“Did you go to Dunleavy’s again?” Harper asked. “I noticed you got in rather late last night.”

Dora gave Harper a warning glare but it was too late. Mamaw caught that comment and she pounced.

“Were you out with Devlin again?” she asked.

“Mamaw, retract your antennas. Dev and I are just two old friends who are catching up on old time. ’Nuff said.”

“Old friends, huh?” Mamaw said in a slow drawl. “Well.” She put on her sunglasses. “I have to say, hearing the name Devlin Cassell again is déjà vu.” She looked pointedly at Dora’s short nightgown. “Though if you were sixteen, I wouldn’t allow you to still be lounging in your nightgown at ten o’clock in the morning. Aren’t you supposed to be doing your walk now?”

Dora stifled a yawn. “I know, I know. I’ll walk later.”

“I’m just trying to be supportive.”

Harper placed the stems of a clutch of the small yellow roses into her water bottle and carried them to Mamaw. “All I could find, I’m afraid.”

“Why, thank you,” Mamaw said, setting down her book to accept the flowers. She delicately plucked the browned, curling leaves from the stems. “Poor things, look how stunted they’ve become. Pitiful, really. My roses used to be so large and fragrant they took my breath away.”

“I remember. What happened to the garden?” Harper asked, pouring herself a glass of iced tea from the pitcher and lowering herself into a chair beside them. “There always used to be lots of flowers and butterflies out there. There’s not much left out there now but the weeds.”

Dora sat up in the chair to peer out at the garden that was located along the border of the porch. It was a small, narrow plot of land between the house and the wild cordgrass that bordered the Cove. She had studied horticulture in college and, though she’d never received her degree, instead choosing to leave college to marry Cal, she’d continued taking master gardener courses. One of the aspects she’d loved most about her home in Summerville was the acreage that surrounded the house itself.

She’d planted an extensive garden the first year that they’d moved in, investing an enormous amount of time and energy into the project. She could still remember how fulfilled she’d felt at the end of an afternoon in the garden, covered with dirt and sweat, grinning like a fool. After Nate came along, however, her focus had shifted to him, and as he grew and his needs became more demanding, the garden slipped into an afterthought.

“It looks like my garden in Summerville,” she said with a hint of cynicism. “This climate turns the land into a jungle in no time. Especially out here on the islands. The heat is a furnace blast and the humidity is crushing.” She sat back and turned to Harper. “You must feel it when you’re running?”

Harper lifted her hair from her neck. “That’s why I run early in the morning.” She let her hair drop and said pointedly, “So should you.”

“Nag, nag, nag,” Dora teased. “I swear, just walking leaves me hot, winded, and drenched.” She looked again at the remnants of the garden. “Mamaw, I have to say, roses were always an ambitious choice. It doesn’t pay to plant anything but indigenous plants on a barrier island.”

“I don’t care. I love roses. There isn’t much soil out here, I grant you. But I try. When I think of the beautiful walled garden at my Charleston house . . .” Mamaw said wistfully. “The camellias and roses . . . Do you remember it, girls? The loveliest dappled light . . . The wall protected the plants from the wind and salt from the sea. I tried to create something similar here, but . . .” She sighed. “The combination of weather and old age got the best of me, I’m afraid. I couldn’t keep up and eventually I just lost the heart for it. I do miss my roses, though. Actually, Dora, they did surprisingly well here, despite the odds. Those poor plants are just old and tired, like I am.”

Harper patted Mamaw’s leg. “Not so old.”

“When I’m working in that heat,” Mamaw said, “I feel as old as Methuselah.”

“You’re going to live forever,” Dora said. “But I sympathize. I couldn’t keep up with my garden, either. It’s a labor of love.”

“True, true,” Mamaw said, and returned to her book.

“I wouldn’t know,” Harper said wistfully. “In the city we don’t even have a patio, much less flower boxes.” She looked out over the property. “I always wanted a garden of my own.”

“What about your house in the Hamptons?” asked Dora.

“Oh, there are gorgeous gardens there, to be sure. But I only visit there on weekends or for a week’s vacation, hardly time to tend a garden. Besides, my mother pays a fortune to a fleet of gardeners and they’d have a conniption if I brought a shovel or spade to their flower beds.

“You should see my granny’s garden in England. It’s a true English garden with masses of flowers and flowering shrubs. Granny cuts them fresh every morning and does arrangements for the house. Quite lovely. She’s rather like you in that way, Dora. Passionate about all things gardening. The gardens were designed ages ago but she makes changes here and there and has the final word on all plantings. Still, all the digging and weeding is done for her.”

“That makes things easier,” Dora said with an edge.

“Exactly,” Harper agreed. “Poor Granny broke her leg recently, though; I don’t imagine she’ll be able to do even that much gardening this summer.” She paused and said with a twinge of guilt, “I really should visit.”

“Do you go to England often?” Dora asked.

Harper began removing her garden gloves. “Not as often as I should.” Then she said in a lower voice, “It’s a very big house with very big expectations to fill.”

“What does that mean?” Dora asked.

Mamaw set down her book and listened.

“My mother is an only child, and I am her only child. The house in the country is the James family seat and I am the heir. There is,” she added diffidently, “no spare. Whenever I visit I feel like I’m living in a glass tower.” Harper tugged off the fingers of the glove with short, angry tugs. “Everyone is watching, waiting for me to find the right husband and carry on the James name.” She pulled off the glove and stared at it in her lap. “They’re quite disappointed that I’m twenty-eight without a prospect in sight.”