Carson was moved to see tears swimming in her sister’s eyes. “I know what you mean.”

“What do you remember?” Harper asked Carson.

Carson puffed out air, considering. “The beach, of course.”

“You were always in the water. Such a tomboy.”

“You know what else?” Carson asked with the sparkle of memory in her eyes. “I remember running all over Sullivan’s Island like wild pirates searching for buried treasure.”

“Yes,” Harper agreed, her eyes widening in recognition. She raised a fist and shouted, “Death to the ladies!”

That had been their rallying call when they were kids and played pirates. They’d shouted it outdoors at the top of their lungs, and whispered it, too, in the house after Mamaw reprimanded them for being unladylike.

Carson burst out a laugh and raised her fist into the air as well. “Death to the ladies!”

The call still had the power to bond them as they laughed and shared a commiserating glance. In that flash of connection years melted away and once again they were two girls sneaking off to play pirates across Sullivan’s Island, ignoring the dreaded rules of feminine etiquette, determined to discover all the treasures of the world.

“What’s going on?” said a voice at the door.

Looking up, Carson saw Dora standing there, one hand clutching the frame. Her face was scrubbed clean and glowing with moisturizer and her blond hair hung to her shoulders. She had changed into a matronly nightgown that made her pendulous breasts and belly appear as islands in a sea of mauve.

“I thought you went to bed,” said Carson as Harper slipped a sparkly turquoise top over her braless torso.

“No. Nate had a hard time falling asleep. I’m sorry I didn’t make it back to the kitchen. I’ll do dishes tomorrow night.”

“No problem,” Carson said, wriggling into her jeans.

“Are you going out?”

“Just for a drink,” Carson replied, sucking in and zipping. Harper finished clasping on her necklace and Carson turned to admire the unusual arrangement of big chunks of turquoise stones encased in gold that blazed against Harper’s blue eyes. Carson couldn’t take her eyes off them.

“Isn’t it kind of late?” Dora asked.

Harper snorted. “No.”

“Where are you going?”

“Does it matter?” asked Harper, clearly testy. She refused to meet Dora’s gaze and instead leaned over the sink to apply gloss to her lips.

“Just down the road,” Carson replied, hoping to keep the peace between the eldest and the youngest. “Station Twenty-Two probably.” Carson saw a longing in Dora’s eyes and felt a sudden sympathy for her. She remembered what it was like to be the odd man out.

Dora reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear. “There’s something I want to tell you about Nate,” she said.

“What?” Harper asked as she applied gloss to her lips. Her tone implied she wasn’t interested.

Dora cleared her throat nervously. Carson was combing her hair. She checked out Dora in the mirror, curious. It wasn’t customary for Dora to be nervous.

“My son has autism.”

Carson’s hand stilled. Her glance darted in the mirror to Harper, who was applying blush to her cheeks. In that look they shared an immediate understanding and compassion.

Carson lowered her hand and turned to face Dora. She didn’t know what was an appropriate response. I’m sorry wasn’t right. What she felt was more sympathy for her sister, for what she could only assume meant more challenges.

Harper said, “Are you sure?”

Dora bristled. “Of course I’m sure. You don’t think I’m making this up?”

“No,” Harper quickly said, clearly embarrassed. “I mean, is he diagnosed?”

Dora still chafed at the question. “Yes, he’s been to a child psychiatrist and we’ve been through all the tests. There’s a wide range of diagnoses wrapped up in the autism spectrum. Nate has Asperger’s syndrome, a high-functioning form. Don’t misunderstand. He’s highly intelligent. It’s like he’s dyslexic in reading social cues. Things like facial expressions, gestures . . . those little ways we communicate with each other.” She paused while her gaze swept both Carson and Harper. “Like the look you both gave each other in the mirror—Nate doesn’t get those. And he doesn’t always show emotions like you’d expect.” She twisted the diamond on her ring finger. “He’s really a good boy. I didn’t want you to think he was some spoiled brat who throws tantrums.”

“Oh, no,” Carson immediately replied, more out of politeness. In truth, that was exactly what she’d thought.

“There are a few other things you should know,” Dora continued, intent on making them understand her son. “Nate doesn’t like to be touched. So please don’t hug him or kiss him. And he’s very particular about things, like what he eats, and his routine. He gets very upset with any change. Which is why I didn’t want to move him from his room.” She laughed sadly. “You saw what happened there. When he’s overwhelmed he has his little meltdowns.”

Carson watched her twisting her ring. The skin beneath it was irritated and red.

“I should’ve told you right away,” Dora added. “But I still feel very defensive about him.”

“Don’t be,” Carson interjected. “I’m glad you told us. It helps us understand what’s going on. I’m sorry, too, about your divorce.”

“Me too. And I’m sorry we haven’t been in touch,” Harper added.

“Does Mamaw know about Nate?” Carson asked.

Dora shook her head. “I’ve only told my family in Charlotte and a few friends. I’ve been homeschooling, so . . .”

Carson looked at Dora, her face pale and tired, and thought of the beautiful, confident girl who’d dreamed of a future as the happy wife of an adoring husband with two or three perfect children and a beautiful, well-maintained home. Dora’s marriage was on the rocks, her child had special needs, and she was preparing to sell her house. Talk about having the rug pulled out from under.

“Aw, Dora,” Carson said, and impulsively wrapped her arms around her sister. “This has to suck.”

She felt Dora stiffen; then Dora burst out laughing. When she pulled back, Carson saw relief shining in her eyes. “It does,” Dora said, choking back a laugh that sounded more like a cry. “It sucks.”