mid a whirlwind of buzzing saws, hammering and shouts, Brett and his crew managed to finish the porch and pergola by the end of June. They’d all squeezed the project in between other jobs and worked around the clock on the days they could get there. Cara hired another crew to help paint not only the porch, but the whole house as well. Everyone’s spirits soared as the beach house quickly took shape. As Lovie exclaimed, it was as if God had picked up the dusty place, given it a good shake, then placed it back on the earth and smoothed out all the wrinkles.

No one beamed more than Lovie. She felt like her old self as she made decisions again. It was painful to admit, but she was beginning to feel sorry for herself. Of course, she was thrilled to see the restoration begin, but sitting in her rocker she’d felt damaged, not knowing from one day to the next if she was going to spend what was left of her life rotting in a chair and watching television. She’d given up control over her finances to Stratton, then to Palmer without much concern. Yet the home and garden had always been her territory. It seemed to her that she and Primrose Cottage had both been devastated—one by hurricane, the other by cancer.

When the project began she’d tried to keep out of the way. A few months earlier, Cara might not even have noticed her mother sitting alone in her rocker on the sidelines. But she noticed now—and Cara dragged her into the decision making. Cara pressed Lovie to find the exact yellow paint match for the house, to consider where the old palm trees had been before Hugo ripped them out and to choose where to place new ones. She brought her countless catalogues and had Toy drive her to nurseries to choose the number and variety of climbing rosebushes to match those that had once thrived so magnificently over the pergola. Most of all, Cara insisted that Primrose Cottage belonged to Olivia Rutledge and always would.

And her plan worked. Lovie felt alive again, in ways she hadn’t in many years. When she directed the planting of the seven new palm trees around the property, she felt as she did the day she had first bought the little house on the beach. There were so few houses on the island at that time and so many trees. And though Cara did the physical labor of tilling and adding new soil, Lovie herself planted the new, blaze-red climbing rosebushes that would someday arch over the pergola.

Each morning of the three weeks of construction, Lovie awoke with a prayer of thanks to God. First, she was glad just to be waking up. She also thanked God for the simple routines that filled the days and hearts of the ladies of Primrose Cottage and brought them closer together.

Finally, on the morning the porch was finished and the workmen did not come with their hammers and saws, a quiet peace was restored. Lovie stood alone in the garden, breathing in the sweet-scented air and taking in all the changes. Through the window she saw Toy bustling inside, cleaning the house and cooking a hot breakfast. She hummed as she waltzed through the rooms. Cara was visible across the road walking along the beach path wearing her green Turtle Team shirt, the red bucket dangling from her arm. Lovie watched her march with the confidence of a natural born leader. In addition to all her records and equipment, Cara carried with her all of Lovie’s hopes and dreams.

Lovie took a deep breath, feeling as one who had run the long race and just passed the torch. It wasn’t so bad being old, she thought. She didn’t have to rush off anywhere to get something done. It was nice to stand back and see the wildflowers blooming again, maybe think where she might add a few new ones. And it was very nice to stand on a hilly dune in the early morning and watch the wonder of a miracle happening right before her eyes.

The first morning of July Lovie woke up inspired. Her heart was leaping with excitement and her cheeks flushed as she called Toy and Cara to the table.

“I want to have a great Fourth of July celebration in honor of the restoration of Primrose Cottage! I want us all to be together, my family and friends, here at the beach house again.”

“But Mama, it’s only four days away.”

“That’s plenty of time. Why?” she asked dryly. “Do you have anything else planned for the holiday?”

“No, not exactly. I just thought…”

“I don’t have anything planned either,” Toy burst in, kicking Cara under the table.

Lovie’s enthusiasm was infectious. Before the first cup of coffee was finished, all three women were gung ho. They pulled out the favorite cookbooks and old family recipes and made long lists of all the different foods to prepare, because everyone knew a holiday meal wasn’t worth its salt without an impressive spread of home cooked food.

Lovie bubbled over with ideas, every bit the matriarch again, her pencil scribbling across the paper as she made her list. “I want to fix Aunt Libby’s corn bread. It’s as light as a cloud. And my grandmother’s fried chicken. Oh, and Grand-daddy Clayton’s barbeque sauce. Toy, can you make that potato salad again? It’s pure heaven.” She tapped her lips with the pencil. “I hope we’ll have room in the icebox for all this.”

“We’ll make room,” Toy said. “And we can always carry things over to Flo’s.”

Lovie set down her pencil and said with a wistful smile, “Most of all, I want to spend time with Linnea and Cooper. The darlings…I hardly see them anymore. Could we go to the beach? All of us together? Cara, I can’t remember the last time I saw you in the water.”

“Sure we can, Mama. We can do anything you want. But I’ll have to hurry to finish painting the pergola today or we’ll be eating this feast under dripping paint.”

“I’ll help,” offered Toy.

Cara tilted her head. “Thanks. And I’ll help with the food.”

Both women smiled in commiseration.

Lovie witnessed this and smiled, too. “While you two are busy, I’m fixing to do an errand of my own. It’s too hot to do our own baking. Flo and I are going to town today, so I’ll pick up a few cakes and pies. And on the way back I’ll stop by Belva’s for some red, white and blue flowers.”

“Don’t get carried away and do too much,” Cara warned.

“Oh, bother. I’m feeling wonderful. And Flo will be with me.” Lovie picked up her pencil and poised it over the pad of paper. “We’d best make out an invitation list first. I’ll call and invite Palmer and Julia before I leave. They’re always busy and it’s such short notice. I hope they can come.”

“They’ll come,” Cara replied with an iron undercurrent that implied she’d make certain of it.

“And, of course, Florence and Miranda.”

“Emmi will have a hissy fit if we don’t invite her,” said Cara.

“Of course, Emmi! Will Tom be here, too?”

“He’s still away.” She met her mother’s knowing gaze.

“What about her boys? Aren’t they coming down for the weekend? Maybe she has plans.”

“She can bring them along.” Cara sidled a glance at Toy. “Her boys are close to your age. Maybe a year or two older. And last I saw them, they were very cute.”

“Oh sure, like they’d be interested in me.” Toy rolled her eyes but not before Cara caught the flash of hurt.

Lovie twiddled her pencil. “Do you think Brett would come?”

“I’m sure he will. He’s as proud of this porch as you are.”

“Bless his heart.”

Toy smirked. “Like that’s the only reason he’d come.”

Cara shot her a glance.

“Things do seem to be getting thick between the two of you,” Lovie said good-naturedly. “You’ve been eyeing each other across the porch for weeks. And, I swanny, I never saw two folks bump into each other as much as you two. Just clumsy, I suppose.”

“We’re friends.”

When her mother raised her brows, Cara felt nettled. “Why is that so hard for you to believe? A man and a woman don’t always have to be heading for the altar.”

“When you find the right one, you do,” said Toy emphatically. “I’ve got girls for friends. Why go through all the motions just to be friends with a guy?”

“Most of my friends are guys,” Cara retorted. “And if I ever do get married, I want the man to be my friend first.”

Toy stared back at her as though she’d never thought of that concept before.

Lovie smiled broadly. “Cara, I do believe that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you mention the possibility of getting married.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, Mama. I was talking in generalities.”

“I’m not making any plans or reservations at the club quite yet. I merely think it’s wonderful that you’ve found a man as good and caring as Brett. I’ve always liked that boy. He’s a giver. He thinks of others before himself and that is too rare a quality these days. You’re good for him, too. For all his finer points, that’s one ship that needs a solid rudder.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Mother…”

“Cara, don’t take the Lord’s name at my table!”

“Okay, I’m sorry. But why do you say things like that? Brett and I haven’t found each other. That implies we were lost.”

Lovie’s lips twitched. “Well, since you put it that way…”

Toy shook her head. “I think when you say you’ve found someone, it really means that you’ve been searching for the right guy.”

“I’m not searching for anything, except maybe a new job.”

“You just don’t like that you can’t control falling in love,” Lovie said.

“Maybe I don’t believe in love.”

“But that’s crazy,” Toy blurted out, seemingly upset by the very idea. “There’s someone out there for everyone.”

“Someone or anyone? There’s a difference. Anyone isn’t good enough for me. I won’t settle. I’d rather live alone, thank you very much.”

Toy again sat back in her chair, speechless.

“Brett and I like each other very much,” explained Cara, “We are enjoying each other’s company. He’s a very attractive man. But neither one of us is looking for anything permanent. We accept this for what it is. At best, a summer’s fling.”

“One summer can change lives,” Lovie said softly. She looked at her daughter. Cara’s dark-brown eyes were indecipherable. She’d always felt guilty with the knowledge that her own bad marriage had shadowed Cara’s viewpoint. It was a pity that her daughter saw love as highly overrated and marriage as a trap that crushed a woman’s spirit. Lovie prayed that this summer Cara would open herself up to allow love to flow in. She could never tell Cara how true love—the love she’d experienced for one golden summer with Russell—was like the tide that rushes in to replenish even the most arid soil. How one summer could last a lifetime.

No, she couldn’t ever tell her daughter this.

“Well, then,” she said, looking again at her list. “That brings the total to thirteen.”

“Thirteen? Isn’t that bad luck?” Toy asked.

“Not necessarily,” replied Lovie. “But just in case, I’ll fix up a batch of my special black-eyed peas.” Her smile was bittersweet. “I’d like to make that dish one more time.”

As she bent her head to finish writing her list, Cara leaned back in her chair and gazed out the window and Toy scraped with her nail at something stuck on the table. The three women quietly understood that Lovie wouldn’t be around in January to make this traditional Southern dish that brought good luck to the New Year.

“Is that you, Lovie Rutledge, sneakin’ in my kitchen?”

“Miranda! You’re up and about again. How wonderful! That must mean you’re feeling better.” She went to hug Miranda who walked with a wobbly gait into the room. Her long, gnarled fingers clung to the counters for balance. Years back, Miranda Prescott used to dwarf both Lovie and Flo and she had a voice and attitude to match her size. Sadly, the past ten years had not been kind to her. At ninety, she’d grown steadily weaker and more confused. On her good days, however, her pale eyes radiated warmth and wisdom. Today was one of her good days.

“I just had myself a visit with Jesus but I’m back again for a while,” Miranda replied. “This is no time for being sick. Couldn’t miss the hatchlings, now, could I?”

“It wouldn’t be the same at the nests without you. We’re expecting our first hatching any day.”

“I know it. I’m watching for it.”

“We’re going to start sitting on the 6th Avenue nest first. According to my chart, it ought to boil on July 6th. How’s that for a good omen?”

Miranda’s eyes sparkled. “You just never know. Those turtles are wily.”

Since the moment Miranda Prescott came to live with her daughter on the Isle of Palms, she was devoted to “her babies.” She couldn’t be bothered by turtle tracks or the moving of nests or the regulations of the Department of Natural Resources. All she cared about were the hatchlings and she visited every nest on her small stretch of beach during the hatching season.

“I’m having a holiday picnic. You’ll come, won’t you?” Lovie asked her.

“You’re what?”

Lovie raised her voice. “Having a picnic. On the Fourth.”

Miranda’s eyes, rheumy with age, were uncomprehending. “I hear you two girls are going to town this morning.”

Lovie gave up on that question with a chuckle. She got a kick out of still being called a “girl” by Miranda. “Just a few errands. I don’t imagine you’d like to come?”

“Me? Good heavens, no. Why would I want to deal with all that traffic in this heat? Plus, I don’t like to go to the city in the summer. Pains me to see those horses work in this heat. I’ll just sit on my porch and watch my stories.”

“We’re going to the bakery for some pies. I’ll pick up something sweet for you, and when we come back, we can sit together and pour the tea. How does that sound?”

Miranda smiled tremulously, and with a vague uncomprehending nod, turned and began shuffling off, mumbling something Lovie couldn’t quite catch. As Lovie watched her leave, she thought to herself how she wouldn’t grow to be as old as Miranda.

A moment later she heard Flo’s voice in the other room telling her mother in a loud voice where she was going. When she burst into the room the air seemed to crackle around her. She was dressed in a rather short khaki skirt and a vibrant red-and-white-striped shirt that showed off her tan.

“Hey, sugar! Don’t you look nice in that blue dress. Are you ready to go to the bank?”

Lovie clutched her purse against her conservative sheath dress, nervous about her appointment. Despite the heat, she wore nylons, dress shoes and a sweater against the chill of the air-conditioning.

“I’m long past ready,” she replied.

Flo hesitated, searching her face. “Are you sure you want to do this? After all these years, to do this now.”

Lovie nodded, her gaze firm. “If not now, when? Bobby Lee Davis will be waiting for me and he’s called my lawyer to join us, too. It’s all arranged. He says it’ll be as easy as falling off a bridge. The only thing I have to do is sign some papers. Besides,” she added with a twinkle in her eye, “we’re preparing for the Fourth of July, the day we celebrate our independence. Don’t you think that’s fitting?”

Hatching time approaches. Inside the nest the baby turtle pecks at its shell with an egg tooth. The hatchling will remain underground for several days to absorb every bit of the important yolk sack for the energy to survive. It also needs to allow its curved shell to straighten.