Tonight would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience, Angie was pretty sure, but no one would care about the dishes.

She set out a wooden laminate bowl for shells and claimed two hideous candlesticks from the living room that were made out of industrial spools. They held candles that might once have been ivory colored but were now yellowing like teeth.

She set out silverware, which was also a bit of a hodgepodge. Angie and Deacon had joked that the Innsleys must have gone to a lot of potlucks and brought home utensils from each one.

Angie softened the butter, then sprinkled it with sea salt and garnished it with a sprig of tarragon from the farm.

Angie turned around to see Hayes, half his face mummified but his uncovered eye reasonably bright and focused, sort of hunched over and yet upright, hobbling into the kitchen. “Fancy,” he said, nodding at the butter.

“I’m just trying to make things as nice as I can,” Angie said.

He touched her back and gave her a kiss on the cheek with the undamaged half of his mouth. “Thank you. Do we have wine?”


At seven o’clock, they assembled on the deck for a proper cocktail hour. Angie had set out the bluefish pâté, crackers, grapes, the Langres, and a bowl of Goldfish for Ellery. Angie had also made Ellery a Shirley Temple, complete with three maraschino cherries.

“Maraschino” was going on the Stupid Word List, Angie decided. What did it even mean? Unnaturally red and sickly sweet? And yet Deacon had loved maraschino cherries. He’d developed a recipe for roasted-pineapple bread pudding with maraschino-cherry ice cream while he was at Raindance, but that was before ironic retro was cool, and Luther Davey made him take it off the menu.

Laurel wandered out in a white sundress; Buck followed in a pair of khaki shorts and a kelly-green polo shirt. They joined Hayes, who was hunkered down in one of the supremely uncomfortable deck chairs with a brimming glass of wine. He was cold, he said, freezing, despite the fact that it was the end of a sticky, hot day. He had bundled himself in a crocheted afghan that he’d pulled from a trunk in the living room; the afghan smelled strongly of old age.

“I think that used to be Clara’s blanket,” Angie said, but Hayes didn’t even crack a smile.

“Look at this spread!” Laurel said, helping herself to a cracker and an impressive hunk of the Langres.

Belinda sauntered out onto the deck in a flowing baby-blue one-shouldered number that wouldn’t have been out of place at the Met costume ball.

“Well,” Angie said, shaking her head, “it matches your toes.”

“Armani Privé,” Belinda said. “I bought it for awards season but didn’t end up wearing it. Where’s Scarlett?”

Laurel said, “She and Ellery went upstairs to nap a while ago. Should I wake them up?”

“Wake them up,” Angie said. “I made enough food for a marching band.”

“Let them sleep,” Belinda said.

“Mother,” Angie said. “This was meant to be a family dinner.”

“I’ll wake them up,” Laurel said.


Scarlett and Ellery stumbled into the kitchen just as Angie was ladling the chowder, spooning in the creamy broth, rich with smoky, sweet chorizo, translucent onions, and fragrant herbs. She put the same number of mussels and clams and just-opaque scallops into each bowl. Next, she pulled the panko-crusted goat cheese out of the oven. The disks were golden brown, and Angie knew they would be lusciously melty in the center, perfect against the peppery arugula and the firm, ripe peaches.

Ellery was whimpering, and Scarlett wasn’t much better, moaning and groaning as she collapsed in her chair. She set a tall can down by her plate. The can was amethyst purple, and in pink, girly cursive, it said Skinny4Life.

“I don’t want anything to eat,” Scarlett said. “I have this.”

“What is that?” Laurel asked. “Skinny4Life? Is that some kind of new diet product?”

Scarlett threw Laurel a withering look but didn’t answer. Angie couldn’t believe how rude Scarlett was being. When someone went to the trouble to make you a home-cooked dinner, you ate it. You didn’t show up with a can.

“Wine?” Angie asked, barely concealing her impatience.

Scarlett crossed her arms and shook her head. “No, thank you.”

“Well, I want wine,” Belinda called out.

You mean more wine, Angie thought.

“Angie, it looks beautiful,” Laurel said. “Thank you.”

“You outdid yourself, Ange,” Hayes said.

“Your father would be very proud,” Buck said.

A sob escaped from Scarlett. Laurel raised her glass. “Here’s to our chef.”

Angie lowered herself gingerly into her chair. She was afraid of something, but she wasn’t sure what. She touched her glass to Belinda’s glass, Laurel’s, Buck’s, and Hayes’s.

Scarlett stood up. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t do this.”

“Scarlett, just sit with us, even if you’re not going to eat,” Laurel said. “Please?”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Scarlett said. “You ruined my day, Laurel Thorpe, with that disgusting story about St. John.”

“St. John?” Belinda said. “What disgusting story about St. John?”

Scarlett said, “I know you always thought it was me that Deacon took to St. John when things were so bad between the two of you. But I found out today that he went with Laurel.”

“What?” Belinda said.

“Scarlett!” Laurel screamed. Angie’s head snapped back. She had never heard Laurel raise her voice like that before. “What is wrong with you? I told you that in confidence!”

Belinda raised her chin. “Am I understanding this correctly?”

Scarlett said, “Laurel was the one who went with Deacon to St. John. It wasn’t me. I told you it wasn’t me, but I knew you never believed me.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Belinda said. “Laurel?”

Laurel sat with her hands in her lap, her head bowed. Then she raised her eyes to Scarlett and said, “I trusted you. I told you a secret I have kept for over a decade, and not eight hours later, you reveal it to the person it would hurt the most. I can’t believe this.”

Angie couldn’t believe it either. She had slaved over this dinner in an attempt to bring everyone together, but before anyone had taken a bite, accusations were flying about something that had happened a dozen years earlier.

Angie remembered when Deacon had disappeared to St. John; she had been a freshman at Chapin. It was a year that had been ruined by her parents’ marital problems.

Hayes reached into his bowl with his fingers and plucked out a mussel. “Really good, sis,” he said.

Angie stared at him. He was completely oblivious!

“You went with Deacon to St. John?” Belinda said. “It was you?”

Laurel nodded. “I’m sorry, Belinda.” But, Angie noted, she didn’t sound sorry.

“Renée’s assistant told me Deacon was with a blond,” Belinda said, “but I didn’t believe him.”

“Because you thought it was me,” Scarlett said.

“You do realize we were still married,” Belinda said. “I mean, things were tough between us, but that didn’t give him the right to vanish to the Caribbean and screw somebody else.” She laughed. “But, now that I think about it, it makes sense. You mooned over him for all those years. You never dated anyone else, you never got remarried. I’m sure when he asked you to go with him, you jumped at the chance. You never got over him.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Laurel said. “Maybe I never did get over him. I had been with him since we were freshmen in high school. We grew up together. We learned to drive together, we registered to vote together, we got pregnant and had a child together. I made him the man he was, and he made me the woman I was. I never had an affair. I was faithful to that man, and in many ways, I still am, because I have never and will never love anyone the way I loved Deacon. Maybe that is pathetic. But the other thing I never got over is the way you sashayed into our lives and stole him away. Deacon was married when you invited him up to your room at the St. Regis. We had a young child.”

Hayes raised his hand. “Affirmative. That was me.”

“So the trip to St. John was what…?” Belinda asked. “Your revenge?”

Laurel shrugged.

“Oh, I get it,” Belinda said. “It was just one more instance when I was beneath your consideration.”

Angie tore off a hunk of baguette and slathered it with butter. She realized now why she had felt afraid. Food was food; food wasn’t magic. It couldn’t change the past. It couldn’t right old wrongs.

Scarlett said, “The reason I went home to Savannah is because…” Here, she paused and looked down at Ellery, who had fallen fast asleep in her chair. “Deacon got drunk, went to a strip club, and decided he was going to drive one of the dancers up to Nantucket. He completely abandoned Ellery at school. Instead of picking her up, he climbed behind the wheel of the Saab that belonged to some floozy who was half his age.”

Buck choked on his chowder. “He told you that?”

“He told me that nothing happened with the stripper,” Laurel said. “And what does it matter now, Scarlett?”

“I don’t want Angie or Hayes to think I left for any other reason,” Scarlett said. She glared at Angie. “I’m sure your father told you I went to Savannah because of Bo Tanner.”

“Bo Tanner?” Angie said. It took her a minute to recall who Bo Tanner was: Scarlett’s old boyfriend, back in her nanny days. But Bo Tanner had married someone else, a friend of Scarlett’s. Angie could remember Scarlett crying about it.

“Your father was very jealous of Bo,” Scarlett said. “For absolutely no reason.” She bent over and shook Ellery awake. “Come on, darling, we’re going upstairs to bed, and you’re too big to carry.”

Ellery rubbed her eyes. “I want Miss Kit Kat to read to me.”

“Maybe when I’m finished eating, angel bear,” Belinda said.

“I’ll read to my daughter, thank you very much,” Scarlett said.

“But I want Miss Kit Kat!” Ellery said.

“You’ll see Miss Kit Kat tomorrow,” Scarlett said. “We are going up to bed right this instant.” She shepherded Ellery off the deck and into the kitchen, where she made a point of slamming the sliding door so hard, Angie was surprised it didn’t fall off the runner.

“I’m sure she is sleeping with Bo Tanner,” Belinda said. “She pined for him the entire time she worked for us. Plus, we never get over our first loves, do we, Laurel?”

“Mother,” Angie said. “Please, let’s talk about something else.”

Laurel forked a scallop in half. “No,” she said. “I suppose we don’t.”


Deacon’s Shellfish Chowder

SERVES 4

24 baby (no more than ¾ inch in diameter) new potatoes or fingerling potatoes

1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

1 medium onion, peeled and minced

3 cloves garlic, minced

4 ounces mild Spanish chorizo

1 tablespoon minced fresh tarragon

1 cup dry white wine

1 cup heavy cream

Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste

¾ pound fresh sea scallops, side muscles removed and halved vertically

2 pounds fresh littleneck clams, rinsed well under cold running water

1 pound fresh mussels, scrubbed and debearded if necessary

2½ tablespoons minced fresh parsley

Place the potatoes in a saucepan and cover generously with water. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat, reduce to a simmer, and cook until just shy of being tender, 12 to 14 minutes.

Meanwhile, heat the olive oil and butter together over medium heat in a 12-inch straight-sided skillet that has a matching lid. Add the minced onion and garlic and sauté until soft and translucent, 5 to 7 minutes. Add the diced chorizo and continue cooking, stirring occasionally, until the chorizo has released its paprika-colored fat and begun to crisp, 5 to 7 minutes. Stir in the tarragon and cook 1 minute more. Pour in the wine and let simmer until it has reduced by half, 3 to 5 minutes.

Drain the potatoes and cut in half. Add to the skillet and toss gently to coat with the sautéed onions, chorizo, and wine. Pour the cream into the skillet, bring to a simmer, and let simmer until lightly thickened, 4 to 5 minutes. Season all to taste with salt and pepper.

Scatter the halved scallops evenly over the ingredients in the skillet. Artfully arrange the scrubbed clams and mussels, hinged sides facing down, over the top of the chowder base. Cover the skillet and increase the heat so that the liquid comes to a gentle boil and the clams and mussels steam open, 5 to 6 minutes. Discard any clams or mussels that have not opened. Sprinkle the parsley over the top. Ladle the chowder into wide bowls, taking care to distribute all the wonderful components evenly. Serve at once with crusty bread or rolls.