Mamaw served sweet tea on the back porch while Lucille passed blueberry scones from the Village Bakery. She’d called together this impromptu family meeting while Dora was soaking in the tub. It was a lovely afternoon in the shade of the black-and-white-striped awning. Large, white cumulus clouds drifted over the sweeping view of the Cove. Pots of colorful flowers set about the porch added punches of color and the air was heady with their scent.

Mamaw tapped her spoon against her glass to silence the chatter. Carson and Harper stopped talking and Harper closed the lid on her laptop.

“Where’s Dora?” asked Carson.

“Still sleeping in her room?” asked Harper.

“No,” Mamaw said with a reprimanding glance at Harper’s thinly veiled criticism. “But that’s precisely the reason I called us together. Dora is not herself.”

“I’ll say,” Carson said. “I’ve never seen her so low.”

“The way she flew off the handle . . .” Harper added with a shake of her head.

Mamaw corrected Harper. “She wasn’t upset as much as she had a breakdown. There’s a difference. The important point is that Dora asked for help.”

“I can’t ever recall her asking for help before,” Lucille mused.

“Exactly. We need to put our heads together and come up with ways that we can help Dora through this difficult time. Thank the Lord, she did not have a heart attack. But this definitely was a warning. A shot over the bow. The doctor was clear that Dora must make serious changes in her eating habits, exercise patterns . . .” She sighed. “Or lack thereof.” She paused to glance toward the porch door to make certain it was closed. She didn’t want Dora to overhear and have her feelings be hurt.

“Unfortunately, instead of trying to make changes, she’s holing up in her room. She says she’s still too tired, but . . .” Mamaw sighed dramatically to indicate there was much more involved than fatigue. “I thought we might find ways to be her cheerleaders. Rally around her. Show we care.”

“Get her out of bed,” Lucille added drily.

The sisters were silent for a moment. Then Harper spoke up.

“That’s all good . . .” she began, her tone hesitant.

Mamaw tilted her head, waiting. Harper, for all that she didn’t gab much, was a deep, careful thinker. When she offered an opinion, it was her own and reflected an intellect mature beyond her years.

“ . . . but the will to change has to come from her. She’s not a little girl. We can’t make her do anything.”

“True, but we can encourage her,” Carson said. “I was grateful when y’all stood by me when I wanted to stop drinking. You took every bottle out of the house. I know because I looked for them,” she added in a lightly self-deprecating manner. She joined in the laughter, then continued in a more serious tone. “If there had been wine in the fridge at night, I could not have resisted.”

“And there’s still none in there, in case you go looking,” Lucille told her pointedly.

Carson made a face while the others chuckled.

Harper leaned toward Carson. “How are you holding up on that front?”

Carson swirled her iced tea a moment. “I had a lot of time to think while driving to and from Florida. I don’t want to think I’m an alcoholic, but with both my parents being alcoholics, and with my track record . . .” She shrugged. “There’s definitely a problem. Truth is, the craving for a drink just won’t let go. I used to think that I just drank socially. Most single girls our age go to bars or restaurants and just hang out. But it always involves alcohol. Right?” she asked Harper.

Harper nodded. “And the hope to meet some guys.”

“When I totaled it up, I figured I used to drink at least five drinks in one night.”

“But those five drinks would be consumed from, say, eight p.m. until one a.m.,” Harper said. “That’s about one drink an hour. In that context, it hardly seems excessive.”

“And yet, I went out drinking with friends several times a week. Plus had a glass or two at home.” Carson frowned. “Any way you do the math, that’s a lot of drinking.” She took a breath. “I’m thinking of joining AA, just as a precaution. It might help to hear other people’s stories and get a sense of where I stand with this whole thing.”

Mamaw’s brows rose. “Do you think that’s necessary?”

“It is if she thinks it is,” Lucille rejoined emphatically.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Carson hedged. “Still just thinking about it.”

“You go on thinking,” Lucille said. “Don’t you be lazy and let it slide.”

Mamaw leaned forward to pat Carson’s hand. “That’s a brave decision. One your father should have made. I regret I didn’t encourage him to do the same. If you suspect you need AA, then go. I’m proud of you.”

Mamaw shared a gaze with Carson that pulsed with affection.

“See, that’s my point,” Harper said, returning to Mamaw. “Carson’s decision to do something about her drinking came from her. She’ll succeed because she wants to. If Dora is going to succeed in changing her diet and her lifestyle, the desire has to come from her. Without that, all the cheerleading and good suggestions in the world won’t make a difference.”

“I agree the decision has to come from her,” Mamaw said. “But we can help her reach that point. And encourage her, to ensure her success. Girls, our Dora’s been through the wringer at the hospital, and I’m not just talking about her medical problems.”

“What happened?” asked Carson.

“She was bullied, plain and simple. Her mother”—Mamaw rolled her eyes—“horrible woman, pressured Dora to come back with her to Charlotte, delivered with that tone of disapproval Dora usually caves under. And Cal . . .” She made no attempt to keep the scorn from her voice. “He suddenly suggested that they rethink the divorce. He asked her to move to his condo in Summerville.”

“Really?” Harper said, surprised. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

“It is not,” Mamaw answered emphatically. “He is being shamelessly selfish. It was all I could do not to put him in his place. Winnie, of course, was all agog with the possibility of a reconciliation. No divorce—no scandal. She didn’t give a thought to what was best for Dora.”