daughter , she thought as her pale blue eyes found refuge in Cara’s dark brown ones. There were crow’s-feet at the corners, adding maturity to the wide-eyed worry. Cara had been dismayed at turning forty, crying that her youth was over and now she was on the downhill slope. Lovie knew better. Cara was still so young! So strong and confident.
Lovie felt the panic that always came with the coughing spells loosen its grip. Gradually her breath came more easily. She nodded weakly.
Cara’s eyes narrowed, quickly checking for signs that Lovie needed oxygen or a dose of pain medication. “Mama, it’s getting chilly. Let’s go inside.”
Lovie didn’t have the breath to answer, but she weakly shook her head.
Cara hesitated, then with a tsk of mild frustration, she didn’t force the issue, as she might have just months earlier.
Lovie leaned back again in her chair. Staring at her from the settee across the room was a large calico cat. The cat had mysteriously appeared after the hurricane, lost and mewling piteously. Cara fed her daily, cleaned up after her, and petted her long fur whenever she passed. Cara called the cat the Uninvited Guest and pretended not to care one way or the other about her. But Lovie could tell she was secretly pleased the cat had decided to stay. It was Cara’s first pet.
Cara was rather like that cat, Lovie thought with some amusement. The previous May, Lovie had asked her only daughter to come home for a visit. She hadn’t thought Cara would come. They’d been estranged for some twenty years. Cara was always too busy, too involved in her career to find time to come back to Charleston. If Lovie was honest with herself—and thislate in life, why be anything but honest?—she had to acknowledge that Cara just plain didn’t want to return. She preferred the crispness of the North in all its forms. Lovie had prayed that she and her headstrong daughter could patch up their differences before she died. She took a long breath and exhaled slowly, feeling the weariness of her years. How did one reconcile after so long a time? It was in faith that she’d written, and in a twist of fate, Cara had returned.
Cara had been laid off from her high-powered job at an advertising agency in Chicago. She’d arrived at Lovie’s door at the onset of summer, feeling lost and restless, uncharacteristically adrift. She’d stayed the summer on Isle of Palms, ostensibly to take care of her mother. And yet, over the past months, Cara, like the lost cat, had been cared for, stroked, needed. The summer had made Cara wiser and more content—not so quick to chase the mouse.
And in the process, she’d rediscovered her mother’s love. This had been the answer to Lovie’s prayers.
It was autumn now, however, and like the season’s end, Lovie’s strength was ebbing with the receding tide. She had terminal cancer, and both she and Cara knew that soon the Lord would call her home.
“Okay, Mama,” Cara conceded, patting Lovie’s hand. “We’ll sit out here a little longer. I know you hate to miss a sunset. Would you like a cup of tea? I’ll make you one,” she went on, not waiting for an answer.
Lovie didn’t want tea just now, but Cara needed something to do. Though they didn’t say the words often, Lovie knew that Cara expressed her love with action. Cara rose effortlessly from the chair, a move Lovie could hardly recall being able to make.
Cara was strikingly good-looking, tall and slender with glossy dark hair she usually wore pulled back in a carefree ponytail. But tonight was cooler and the humidity low so she let it fall unkemptto her shoulders. It swayed in rhythm with the few long strides it took her to cross the wooden porch.
Lovie’s gaze swept across the porch of her beloved beach house that was showing signs of age. Time . . . it passed so quickly! Where did all the years go? How many summers had this dear house survived? How many hurricanes? Two white wooden rocking chairs sat side by
Lovie felt the panic that always came with the coughing spells loosen its grip. Gradually her breath came more easily. She nodded weakly.
Cara’s eyes narrowed, quickly checking for signs that Lovie needed oxygen or a dose of pain medication. “Mama, it’s getting chilly. Let’s go inside.”
Lovie didn’t have the breath to answer, but she weakly shook her head.
Cara hesitated, then with a tsk of mild frustration, she didn’t force the issue, as she might have just months earlier.
Lovie leaned back again in her chair. Staring at her from the settee across the room was a large calico cat. The cat had mysteriously appeared after the hurricane, lost and mewling piteously. Cara fed her daily, cleaned up after her, and petted her long fur whenever she passed. Cara called the cat the Uninvited Guest and pretended not to care one way or the other about her. But Lovie could tell she was secretly pleased the cat had decided to stay. It was Cara’s first pet.
Cara was rather like that cat, Lovie thought with some amusement. The previous May, Lovie had asked her only daughter to come home for a visit. She hadn’t thought Cara would come. They’d been estranged for some twenty years. Cara was always too busy, too involved in her career to find time to come back to Charleston. If Lovie was honest with herself—and thislate in life, why be anything but honest?—she had to acknowledge that Cara just plain didn’t want to return. She preferred the crispness of the North in all its forms. Lovie had prayed that she and her headstrong daughter could patch up their differences before she died. She took a long breath and exhaled slowly, feeling the weariness of her years. How did one reconcile after so long a time? It was in faith that she’d written, and in a twist of fate, Cara had returned.
Cara had been laid off from her high-powered job at an advertising agency in Chicago. She’d arrived at Lovie’s door at the onset of summer, feeling lost and restless, uncharacteristically adrift. She’d stayed the summer on Isle of Palms, ostensibly to take care of her mother. And yet, over the past months, Cara, like the lost cat, had been cared for, stroked, needed. The summer had made Cara wiser and more content—not so quick to chase the mouse.
And in the process, she’d rediscovered her mother’s love. This had been the answer to Lovie’s prayers.
It was autumn now, however, and like the season’s end, Lovie’s strength was ebbing with the receding tide. She had terminal cancer, and both she and Cara knew that soon the Lord would call her home.
“Okay, Mama,” Cara conceded, patting Lovie’s hand. “We’ll sit out here a little longer. I know you hate to miss a sunset. Would you like a cup of tea? I’ll make you one,” she went on, not waiting for an answer.
Lovie didn’t want tea just now, but Cara needed something to do. Though they didn’t say the words often, Lovie knew that Cara expressed her love with action. Cara rose effortlessly from the chair, a move Lovie could hardly recall being able to make.
Cara was strikingly good-looking, tall and slender with glossy dark hair she usually wore pulled back in a carefree ponytail. But tonight was cooler and the humidity low so she let it fall unkemptto her shoulders. It swayed in rhythm with the few long strides it took her to cross the wooden porch.
Lovie’s gaze swept across the porch of her beloved beach house that was showing signs of age. Time . . . it passed so quickly! Where did all the years go? How many summers had this dear house survived? How many hurricanes? Two white wooden rocking chairs sat side by
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