“Here’s the good news,” Carson said, leaning forward with excitement now that the decision had been made. “Blake called the director and got Nate a slot in the Pathways program.” She paused for dramatic effect. “They got him into a slot later this week!”

Dora was stunned. “So soon?”

“Someone canceled. Otherwise we would have had to wait for who knows how long. The sooner the better. Everything just dovetails. It’s like it’s meant to be, right?”

Dora laughed lightly and lifted her hands. “I guess so.”

“You can talk to the director of the program tomorrow,” Carson continued. “Together you’ll set goals for the program.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Dora said, looking at both her sisters. “Thank you.”

Harper saw the relief and gratitude in Dora’s eyes, then dug deep and let the perceived slight go. It was better this way than if they both went to Florida, she thought. Divide and conquer. Carson could take care of Nate, and she’d take care of Dora.

“The other day you asked for help. We’re just trying to give it to you,” Harper told her. “While Carson takes Nate to Florida, I’ll help you get started on a workout program. We’ll have fun. We’ll get manis and pedis. We’ll have massages. We’ll do whatever you want to do without thinking about schedules or routines or who needs something. Best of all, while you are healing, you can relax knowing that Nate is healing, too.”

“I don’t care if I get my nails done,” Dora told her, and sniffed as tears flooded her eyes. “I just want to roam the beaches and sleep.”

God help me, Harper thought. She wasn’t sure handling Nate wouldn’t be easier than her opinionated and currently emotional sister.

Chapter Eight

The two-block strip of restaurants on Sullivan’s Island was buzzing with chatter and laughter from the summer crowds. Dora grumbled to herself upon seeing the throng of tourists from all over the area crowding the streets looking for an island restaurant to enjoy dinner. The days of Sullivan’s Island being a slow, quiet Mayberry by the sea were long gone. Word got out and now it was tough to find a parking spot for dinner, much less a table. A golf cart, however, was small, and she found a spot on a side street between a tree and a cluster of rocks that she could squeeze into.

She pushed the parking brake and sat for a minute in the island quiet, feeling uneasy. What was she doing here? she asked herself. She was still a married woman, and here she was, going to a bar to meet a man she hadn’t seen in some fifteen years. She should have stayed home with Nate. After all, he was leaving for Florida in a few days. Though, when she’d left, he was playing video games with Harper and had barely said good-bye. Lucille would feed him dinner and she’d be home by the time he went to bed.

Dora knew the anxiety lay in herself. She was reluctant to let Nate go, afraid that something might happen to him if she wasn’t with him. She was also nervous about tonight—saying the wrong thing or doing something tactless with Devlin. What would they talk about?

She checked her watch. If she was going to meet Devlin, she had to go now. She hated being late. She brought to mind Devlin’s face. At the memory of the spark she’d felt when he’d asked her for a drink, she felt again a flutter of anticipation. It had been a very long time since she’d gone out with a man for a drink.

Dora gathered her purse and strolled behind a young couple walking arm in arm, talking in that polite way that told her it was probably a first date. It was a night for romance. The air was balmy, not humid, and the fairy lights along the outdoor eating areas were twinkling in the dusky light. Dora felt pretty in her Lilly Pulitzer summer shift. Her blond hair fell softly to her shoulders, tucked behind her ears, which bore pearls. She knew her hairstyle and clothing were much the same as they were in high school, but her mama told her classic never went out of style. When she reached the corner, diners spilled out onto the outdoor umbrella tables.

Dora checked her watch; it was two minutes after five. She sucked in her tummy and stepped inside the door. The booths were crowded with patrons laughing, eating, having a good time. Overhead, the fans were whirring and all the windows were open. She nervously searched the tables for Devlin.

He wasn’t there.

All the giddiness she’d felt coming here fizzled in her stomach. She stood awkwardly at the door, feeling heat color her cheeks. Devlin had not waited for her after all.

Her disappointment was greater than she should have felt. After all, it wasn’t a real date. Devlin merely suggested they have a drink. It was a last-minute gesture, a kindness to an old friend. He may have waited a few minutes, but why would he choose to spend the night here on the off chance she’d show up?

Another couple was trying to enter the restaurant. Dora stepped aside to let them pass. All the tables looked full but she didn’t want to tuck tail and go home. Searching, she spied an open seat at the bar.

She could hear her mother’s voice in her head: Nice girls don’t sit alone at a bar. Dora never had. She’d always followed the rules of a good girl. And look where that got you, she reminded herself. Tonight she’d showered and put on a pretty dress, took care with her makeup, and even spritzed a bit of scent. To go home now felt defeatist. Dora decided she’d had enough of retreating.

Quieting her mother’s voice in her head, Dora walked straight to the bar stool, feeling like a brazen hussy as she took a seat. She folded her hands on the bar and looked from left to right. Truth was, she felt awkward sitting alone on the stool, as if she were wearing two left shoes.

“What can I get for you, miss?” asked the bartender, stepping up. She recognized the gray-haired man from the times she’d eaten lunch in this pub. He was the manager, and Carson’s former boss. She couldn’t remember his name, and he didn’t recognize her, either.

“A glass of white wine, please,” Dora answered.

“Chardonnay’s the house.”

“That’ll be good.”

He delivered it quickly, then served another customer. Dora took a sip, needing the bolstering.

Time passed agonizingly slowly. She looked idly around at the photographs, designer beer cans, and sports memorabilia that decorated the pub, pretending to take an interest, but it was no use. She wasn’t enjoying herself. Outdoors, the light was fading. She didn’t relish driving home in the dark in the golf cart. Wasn’t even sure the front lights worked. She looked at her watch, then glanced behind the bar, hoping to catch the bartender’s eye for her bill.