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“You’re going to do great, babe. You got this. You deserve this.”

She doesn’t know if this is completely true. Does anyone deserve a company handed over to them? Does anyone deserve riches and good fortune? But it’s what he needs to hear.

Robert and Nancy Marshall, longtime family friends, approach in a swirl of effusive hellos and air-kisses, quickly drawing Alex into a conversation about their daughter’s upcoming wedding while Simone gracefully excuses herself to greet the other guests. Precisely fifty minutes into the celebration, after everyone has consumed at least two drinks, Simone signals Poppy that it’s time for his speech. He acknowledges her with a salute.

Famous for speaking off the cuff with impromptu and eloquent monologues, it’s a little bit of a heartbreak when Poppy digs in his coat pocket, fumbling around for yellow index cards. The subtle indicators always hit the hardest. Not the mangled vehicle wreckage, but a child’s pink shoe on the roadway. Not the casket, but crumpled tissues clutched tightly. Or in this case, the uncharacteristic tentativeness as Poppy starts speaking. To Simone’s relief, he settles into his speech with more authority, even if he’s reading straight from note cards.

“More decades ago than I’d care to count, I sat in this ballroom at my graduation, wondering how I would impact the world, eager as any young man before me. Three central principles guide Tate Men—striving for excellence in all endeavors, serving others, and following moral courage. I believe I’ve conducted business and my life according to these ideals. Though beginning modestly with my father’s investment, I envisioned my humble produce stand growing substantially. Today, Hartwell Grocers encompasses twenty-six locations and counting, employing seventeen hundred people, while maintaining our friendly neighborhood atmosphere.”

Simone zones out a bit as Poppy, predictably, starts talking about Theodore Roosevelt, his hero; she looks around at the rapt faces. Poppy pulls off a joke about the quick trip from the boardroom to the golf course to the coffin, but then appears somewhat confused why people are laughing. He seems to sense the need to wrap up; Simone mentally wills him to do just that. “Hartwell transcends eggs, cereal, and milk. It represents community and family—yours and mine. That’s why I couldn’t be more proud to entrust this company, and its legacy, to my son, Leland.”

Simone tightens her grip around her glass at this mistake and glances sideways to see if Alex noticed Poppy using his deceased father’s name. Of course he did.

“I can’t believe this,” Alex mutters through clenched teeth.

“It’s fine. Nobody noticed,” Simone replies, her smile firmly fixed in place.

Confused murmurs ripple through the audience before everyone overlooks the error, offering the enthusiastic applause Poppy had been waiting for.

“I’ll conclude, because nobody wants to hear long-winded ramblings from an elderly man. Thank you for attending, and in Woodrow Wilson’s wise words: ‘You are not here merely to make a living. You are here in order to enable the world to live more amply, with greater vision, with a finer spirit of hope and achievement.’ ” As well-wishers surround Poppy, offering congratulations, Alex strides away before Simone can grab his arm.

“Ouch. The man can’t even remember who’s who now, huh?” Taylor has suddenly appeared at Simone’s side, close enough to whisper in her ear. Simone has confided in Taylor how bad Poppy is, but she still looks around to make sure no one else heard. Then she turns to hug her best friend.

“When did you get here?”

“Just now. Right on time.” Taylor grins cheekily. “You’ve truly outdone yourself, Simone. I mean…” Taylor picks up a centerpiece in two hands. “Um, are these vases solid gold? Did you borrow them from King Tut’s tomb?”

“You’re one to talk. Is that dress made entirely of… feathers?”

“Don’t I look like an actual raven?” Taylor shimmies a little and flaps her arms.

“Yes. The resemblance is a little uncanny. Look, I gotta go find Alex, make sure he’s okay, you go mingle.”

Alex is at the bar gripping a crystal-cut glass of bourbon. He excuses himself from the conversation he’s having with a man Simone recognizes from the club, only because he has a propensity to wear actual kilts on the golf course. Alex turns to Simone and pulls her into a corner.

“He wanted it to be my father,” he hisses through gritted teeth. “He’s always wanted my flawless dead dad.”

“That’s not true, Alex. Look at me.” Simone cradles his flushed cheeks between her delicate hands. “His mind isn’t functioning properly. It’s a meaningless slip. I promise. Go to the bathroom, take a breath, then come back and work this room like the confident executive you are. This moment belongs to you too. These people want to celebrate you as well, Mr. CEO. Okay?”

All Simone earns from this pep talk is a resigned nod. She watches him inhale deeply and straighten his posture, reminiscent of Langston approaching the school bus stop for the first time and summoning all the bravery he could muster to step on board.

Simone needs some fresh air herself. She slips through sliding doors opening onto a narrow patio lined with terra-cotta planters holding immaculately groomed evergreens. Goose bumps immediately appear as the frigid air makes contact with her bare skin. September vanished overnight, taking autumn with it. Wisconsin winters arrive with the suddenness and intensity of a slap, just as they did during her Detroit childhood. She should be accustomed after a lifetime living in the Midwest, but her mother always claimed, “You can’t remove Africa from our bones,” as explanation for their shared intolerance of the cold.

“I’ll never tire of this view. This place.”

Simone startles at hearing Poppy. She hadn’t noticed him standing in the shadows along the wooden railing, his dark suit blending in with the night.

“It’s lovely.”

Actually, Simone finds the campus excessively gothic. All the stone turrets, imposing towers, and overgrown paths—it was more creepy than lovely, but she keeps that opinion to herself. Poppy and Alex assume Langston will enroll here for sixth grade just as they did. Simone refuses to send her son away to boarding school at twelve years old, no matter how close it is, but that battle can wait. “You shouldn’t be out here. It’s freezing.” The last complication they need is Poppy catching pneumonia on top of everything else.

He holds up an unlit cigar. “I needed one. You won’t tell, right?” He winks.

“You know what I’m gonna say…”

They recite together: “Those things will kill you.”

“It’s just a few puffs. The occasional cigar is my sole vice. And as far as killing me… I don’t think this is what’s going to do it.”