An hour later I was stuffed full of shrimp, my feet were killing me because I never wore heels, and I had small-talked my way from the foyer to the terrace, across the lawn, around the front of the house, and back into the foyer again.
I’d met a circuit court judge, an anesthesiologist, six lawyers, a history professor, and a server named Patrick who asked me for my number.
Then his server co-worker overheard and also asked me for my number. I graciously declined, not wanting to date multiple servers at once and he called me a rich bitch, which would have been insulting if I had more than thirty bucks in my bank account.
“You make more money than I do,” I called after him.
“Why are we talking about money?” Evelyn asked, cruising past me. “That’s not how we do things, Harper. Discussing money is crass. You young people these days, just no boundaries.”
Said the woman who was literally asking everyone at this event for money.
In fact, she was headed to make a thank-you-for-your-donations speech right then and there. She strode to the back of the terrace, the largest magnolia tree providing a canopy overhead. The house was backlit in front of her, the fountain at the back of the property filled with floating glowing globes behind her.
The setting was magical, there was no doubt about it. There was a small table on the terrace next to Evelyn, and on it sat a single, ornate silver julep cup, etched with delicate vines, and a matching straw.
“That’s hers,” someone whispered behind me. “Family piece. She insists.”
“I didn’t realize this party was BYOS. Bring your own straw,” I joked.
The woman, who I recognized as one of the many lawyers present, looked at me like I was nuts. “You don’t have to bring a straw,” she said. “They have them at the bar.”
And who said lawyers can’t take a joke?
The noise in the back yard dipped as Evelyn picked up the cup. She tapped the rim lightly with one manicured nail.
The musicians eased out of whatever song they were performing and it was silent. Evelyn had the floor.
“Friends,” she said, her voice carrying clean and cool. “Supporters. Benefactors.” Her gaze moved over the crowd, lingering just long enough on certain faces to mean something. “This organization has spent decades preserving the story of this city. Protecting what is authentic.”
There was something about the way she said that word.
Authentic.
It tightened the air, just a little. Was that a compliment or an insult? I glanced around for Reginald, but I didn’t see him. I had to imagine he was close to foaming at the mouth.
Evelyn’s mouth curved up. Not quite a smile. “But as we all know,” she continued, “not every story we tell ourselves is?—”
She stopped speaking, cleared her throat.
I couldn’t believe a throat tickle would dare to interrupt Evelyn’s speech. But even she was susceptible to the vagaries of allergy season.
Evelyn’s fingers tightened around the cup. There was a flicker of confusion in her expression. Or maybe it was surprise. Then she lifted the cup and took a measured sip from the straw.
It was such an ordinary motion. That’s what would stick with me later. How completely, utterly ordinary it looked in that moment.
Her throat moved once.
Twice.
And then something changed.
Not dramatically. Not all at once. There was no theatrical gasp, no immediate collapse. Just a sharp, startled awareness as if she’d tasted something she didn’t expect.
I doubt I would have even noticed except we were all waiting for her to continue her speech. She’d stopped mid-sentence so there had to be more. More butt kissing and requests for cash surely had to be forthcoming.
Her free hand rose, hovering near her mouth.
Then the cup slipped from her fingers. It hit the stone with a dull, heavy sound. Ice scattered. Mint leaves lay in a heavy clump.
