“Vinny,” Kathleen says, eyes wide and incredulous, “she’s East End now.” Lavinia shrugs. “And I was North Side. A little part of me will always be.” She lifts her foot and puts it on one of the benches, exposing her leg. A snake wraps around her calf—Remy’s artistic skills having brought it to life over the past couple weeks. “We’re in a new era–one where the women of Forsyth stop bashing on one another. At least as long as you’re in my house.”
