Amma stood proudly to his right, in her best dress, with the tiny violets all over it, holding her prizewinning sweet potato pie. Mrs. Snow and Mrs. Asher were next to her, holding their own creations. They were already dressed for the Mother-Daughter Peach Pageant that started right after Pies. They were equally frightening in their respective aqua and pink pageant mother gowns, which made them look like aging prom dates from the eighties. Thankfully, Mrs. Lincoln was not in the pageant, so she stood next to Mrs. Asher in one of her standard church dresses, holding her famous chess pie. It was still hard to look at Link's mom without remembering the insanity of Lena's last birthday. You don't see your girlfriend's mother stepping out of your best friend's mom's body too many nights of the year. When I saw Mrs. Lincoln now, that's what I thought of — the moment Sarafine emerged like a snake shedding its skin. I shuddered.
Link elbowed me. “Dude, look at Savannah. She's got the crown on and everything. She sure knows how to milk it.”
Savannah, Emily, and Eden were sitting in the front row with the rest of the Peach Pageant contestants, sweating away in their tackiest pageant evening wear. Savannah was in yards of glittery Gatlin peach, with her rhinestone Peach Princess crown balanced perfectly on her head, even though the train of her dress kept snagging on the bottom of her cheap metal folding chair. Little Miss, the local dress shop, probably had to special-order it for her all the way from Orlando.
Liv edged her way closer to me, eyeing the cultural phenomenon that was Savannah Snow. “Is she the queen of Southern Crusty, then?” Liv's eyes twinkled, and I tried to imagine how strange this all must look to an outsider.
I almost smiled. “Just about.”
“I didn't realize baking was so important to Americans. Anthropologically speaking.”
“I don't know about other places, but in the South, women take their baking seriously. And this is the biggest pie-baking contest in Gatlin County.”
“Ethan, over here!” Aunt Mercy was waving her handkerchief in one hand and carrying her infamous coconut pie in the other. Thelma was walking behind her, shoving people aside with Aunt Mercy's wheelchair. Every year Aunt Mercy entered the contest, and every year she got an honorable mention for her coconut pie, even though she'd forgotten how to make it about twenty years ago, and none of the judges were brave enough to taste it.
Aunt Grace and Aunt Prue were arm in arm, dragging Aunt Prue's Yorkshire terrier, Harlon James, behind them.
“Well, fancy seein’ you here, Ethan. Did you come ta see Mercy win her ribbon?”
“Of course he did, Grace. What else would he be doin’ in a tent fulla old ladies?”
I wanted to introduce Liv, but the Sisters didn't give me a chance. They kept talking over one another. I should've known Aunt Prue would take care of that for me. “Who's this, Ethan? Your new girlfriend?”
Aunt Mercy adjusted her spectacles. “What happened ta the other one? The Duchannes girl, with the dark hair?”
Aunt Prue looked at her suspiciously. “Well, Mercy, that's jus’ none a our concern. You shouldn't be askin’ anything about it. She mighta up and left him.”
“Why would she do that? Ethan, you didn't ask that girl ta get nekkid, did ya?”
Aunt Prue gasped. “Mercy Lynne! If the Good Lord doesn't strike us all down on account a that talk …”
Liv looked dizzy. She obviously wasn't used to following the banter of three hundred-year-old women with thick Upcountry accents and fractured grammar.
“Nobody tried — nobody left anyone. Everything is fine between Lena and me,” I lied. Even though they'd find out the truth the next time they went to church, if their hearing aids were turned up high enough to hear the gossip. “This is Liv, Marian's summer research assistant. We work together at the library. Liv, this is Aunt Grace, Aunt Mercy, and Aunt Prudence, my great-great-aunts.”
“Don't you be addin’ any extra greats in there.” Aunt Prue pulled herself up a little straighter.
“That's her name. Lena! It was on the tip a my tongue.” Aunt Mercy smiled at Liv.
Liv smiled back. “Of course. It's a pleasure to meet you all.”
Carlton Eaton tapped on the mic just in time. “All right, y'all, I think we can get started.”
“Girls, we need ta get up ta the front. They'll be callin’ my name in no time.” Aunt Mercy was already working her way through the aisles, rolling forward like an army tank. “We'll see you in two shakes of a rabbit's tail, Sweet Meat.”
People filed into the tent from all three entrances, and Lacy Beecham and Elsie Wilks, the winners of Casseroles and Barbeque, took their places next to the stage, holding their blue ribbons. Barbeque was a big category, even bigger than Chili, so Mrs. Wilks was about as puffed up as I'd ever seen her.
I watched Amma's face, so proud, not glancing at one of those women even once. Then I watched it darken, and she looked off toward one side of the tent.
Link ribbed me again. “Hey, lookit. I mean, you know, the Look.” We followed Amma's stinkeye to the far corner of the tent. When I saw who she was looking at, I tensed.
Lena was slouching against one of the tent poles, eyes on the stage. I knew she couldn't have cared less about a pie-baking contest, unless she was here to root for Amma. And from the looks of it, Amma didn't think that's why Lena was here.
Amma shook her head at Lena, ever so slightly.
Lena looked away.
Maybe she was looking for me, though I was probably the last person she wanted to see right now. So what was she doing here?