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a chance . At least try to get to know him better. Wouldn’t you?”
    Ruth used the knife like a machete to hack off a chunk of butter, then she dropped the butter on top of the pasta and sprinkled it with chopped parsley, ground pepper, and a generous portion of grated cheese. “I guess so.” She passed the plate under my nose for inspection. “ Voilà! ”
    The aroma of freshly grated parmesan teased my nostrils. “Yum.”
    “She can like it or lump it,” Ruth shot over her shoulder on the way back to the dining room.
    I picked up the tall wooden pepper grinder and followed my obstinate sister. By the time I breezed through the door, Darlene had her new dinner and Daddy was fussing over her like a nanny. “There. Is that better?”
    “It’s fine, Georgie.” The smile she gave Ruth reminded me of the car salesman in Glen Burnie from whom I bought my used Le Baron.
    “Ah, good.” He nodded.
    “Tell me, Darlene,” Ruth asked just as Darlene had raised a full fork of spaghetti to her lips. “Where did you and Daddy meet?”
    Darlene lowered her fork and smiled. “We met at McGarvey’s. My son, Darryl, works there.”
    “Oh? Doing what?” Ruth leaned forward, her hands neatly folded on the tablecloth in front of her.
    “He’s a waiter.”
    I thought about all the times I’d eaten at McGarvey’s Saloon and tried to match my recollections of the wait staff there with the face of the woman sitting directly across from me. I couldn’t do it. I closed my eyes. If Daddy’s romance stayed on course, one of those waiters might soon be my stepbrother.
    I killed some time helping Sean grate parmesan on his pasta while I thought about it. So, Darlene had a son. Yet she wore no wedding band, just an ornate turquoise-and-silver ring on the pinky of her right hand and a plain, gold school ring of some kind on the other. Paul must have been wondering the same thing. “What happened to Darryl’s father?” he asked gently.
    Darlene lowered her eyes. “I’m a widow.”
    Daddy had been nodding at his place, his head hanging so low it was in danger of crashing into his plate. Suddenly, he perked up. “Darlene has two children. Deirdre is twenty-eight, three years older than Darryl.”
    Darlene speared a cucumber with her fork. “My first husband died when Deirdre was eleven.”
    Georgina touched her arm. “I’m sorry.”
    “It was a long time ago.”
    Opposite Daddy at the head of the table, Ruth sat glowering like a malevolent Buddha, her eyes like slits. I glared back at her, willing her to keep her mouth clamped shut before something rude tumbled out. So, the glamorous Darlene had been married at least twice. But, as much as I wanted details about Darlene’s background,for the sake of family harmony I swallowed my questions, even though I was in danger of getting an ulcer from all the nervous acid and tomato sauce churning around in my stomach.
    Thankfully, Emily changed the subject, telling us all about New Life Spa in Virginia where Dante had already begun work. “It’s so la-de-dah,” she spoke directly to Darlene, “that you need to make an appointment years ahead of time.”
    “Like Greenbrier?”
    “You’ve been to Greenbrier?”
    “Once,” Darlene said. “In another life.”
    Emily studied Darlene curiously, as if waiting for her to elaborate, but when the seconds lengthened and there was nothing more, she said, “It’s sort of like Greenbrier, but way up in the Blue Ridge near Front Royal.”
    “Does the spa provide housing?” Scott wanted to know. Typical. He’s an accountant.
    Emily shook her head. “I wish! No, we’ve been house-hunting. Fortunately, New Life pays well enough that we’ll actually be able to afford a small house, if we stay outside the Washington metropolitan area.”
    Darlene twirled her fork idly in Ruth’s impromptu culinary masterpiece. Apparently she didn’t like the pasta parmesan, either, because there was a mound of it still on her plate. “Are you going