“Summer in the South . . . ,” mumbled Dora.

“The heat riles the skeeters up,” Mamaw said, picking up her cards.

Harper scratched her leg and groaned. “Well, they love me.”

“It’s your red hair,” Dora said with authority as she picked up her cards, one by one. Her blond hair was neatly pulled back in a ponytail with a pink ribbon. “The color red attracts bees and mosquitoes.”

“That’s an old wives’ tale,” Carson said dismissively.

“It is not,” Dora argued, looking up from her hand. Dora didn’t like to be corrected.

Carson skewered her with a look. “It is.”

“Hold on.” Harper grabbed her phone and bent over it for a moment.

Dora wagged her foot with frustration. “I know I’m right.”

“Here it is.” Harper glanced up to smile conspiratorially. “You’re both right. Bees don’t see color.”

“Told you,” said Carson with a gloating smile.

“But”—Harper pointed her finger in an arresting motion in the air—“it’s true mosquitoes tend to go for clothing in black, dark blue, and red. And”—she giggled as she pointed to Carson—“pregnant women.” Then with a laugh: “And drinkers of beer.”

Dora and Harper burst out laughing. Mamaw held her cards up to cover her smile.

“Well, damn,” Carson said, in typical self-derisive fashion. “In either case, I lose. I stopped drinking, but now I’m pregnant.” She rolled her eyes. “Figures.”

Harper eyed Mamaw’s rum drink skeptically. “Speaking of drinking, when did we relax the rules about alcohol around here?”

Mamaw raised her glass to her lips and took a prim sip. “Since I discussed it with Carson.”

Carson shrugged. “Why shouldn’t Mamaw have her nip of rum at night? The smell of alcohol makes me sick, so no temptation. Seems wrong to punish her. It’s her house, after all.”

“You mean, I can have a glass of wine?” Dora asked eagerly.

“Be my guest,” Carson said.

Dora smiled like a Cheshire cat. “For medicinal purposes only, of course.”

“Enough chatter,” Mamaw announced. “Let’s play cards.”

Time flew by as they played canasta and the relaxed chatter floated in the air. “Mamaw, your color is back,” Harper said as she looked over her cards. “You look, I don’t know, happier.”

“Why, thank you, dear.” Mamaw arranged her cards. “I was just thinking how I feel better.”

Dora looked at her cards and asked nonchalantly, “Been outdoors much? Say, on the water?”

Mamaw knew this was coming. She discreetly looked over her cards to deliver a squinted-eyes warning at Dora.

Dora ignored her and blithely continued as she picked a card from the pile, “You know, when I was out on the boat with Devlin and Nate earlier today, we passed this small johnboat with two people fishing together. A man and a woman. They were just as cozy as could be. Why, Mamaw, I could have sworn the woman was you. Didn’t you hear me call out to you?” Dora’s voice sounded innocent but she held her cards over her mouth to conceal her grin.

Mamaw simmered as Harper and Carson first looked with astonishment at Dora, then at Mamaw.

“Okay.” Carson lowered her cards. “What’s going on?”

Mamaw sniffed and took a sip of drink. She then sighed as if a long-suffering soul who had to put up with the antics of a child. “Tempest in a teapot. Girard Bellows and I went fishing,” she declared as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “We’ve been friends forever. He saw me sitting on the dock and no doubt took pity and invited me out on his boat. I had a very nice time, thank you very much. End of story.” She tapped her cards on the table. She made a show of arranging them. “By the way, Dora,” she said archly, “you should use more sunscreen. You’re burned as red as a boiled lobster.”

“You went out with Old Man Bellows?” asked Carson incredulously.

Mamaw lay her cards on the table. “First of all, we didn’t go out. We went fishing. Secondly, he’s not Old Man Bellows. He’s Mr. Bellows to you.” She gave Carson a no-nonsense glare. “And we most certainly were not being cozy.” Mamaw picked up her cards. “It was a small boat.”

Dora leaned over the table and said in a stage whisper, “They were shoulder to shoulder. Canoodling.”

The girls started snickering.

Mamaw looked at her cards. “I’d say I’ve found the jokers in this deck.”

Carson hooted. “And you’re the wild card!”

Mamaw relented and joined their laughter, relishing the first sounds of merriment in Sea Breeze since Lucille’s death. Even if it was at her own expense.

The late afternoon stretched on into evening as they played hand after hand of canasta. It was so hot no one was very hungry, and since the kitchen was out of order, they nibbled crackers and cheese, leftover quiche, and raw vegetables. While they played, the talk never ceased. They discussed ways that they could each help an anxious Nate prepare for his new school. They spent a long time coming up with possible names for Carson’s baby, which ranged from family names to silly ones. Harper was leaning heavily toward Poseidon, but Carson only rolled her eyes. Eventually the conversation turned to the progress of the kitchen’s makeover.

Carson, fanning her cards and smiling, asked Harper, “How’s it going with Taylor McClellan?”

Harper shrugged noncommittally and peered at her cards. “He’s doing a good job. Moving right along.”

“Interesting that Taylor’s doing the project. And not his father,” Carson said.

“Not really,” said Harper. “I suspect he’s helping his father this summer.”

Carson moved a few cards around in her hand. “Actually, that’s not what I heard.”

Harper’s glance darted up from her cards.

Carson’s eyes were gleaming. “I heard that he asked his father if he could do the job.”

“That’s not unusual. He’s doing jobs and picked this one. He’s your friend.”

“Except he’s not working for his dad. He’s in town for job interviews.”

Harper looked up from her cards. “Then why did he ask for this job?”