picked up a folder she’d dropped on the bookcase when she’d rushed into the room. “It contains the notes I’ve made on what I want.”
Georgia’s fingers flexed as if she’d like to snatch that folder. “Maybe we could talk about this first—”
“No.” Miz Callie cut her off with what was probably unaccustomed sharpness. “Here you are.” She thrust it into his hands.
He took the folder, encouraged by the sign that Miz Callie was set on what she wanted. Maybe Georgia wouldn’t find this so easy a task.
“Thank you. I’ll go through this and give you a call, then.” He turned to go.
As he did, the older woman slipped her arm around her granddaughter’s waist again, a look of apology on her face.
Miz Callie knew what she wanted, all right. But if there was one person who could talk her out of it, that person was clearly Georgia Bodine.
With Harper gone, Georgia’s tension level went down a few degrees. She hadn’t been able to prevent him from taking away that folder, but whatever business he’d intended hadn’t been accomplished yet. She had breathing space to find out exactly what was going on with her grandmother, and how much of her family’s wild talk was true.
“You must be hungry.” Miz Callie spun and started for the kitchen at her usual trot. “I’ll fix you a sandwich, some potato salad—”
“I don’t need all that.” She followed her grandmother to the kitchen, where African violets bloomed on glass shelves across the windows and a pitcher full of fragrant green basil graced the counter next to the sink.
She closed the refrigerator door her grandmother had opened. “Honestly. I stopped for lunch on the way. Maybe just something to drink. Is there any sweet tea?”
Miz Callie’s smile blossomed. “It’d be a sad summer day there wasn’t sweet tea in this house. You fill up the glasses with ice.”
It was like old times, moving around the kitchen with her grandmother. In moments they’d assembled a tray with glasses, the pitcher of tea, a sprig of mint and a plate of Miz Callie’s famous pecan tassies.
Georgia’s mouth watered at the sight of the rich, sweet tarts. Her favorite. But her grandmother hadn’t known she was coming, had she?
She’d ask, but Miz Callie was already heading out to the deck off the living room, picking up the battered sun hat she wore outside. Carrying the tray, Georgia followed.
She stepped through the sliding glass door and inhaled the salty scent of sea air. The breeze from the water caressed her skin as it tossed the sea oats that grew thickly on the dunes.
“I love it here.” The words came without thought as the endless expanse of sea and sky filled her with a sense of well-being.
Miz Callie gave her characteristic short nod. “Then you understand how I feel.” She sat down, reaching out to take Georgia’s hand and draw her to the chair next to her. “Stay here at the beach house while you’re home, won’t you? I’d love to have you.”
She hadn’t really thought about where she’d stay on this rushed visit, but she could combat whatever Matthew Harper was planning better if she were on the spot.
“I’d love to. I’m sure the folks won’t mind.”
That was a positive step forward. Now if she could get Miz Callie talking about what the family called her odd behavior…
“You want to tell me what happened to your engagement ring?” Her grandmother’s soft voice interrupted her thoughts.
Her gaze flew from Miz Callie to her ring finger. “You noticed.” Her mother hadn’t, when she’d stopped briefly at the house, and that had been a relief.
“Of course I did, the minute I saw you. What happened with you and James, darlin’?”
One part of her wanted to spill the whole sorry mess into her grandmother’s sympathetic ear, the way she would have poured out her problems when she was ten. But she was a grown woman now, and maybe she should act like one.
“It was nothing very dramatic.” Wasn’t it? A shaft of pain went through her. It hadn’t been dramatic only because she lacked the courage to make a scene. “We both realized we’d made a mistake.”
She could still see James’s face—his amazement that she’d object to his stealing her work, jeopardizing her job and lying about it. The irrevocable differences between them had been shown up as if by lightning.
She forced his image from her mind. “Better now than later, right?”
“That’s certain.” Her grandmother’s clear blue eyes said that she knew there was more. “Still, if you want to talk about it…”
“I know where to come.” She pressed Miz Callie’s hand.
“Does your mamma know?”
Georgia shook her head. “I’m not looking forward to that. The day I told her I was engaged was the first time she felt proud of me since I learned to tie my own shoes.”
“Oh, sugar, that’s not true.” Miz Callie looked concerned. “You and your mother don’t always see eye to eye about what your life should be like, but she loves you.”
The point wasn’t that they didn’t love each other. She’d just never managed to be the daughter her mother wanted. “I know. I’ll tell her.”
Just not right away. It was enough that she knew her love life was a disaster. Somebody ought to put up poles and orange tape around her to warn others, the way the turtle ladies did around the loggerhead turtle nests on the beach.
“Enough of my sad story,” she said. “Tell me what’s happening with you.”
Her grandmother’s eyebrows lifted. “Don’t you already know, Georgia Lee? Didn’t the family send for you? Tell you that you had to come talk some sense into your foolish old grandmother?”
It was so near to what the family had said that for a moment she couldn’t speak. She took a deep breath and sent up a wordless prayer.
“They love you. They don’t understand, and they’re worried.”
“If they don’t understand something, they should ask me instead of jumping to conclusions.” Miz Callie’s voice was as sharp as she’d ever heard it.
Georgia’s heart sank. She was used to her father and uncles overreacting to things. But for Miz Callie to take offense—the chasm between them must be bad.
“I’m asking, Miz Callie. They’re saying you’re giving away things from the Charleston house. That you brought a derelict home for dinner. That you’re talking about living here in the cottage year-round all by yourself. Don’t you understand how that worries them? You’ve never done anything like that before.”
“Exactly.” Miz Callie leaned back, tipping her battered straw sun hat forward. “I’m seventy-five years old, Georgia Lee, and I’ve spent my whole life doing exactly
