Harper blew out a plume of air and picked up the tray. When she returned to the porch, she found both women reading the newspaper in silence. “Here we are,” she called out cheerily. She laid the tray on the table. “I’ve brought you a pair of sunglasses.” She handed them to Granny James. “It can get bright out here.”

“You’ve always been a thoughtful girl.” Granny James slipped on the black sunglasses.

“Yes, she has,” Mamaw confirmed. “Southern girls are raised to know their manners.”

“But Harper comes from good British stock. For the English, good manners come as naturally as the air we breathe.” Granny fanned herself with the newspaper. “It’s positively Congo-like out here.” She looked at her grits with distaste, then took a hesitant bite. “Oh, my, dear . . . quite lovely,” she said, clearly swallowing with effort and then moving to the less offending fruit.

The three women sat in silence for a few moments. “That’s a lovely garden,” Granny James finally remarked, looking out across the yard. “Would you show it to me?”

Harper beamed with pride. “It’s the garden I mentioned yesterday, Granny James. I planted it.”

“Really?” Granny James said with disbelief.

“I’m becoming quite skilled in all the domestic arts,” Harper replied smugly.

“In the South, all properly brought up young ladies are skilled in the domestic arts,” Mamaw added.

“In the James family, young women also learn the domestic arts.” Granny James smiled thinly. “So that we can direct the staff.” She turned to Harper. “Come, my dear. Show me this pretty little patch you call your garden.” Granny James rose to her feet.

Harper knew her grandmother wanted to steer her toward a private moment away from Mamaw. As they strolled through the garden, Harper began what she knew would be a long conversation. She explained how she and Dora had started the small garden, digging out the tough weeds under the relentless sun and discovering the slave manacles.

“You mean to say you dug the dirt yourself? Without help from a gardener?”

Harper laughed. “You’re looking at the gardener,” she claimed with pride. “I planted each and every one of those flowers, each rosebush, each herb. I hover over them like they’re my children. I’m much more proud of this garden because I did the work myself, rather than if I’d just told a gardener what to do. Oh.” She stopped herself. “Sorry, Granny. Your garden is so large. I couldn’t . . . I didn’t mean to offend.”

“No, of course not,” Granny James replied wryly.

“I do so enjoy it. Getting my hands in the soil, making something my own. Who knew? Me?”

Her grandmother removed her sunglasses and studied Harper’s face, then replied thoughtfully, “Yes, you.”

Harper enjoyed the expression on her grandmother’s face. As if she were seeing Harper for the first time, or at least the woman she had become. She felt different inside and liked to think that difference showed on the outside as well.

“Do be careful though, dear.” Granny James slipped her sunglasses back on. “You’re getting freckled. Now, let’s sit a moment. Over by the water, shall we? In the shade.”

From the garden they walked down the slope to the shade of the covered dock. The tide was high and racing, glistening in the sun. The lower dock creaked against the ropes as the water lapped its sides. Overhead a fleet of gray pelicans flew past, wings outstretched. Somewhere in the water, Harper heard the plop of a large fish jumping.

Granny James stared out a while, her eyes gleaming with appreciation. Then she turned to Harper, her expression serious, yet tender. “Tell me all.”

Harper regaled her grandmother with stories of this incredible summer. How Carson had met the dolphin Delphine, how they’d befriended her, how this beguiling dolphin brought them all joy and laughter when they needed it most. And the sad consequences of her accident. How Harper had gotten to know her sisters again, her nephew. How the ocean and the beaches, the palmettos and pluff mud, the sounds and scents of the lowcountry, had seduced her. She spoke of meeting Taylor, how it had felt like a thunderbolt, the kind she’d read about in all her books. She also told of the many hours she’d spent staring out at this very same view, pondering who she was and what she wanted out of life.

“Sea Breeze was my sanctuary. Where I discovered myself.”

“You obviously love it here. And”—Granny James sighed—“I can see why. It is beautiful. Bucolic. But let’s get to the heart of it, shall we? As lovely as it all is, I didn’t travel all the way from England for the view.”

“I don’t know what Mummy told you, but first, you need to know that I’m well, clear thinking, and happier than I’ve ever been before in my life.”

“I can see that.” Granny James paused. “Am I to assume it’s all this fresh air? Or is it because of this young man you’ve fallen in love with?”

Harper grinned and impulsively hugged her grandmother. Granny James felt stiff and unrelenting, but Harper knew that her grandmother felt a deep affection for her, even if she couldn’t always express it with words or physical gestures.

“I’m so happy.” Harper pulled back. “His name is Taylor. Taylor McClellan. He served in the Marine Corps. Now he’s in business. He’s not a fisherman, though his father used to catch shrimp. He’s brave and kind and compassionate and smart. I love him, Granny. I truly love him.”

“Yes, but does he deserve you?”

“Do I deserve him is the real question.”

“I’m quite serious.”

“I know you are. You’ll just have to meet him. Make your own judgment.”

“I intend to. That’s why I’m here.” Granny James reached out to place her hand over Harper’s. “Darling, will you listen to my opinion?”

“Of course.”

“And if I don’t like him?”

“I hope you will. But”—Harper withdrew her hand—“if you don’t, I’ll marry him anyway.”

Granny studied Harper’s face for a moment, looked off at the water, then turned back, her face resolute. “About your trust fund,” she said, shifting gears. “Tell me about that debacle. Why did you ask your mother if you could access your funds immediately?”