He returned the grin of a man who’d just been played. “Come here,” he said, holding out his arms.

Carson sighed and climbed into his arms.

Blake lowered his lips to her head and slid his arms around her and held her, his cheek resting on her head.

She closed her eyes and nestled against Blake’s chest. Listening to the strong and steady beat of his heart, she felt safe and secure. She didn’t want to go anywhere. She thought, I could love this man.

Lucille returned from her appointment and joined Mamaw on the porch. She brandished a deck of cards.

“At last,” Mamaw exclaimed, eager for a hand of gin rummy.

Mamaw cut the deck and Lucille dealt the cards and turned over the discard. Mamaw wasn’t happy with her hand but refrained from making a face. She knew Lucille would be watching for any clues. She rejected the discard and picked up the jack of clubs, then, frowning, immediately discarded it.

“I was thinking . . .”

“Oh Lord, here comes trouble.” Lucille drew a card, kept it, then discarded a queen of hearts.

Mamaw drew a card. “The tension between Harper and Dora is so thick at times I could cut it with a knife. I thought if they had something they could do together, something that would bear fruit, it might bring them closer.” She discarded.

Lucille picked up her discard and placed it in her hand. “I thought them two were a mite too close together already.” She discarded.

Mamaw looked up from her cards. “What do you mean?”

Lucille looked at Mamaw as if she’d lost her marbles. “I mean, them two are sharing a room! They sleep in twin beds! That’s a lot of togetherness for two young girls, but for two grown women? It’s no wonder them two are testy with each other. Your turn.”

Mamaw was stunned by this observation. Of course Lucille was right. She usually was. Why hadn’t Mamaw seen this for herself? She’d blithely assumed the tension between them was merely the difference in their ages or their backgrounds. Leave it to Lucille to figure out something as basic as proximity.

Mamaw picked up a card and was delighted it was the card she was hoping for. “You are absolutely right,” she said. “It’s as plain as the nose on my face. But how? I’m plumb out of rooms and I certainly can’t afford to add on to the house again.”

“Don’t need to. Discard.”

Mamaw looked at her hand and quickly discarded. “Dora doesn’t want to sleep in the library with Nate and we learned we can’t move him. Where do you suggest we put another room?”

Lucille considered Mamaw’s discard, then drew from the pile instead. She made a face and discarded. “You came up with the idea yourself a while ago.”

Mamaw leaned back in her chair and racked her memory banks. Then her face lit up like a morning’s dawn. “My sitting room!”

“It’s low-hanging fruit.” Lucille picked up the card.

“Right. It wouldn’t be much to do and the cost would be reasonable.” She sat straighter, excited at the prospect. “Each girl would have her own room.” Mamaw was beaming as she studied her cards. “We settled the problem of rooms, but we haven’t come up with an idea to get Harper and Dora to do something together.”

“Well, what do they have in common?” asked Lucille.

“Not much, as far as I can tell. Dora’s kind of a Southern snob about Northerners, and I fear it’s reciprocated in Harper. Harper likes to run, and Dora is starting her walking program. There’s a start.”

“But not something they do together.”

“True. Cooking, maybe?”

“Dora’s on a diet and Harper don’t eat nothing but rabbit food.”

Mamaw knew Lucille could never accept Harper’s vegetarian diet. “The only other thing I see Harper do is be on that computer. She’s always typing . . .”

Lucille set her cards on the table. “What’s she writing? That’s what I want to know. Her fingers are flying.”

Mamaw nodded, and she lowered her voice. “Carson says she’s not just surfing the net. She’s writing something.”

“Surf the net? What’s that mean?”

Mamaw made a face. “I had to ask, too. It means she’s not searching around, or watching videos. Harper is actually writing something, like a diary or journal. Or maybe some travel article on the islands.”

“What’s so secret about that?” Lucille wanted to know.

Mamaw nodded in agreement. “Exactly.”

“Well,” Lucille said, picking up her cards. “I ’spect she’ll tell us when she’s ready.”

Mamaw raised her hand, picked up a card, looked at it, then immediately discarded it.

“None of that aids and abets our cause. Maybe if we think of things Dora likes to do.”

There was a silence as both women stared at their cards. Truth was, Mamaw was hard put to think of anything that Dora loved to do.

Lucille picked up a card, then quickly discarded it. “I know!”

Mamaw’s attention was piqued as she picked up a card.

“Dora likes to garden. She used to have that big garden in Summerville.”

“But do you think Harper likes to garden?”

“Don’t know,” Lucille replied. “You asked me what Dora likes to do.”

Mamaw laughed and moved a few cards in her hand. “We’ll have to keep thinking on it. The way I see it, it’s a two-pronged plan to bring Harper and Dora closer together. First we get them separated by giving each girl a room of her own. Then we bring them together by finding a project they can work on. It will come to me,” she said, drawing out a card and brandishing it in the air. “And when it does, I’ll pounce.” She set the card on the table and sang out, “Gin!”

Dora couldn’t procrastinate any longer. Wearing old gym shorts and one of Cal’s old Gamecock T-shirts, Dora laced up her old tennis shoes and headed out for a walk. Mamaw and Lucille were out on the porch, and not wanting to draw their attention, she hurried out the front door. She didn’t have any plan—unlike Harper, who shot like a bullet out of the house early each morning. It was already midafternoon, but Dora wasn’t measuring her distance or heart rate, or wearing high-tech wicking clothes or running shoes, like her sister. Her intention was simply to start moving. Mamaw had told her to just go out and explore, not to have an agenda, but instead to look around and soak in the sights. To allow herself the freedom to simply roam without someone or something calling her back.