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arrangement of irises and tulips. “Go put these flowers in the dining room for me. And then go make sure the bathrooms look decent. There’s no telling how your father left things this morning.” She lowered her voice, whispering in Emma’s ear. “He could be planning to sabotage me.”
    Emma gave her mother a skeptical look, but saved her response for later. Really, why would her dad sabotage a dinner that was in honor of his own beloved father? She took the bouquet into the dining room, but knowing how picky her mother could be she was unsure of where to set it. After trying it here and there, she finally chose the antique mahogany sideboard. She nestled it behind the shining stacks of dishes and silverware that awaited the guests. Then Emma took a moment to light the white taper candles as well. Shimmering in the silver candlestick holders, they gave the room an old-fashioned elegant feeling that Poppi would’ve liked…and Nona would appreciate.
    Her parents’ house was beautiful as usual. Dignified and traditional—pale maple floors throughout, a few well-placed antiques, raw silk drapes, Persian carpets, a cream-colored chenille sofa, and buttery leather chairs. All this with precise spots of elegant color here and there—a handmade vase or embroidered pillow or a piece of modern art. Just enough to infuse life and interest and texture. Pure perfection. And, of course, it had to be perfect because Saundra was an interior designer. She would rather curl up and die than abide in a ho-hum house.
    Emma was pleased to see that her dad was not attempting to sabotage his father’s memorial dinner. The bathrooms were impeccable. The hand towels looked fresh, and even the toilet paper rolls were full and neatly folded into a triangle—just like a four-star hotel. Emma even checked the large downstairs master suite where her mother sometimes invited guests to toss their coats. The bed was neatly made and everything in its proper place. Her dad might be ignoring his wife, but he was definitely not slacking today.
    When she emerged from the bedroom, family and friends were just starting to arrive. Emma took the time to greet them personally, taking coats and things to her parents’ room, trying to make everyone feel welcome and at home. And it was pleasant to see people she hadn’t spoken with in years, catching up, meeting new spouses and children, hearing their latest news. She kept her personal responses short and calculated, simply stating she was taking a break in her career and sticking around to help her grandmother. Being jobless and homeless at thirty-two felt a bit like failure, and the less they knew about her, the safer she felt.
    Emma flitted around, going from guest to guest and helping whenever her mother asked, while also keeping a close eye on Nona, who seemed to be nicely insulated by a couple of older women who were also widows. As Emma refilled the punch bowl, she noticed the man who had captured her attention earlier coming into the house. He was immediately met and greeted by Anne, handing his overcoat to her with a comfortable sort of familiarity. After that, it seemed that Anne was reluctant to let the handsome man out of her sight. She took him around, introducing him to some family members. However, she did not take the time to introduce him to Emma. Trying not to feel snubbed, although this oversight did seem odd, especially if Anne was planning on making him part of the family like their mother had insinuated, Emma decided to take a break from all the noise and chatter by going into the sunroom on the other end of the house.
    â€œHey, Tristan,” Emma said as she discovered her nephew sitting in the sunroom with a slightly forlorn expression. “What’re you doing in here all by yourself?”
    â€œJust thinking…” His young brow furrowed as if something was deeply troubling him.
    â€œAbout Poppi?”
    Tristan nodded