twenty-nine people on my lawn.
They came in shiny cars from Charlotte and Raleigh. Women in silk dresses and wide-brimmed hats. Men in pastel shirts and boat shoes with no socks. They took glasses of champagne from the bar and stood under the tent, chatting and laughing, looking out at the water.
Several of them glanced at the suitcases on the lawn.
Then they glanced at me.
I heard one woman whisper to another, “Is that the mother?”
“I thought she was sick?”
“She doesn’t look sick.”
Miles arrived alone,
