandpa, and Phillip and Carl and Angela are the pesky cousins who used to come over all the time to bug me.’’
    ‘‘So what you’re saying is you’re just a stepcousin,’’ Chloe said scornfully. They were entering the house now with Martha, who kept a hand on Chloe’s shoulder, holding the screen door open so that Olivia and Sara could precede them inside.
    ‘‘That’s right,’’ Olivia said with a flickering smile, as the cooler air inside the house enveloped her. When she had left, there had been one window air-conditioning unit downstairs and two upstairs, and that was it. They had rattled all the time, and had cooled the air a maximum of maybe five degrees. This coolness felt different—fresher and colder. Maybe Big John had finally sprung for central air. If he had, though, it would surprise her. He had always been careful with a dollar.
    Chloe shrugged off Martha’s hand to follow them inside. ‘‘So if you grew up here, how come I’ve never seen you before? Where’ve you been, then?’’
    ‘‘Miss Olivia got married and moved away,’’ Martha interjected before Olivia could reply, shooting Chloe a warning look as she stepped into the hall and closed the door. ‘‘And that’s about enough out of you, missy, or you’ll make me tell your daddy that you were rude to guests.’’
    To Olivia’s surprise, the threat seemed to work. Chloe was silent. For a moment they stood rather awkwardly in the huge entry hall without speaking, bathed in the soft glow of the antique crystal chandelier that hung overhead. As far as Olivia could tell, nothing in the hall had changed so much as one iota from when she was a girl. Same well-polished hardwood floors with the same red-based Oriental runner leading toward the door at the far end of the hall that opened into the kitchen. Same cream-painted walls with the same quartet of mahogany pocket doors opening into living room and dining room and library and office. Same elaborate moldings accentuating the soaring fifteen-foot ceiling. Same oil paintings of dogs and horses, in the same places. Same wide, elegant staircase that rose with a graceful curve to the second floor. Even the smell was the same, a combination of faint mustiness from the never-ending damp, furniture polish, the rose-based potpourri that Aunt Callie used to combat the scent of everything else, and what Olivia had always thought of as just plain old. The house had always smelled old.
    Taking it all in, Olivia felt, for an unsettling moment, as if she had been transported back in time. Nine years back, to be precise. On the surface, at least, nothing was different from the way it had been when she last saw it, on the night she had the quarrel to end all quarrels with Seth, and then had eloped with Newall.
    ‘‘Martha, Carl Vernon’s on the phone, wantin’ to know what hospital they were taking old Mr. Archer to.’’ A woman of about Olivia’s