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expensive house at a cost that sometimes sent Joe Riddley to the medicine cabinet for antacids at night. They leased an Infiniti for Walker and a Lexus SUV for Cindy, bought their clothes in Atlanta, and drove their children to Wellington Academy rather than sending them to public schools. Cindy had a maid three days a week and spent most of her time playing golf or tennis, volunteering in a variety of organizations, cooking gourmet food for elaborate parties, or running fairs and special events at her children’s school. They preferred planned visits to casual drop-ins, and since they didn’t come to church or belong to our clubs, we seldom ran into them.
    Frankly, where Cindy was concerned, that suited me fine. A little of Cindy went a long way. She was so lean, sleek, and elegant, I always felt old, plump, and dowdy around her.
    That night I had on a bright shirt we’d bought on a Caribbean cruise, and red pants. My mirror had told me I looked real festive, but one look at Cindy, in slim black slacks and a white silk blouse, and I felt like a tongue-tied frump. It wasn’t her fault. We were just oil and water.
    Still, I reminded myself that night, Cindy had her virtues. If she hadn’t worked hard with Lulu after Lulu got shot, that beagle wouldn’t have become the fastest three-legged dog in Georgia. Cindy also told us what to feed Joe when we inherited the parrot. Because of all that, I made my lips turn up in a smile and leaned over to say, “Honey, you look gorgeous.”
    She slid nacho chips and salsa my way, her smile bright and nervous. “Thanks. Like my new haircut?” Dark and shining, it had been shaped to fall straight from a side part and curve under her ears.
    “Very chic.” I heaved a silent sigh. I knew Cindy must talk about something besides clothes and hairdos with her friends, but in the fourteen years since Walker first brought her home, that’s all the depth we’d ever attained.
    At their end of the table, the men started talking basketball, which was almost as exciting as haircuts and clothes.
    While I stowed my pocketbook under my chair so it wouldn’t trip anybody, Cindy added, brushing back her shining hair, “I went to that new salon that’s opened out near us. You ought to give them a try. They work wonders.”
    She hadn’t needed to say that. She knew Phyllis had done my hair for over thirty years. However, I swallowed words I might later regret and gave her what I hoped was another friendly smile. “I’ll keep that in mind. Sorry we’re a little late. Joe Riddley wanted to wear blue slacks with that sweater, and it took me a while to change his mind. Have you ordered?”
    “Yes, ma’am. Walker went ahead and ordered two specials for you all. We figured you’d be here before they came. I hope that’s what you wanted.”
    I also hate being called “ma’am” by a grown-up. With all the words I was already swallowing, I might not need to eat.
    “What’s the special?” Joe Riddley asked.
    “A burrito, an enchilada, a taco, yellow rice, and guacamole,” Tad answered him.
    He frowned across the table at me. “Do I like all that stuff?”
    “You’re going to love it,” I assured him. When he turned back to Tad, I confided to Jessica and Cindy, “We don’t know an enchilada from a burrito, but Mr. Garcia says his wife’s a great cook.” I reached for a nacho and dipped one corner in the salsa. Finding it wasn’t hot enough to make my eyes water or my nose run, I took a bigger dab on my next bite. By the third bite, I figured I was eating salsa like a Mexican.
    Across from me, Jessica’s pale cheeks suddenly flushed and her brown eyes grew wide beneath her straight brown bangs. “Look, Me-mama, my teacher.”
    “Don’t point,” Cindy warned.
    Jessica darted a quick sideways look across the room. I followed her gaze and saw a young woman in an elegant black dress with a long, full skirt. Her long dusky hair was bound with a black velvet ribbon, and she carried her