Jen gave herself an inward nod of approval and moved on.

On the other side of the heritage tent, where the historical society had set up information about Scottish genealogy and displayed a fine assortment of tartans, spread the heavy athletic field. Leith was over there with Duncan, looking things over for tomorrow’s competition.

Leith had told everyone in Gleann that he’d decided to stay for the games as his final good-bye. But privately, he’d told her: “I’m staying for Da. And for you.”

He wasn’t throwing but he was acting as the announcer, describing each event as it came up, highlighting each competitor, and calling scores and placement. The crowd was going to love him.

“Aunt Jen!”

The little voice made Jen smile before she even turned. Ainsley was weaving through the dispersing tug-of-war watchers. “Hey, Tartan McGee.” Jen went to touch Ainsley’s plaid headband, but the girl ducked away and fluffed her hair. “Whose clan is that?”

Jen remembered that you didn’t just choose a random tartan to wear when living in Gleann. Oh no. You may as well declare war for a side when you picked what colors and pattern to wear.

“T’s family. Melissa is a Campbell.”

“Oh.” Jen struggled not to cringe, choosing to smile instead. “Where’s your mom?”

“She said to come stand by you until I ran into T and Lacey. They said they’d watch the next round of tug-of-war with me, but I can’t find them.”

Of course they did. Teenage girls made all sorts of promises to tweens, who would hold their word as that of God and then be devastated when those words proved false. And what the hell was Aimee doing that she couldn’t be with Ainsley tonight of all nights, when she’d been the one to beg Jen to come in the first place?

“You want to come and watch me order around a bunch of men?” Jen asked Ainsley. “Maybe you’ll run into the older girls later.”

Ainsley’s nose crinkled, then she caught herself. “But I want to sit with T.”

“Okay.” Jen laughed. “Can’t help feeling a bit rejected, but okay.”

Suddenly Ainsley’s whole face brightened and she thrust out a finger. “There they are!”

Jen turned. The two girls were ambling toward the tug-of-war field. The younger one, Lacey, was chewing gum and thumbing away on a phone. T had put blue streaks in her hair. Ainsley was touching her own hair, as though contemplating the color herself.

Ainsley called out to the girls just as a piper blasted a warm-up chord near the music tent. Ainsley called again. The girls didn’t hear. Or didn’t want to hear.

Jen turned to Ainsley. Oh, boy. Here comes the disappointment, the disillusionment. She prepared for the distraction, ready to sweep Ainsley off toward the tug-of-war. Damn Aimee for—

T swiveled then, seeing Ainsley. She swatted her sister, who slid the phone into a pocket. Shit, they were actually going to look right at Ainsley then walk the other way . . . no. Wait. They started to come over.

“Hey, squirt,” T said to Ainsley with a genuine grin.

Lacey reached out to ruffle Ainsley’s hair—with Ainsley actually letting her—then caught sight of the tartan wrapped around it. “Nice, kiddo.” Lacey flashed a shiny set of braces, then wrapped her lips around them again.

Both girls were tall, taking after their dad, and Jen wanted to knuckle their backs to get them to stand up straighter. With a secret smile, she remembered that at one point, when she and Leith had been eleven, she’d been an inch taller than him.

“How’s it going?” T said to Jen, knocking her out of her memories. “I mean, I can tell this was a lot of work. Seems like a pretty cool party so far.”

Jen blinked at her. “Thanks.”

Ainsley’s big eyes danced between the two older girls like they wore halos. “Are we still going to watch the tug-of-war?”

“Absolutely, squirt.” T patted the backpack dangling over one shoulder. “Got the blanket and everything.”

Ainsley peered around Jen and called, “Hey, Mom, can I have some money?”

The piper chose that moment to start his set, marching around the grounds to heighten the atmosphere, as she’d hired him to do, so when Jen turned around to find Aimee, the piper blocked the person walking with her sister. A moment of panic set Jen’s heart pounding. Yeah, the girls were being cool to Ainsley, but what if Aimee was walking arm in arm with Owen out where everyone could see? Right in front of their children? She’d witnessed enough sidelong looks and heard enough whispers to know it wasn’t something the town wanted to see. What if this was the start to the scene Jen feared from her own childhood? On tonight of all nights?

Jen glanced fearfully at T and Lacey, imprinting her and Aimee’s faces onto theirs, remembering the day they’d had to intercept their mom in the grocery store when she’d clawed after some woman she’d caught sleeping with Frank.

The girls wore no similar look of disgust.

Even odder, when the piper moved on, his absence revealed that Aimee wasn’t actually walking with Owen, but Melissa. They walked close enough to touch, their heads bent together, Melissa saying something with very fervent hand gestures. And they were smiling.

Aimee saw Jen and steered Melissa over to make introductions. Melissa had a strong, confident handshake and a raspy voice. “Great to finally meet you, Jen.”

And it was Jen, for once, who had to struggle to find equilibrium in this strangest of strange situations, when usually she could fake it pretty well.

Then Melissa did the most surprising thing. She reached for Ainsley, giving her arm a quick, affectionate squeeze paired with a brilliant smile. It couldn’t possibly mean anything other than I like you, kid.

“Mom,” Ainsley said, eyes bright, “T just told me there’s a whole ’nother town under the lake. That when they made the dam, they covered the first Gleann with water. Is that true?”

T and Lacey were giggling as Melissa rolled her eyes. “Stop telling people that, Tamara Jean. Especially the younger kids. You’ll get one of them drowned when they go to swim for it. Your dad made that story up ages ago to get you to go to sleep.”

“I’m not a kid. Lacey’s only three years older than me,” Ainsley protested to deaf ears.

“Oh, look, there’s George,” Melissa said, “getting ready for the tug-of-war. Team Highway Repair and Roadkill Pickup. Wouldn’t want to miss them pulling against those massive rugby guys you had bussed in, Jen.” With a wink, she turned back to Aimee. “So, we’re meeting with Sue on Monday at ten? At the Kafe?”

“Yep.” Aimee smiled. “Have you seen Owen?”

Melissa squinted at the whiskey tent. “In there. Trying to relive his youth. Don’t let him drive home if that’s the case. Girls, Ainsley is yours for the night. You understand?”

Solemn nods all around.

Jen watched Melissa approach a telephone pole of a man dressed in jeans and a plaid T-shirt—no discerning tartan—with New Hampshire Department of Transportation stamped on the back. Melissa melted into his arms, having to stand on her tippiest of toes as he gave her a deep, closed-mouth kiss.

T and Lacey made faces appropriate to seeing their mom kissing, and then turned away, but otherwise showed no disapproval. A small group of men and women nudged each other in speculation, but Melissa and George didn’t care.

“Here’s a twenty.” Aimee passed the wrinkled bill to T. “Keep any change.”

“The sign-up for tomorrow morning’s foot races is over at the heritage tent,” Jen said to Ainsley. “Didn’t you say you wanted to do the Kid Sprint around the grounds?”

Lacey slapped her sister’s arm. “Oh, let’s do that. First prize is fifty bucks.”

The girls wandered off, and Jen resisted jumping up and down over their enthusiasm and participation.

She and Aimee looked at each other, the pall of their tense, honest conversation back in the Thistle still hanging over them.