“Mama packs for the lake like a survivalist preparing for the end days,” Lily said in a hushed voice. “Is it me, or did there use to be a lot more food in this pantry?” I asked Lily, to keep her from reading anything into my silence. Deception, betrayal, no-bake cherry cheesecake… I couldn’t help thinking that my specific branch of the family tree had our own traditions. Matriculation at that fine institution was, I had been informed, a family tradition. Lily Taft Easterling was just as type A as her mama, and both of them insisted on operating under the assumption that I was going to State with Lily in the fall. “And I would have a lot fewer if you showed any inclination whatsoever to get ready for college yourself.” “I have an entirely reasonable number of lists,” Lily retorted in a whisper. I shot Lily a look intended to communicate something about pots and kettles.
“Mama always gets a bit high-strung when we open the lake house up for the summer.” Lily lowered her voice even further for dramatic effect. “It’s Memorial Day weekend,” Lily murmured in response. “Remind me again why we’re hiding in the pantry?” I asked Lily, who’d dragged me in here five minutes ago and hadn’t spoken louder than a whisper since. Really, the only thing surprising about Aunt Olivia’s question was the fact that my aunt, who was type A in the extreme, did not already know where William Faulkner’s life vest was. The mamas of the Debutante set were very big on monogramming. Of course the family’s mammoth Bernese mountain dog was named William Faulkner, and of course she had her very own life vest. Now it didn’t even merit the slightest raise of my eyebrow. There was a point in my life when the question Aunt Olivia had just called down the stairs would have struck me as odd. As anyone seen William Faulkner’s life vest?”
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