Once those invitations were out, he was willing to bet that Joan would stay put and host the party. He’d rather get her to New York, but Indigo was a lot better than Paris.

JOAN AND HEATHER watched Anthony’s rented black sports car back down the dirt driveway and pull onto Amelie Lane.

“So, are you sleeping with him?” asked Heather as she let the cotton print curtains fall back into place.

“No, I’m not sleeping with him.”

“Really?” Heather gave Joan the arched-brow, skeptical look that she’d perfected when they were growing up.

Joan felt a shiver of guilt, even though absolutely nothing was going on between her and Anthony. “He lives in New York. I hardly ever see him.”

Heather shrugged beneath her Anne Klein blazer and tucked her bobbed hair behind one ear. “Too bad. If you ignore the attitude, he’s pretty hot.”

Joan wasn’t about to disagree with that. Anthony was definitely hot. He also had an attitude.

“So, what did Mom and Dad say?” she asked, changing the subject to something only slightly more comfortable than her feelings for Anthony.

“That they were sure this was all some kind of a mistake.”

Joan moved back from the window and into the cluttered, brightly colored living room. “I’m sure they thought it was.”

Heather took a cushioned rattan chair and crossed one toned leg over the other. The seat was Joan’s favorite. Positioned beside a bank of windows, it overlooked the lawn, the cypress trees and the little pier that jutted out into Bayou Teche.

“What happened, Joanie? Last I heard you were writing history books.”

Joan sat down on the floral print love seat opposite. “Brian died,” she said softly, referring to her late husband.

Heather gave her a quizzical look.