“Nah,” Carson replied with a wave, dismissing the possibility. “Do you?” she asked, her question coming more from anger than real curiosity.

“I don’t think so,” Harper answered in an honest tone.

Her willingness to discuss it openly, without judgment, changed Carson’s attitude. “Me neither,” she answered with a one-shouldered shrug. “I like to have a drink now and then. Who doesn’t? It’s purely social.”

Harper moved her hand, indicating the vodka bottle. “Since when is drinking alone in the dark social?”

Carson pinched her lips. “Tonight’s different,” she replied sullenly. “A lot of bad memories were dredged up tonight.”

“Yeah,” Harper agreed with emphasis.

Carson looked down at the bottle, as though she could see her fortune in it. “I’m sorry I brought up all that garbage about Dad,” Carson said. “Being with you again, here at Sea Breeze, all that”—she made a futile gesture—“whatever is bubbling back up. I couldn’t stop myself. I’m sorry,” she said again.

“Don’t be. It wasn’t fair that you had to carry the burden of Daddy’s crazy life all alone,” Harper told her. The dock rocked and creaked beneath them. “I only wish I’d known.”

Carson shook her head remembering her father’s pride in his family heritage. Despite his financial woes, he’d carried his birthright like a badge of honor. “Dad wouldn’t have wanted to be shamed in front of your mother.”

“Why? Do you think your daddy’s better than my daddy?” Harper quipped.

Carson released a short laugh, appreciating again Harper’s wit.

“Why are you always protecting him?” Harper asked, prodding.

“Habit.”

Harper looked at her as though for the first time. “I can understand that.”

“I took care of him. It’s not something I did consciously. I was a kid. It was survival. And he had a good side, too. It’s like Mamaw said: he could be so charming, so funny, even thoughtful. I loved him, you know. So much. Even when I left, it was more an act of survival than anger. He was a sick puppy. You can’t hate a puppy; you hate the illness.”

“So what about you?” Harper asked again, smoothing back the dark hair from Carson’s tear-dampened cheeks. “Do you have the illness?”

Carson heard the question this time and rather than dismissing it angrily, she dared herself to consider it. She looked at the murky water, feeling her old fears sucking her into a horrifying vortex.

“I don’t know,” Carson said in a voice so low Harper had to lean closer to hear her. “Maybe it’s possible that . . .” But she couldn’t finish the thought.

Harper went on all fours and crawled around Carson to grab the bottle of vodka. She unscrewed the top and began pouring it into the water.

“Mamaw’s going to be put out,” Carson warned her.

Harper shook out the last drops and screwed the top back on. “So what’s it going to take for you to stop?” she asked Carson.

“Who said I’m going to stop? You stop.”

“All right. I will. Starting right now.” Harper delivered a challenging stare to Carson.

Carson stuck out her jaw belligerently. “Good for you.”

“Just try for a week,” Harper urged her. “I do that every once in a while just to be sure I can. Like I said, it’s in our genetics. If you can’t quit for a week, then you have to admit you have a problem.”

“You forget, I work at a pub.”

“Quit!”

“I need the money.”

“Oh, please,” Harper interjected. “How much money can you be earning as a lunchtime waitress? You don’t need that job.”

Carson wiped her face with her hands, feeling the waves of sobriety wash over her. “First of all, I don’t have a trust fund waiting in the wings, like you do. When I say I’m broke, I’m really broke. Second,” she said with hesitation, “I haven’t been entirely honest with you.”

“I don’t know if I can take any more secrets,” Harper groaned.

“When I told you that I was taking time off of work to spend time with Mamaw . . .” Carson took a breath and realized it was time to stop looking for exits and to just tell the truth. “The truth is I don’t have a job. My television show was canceled. Before that, I was laid off from a gig because of my drinking. It was the only time,” she hurried to add, “but I’m worried that word got out and I’m blackballed or something, because I haven’t been able to land another job.” She looked away, remembering the parties she and the rest of the crew had after shooting that got out of hand. “So I’m staying here because I don’t have anywhere else to go. Pretty pitiful at my age, huh?”

Harper shifted her weight to sit up and tuck her legs in. “In keeping with the spirit of transparency,” she began, nodding toward Carson in acknowledgment, “I have to admit I’ve not been completely honest myself.”

Carson was grateful to her sister for not making her the only one to expose her underbelly tonight. “Do tell, sister mine,” said Carson. “Is the royal James family in fact”—she made a face—“penniless? Are you not princes at all, but paupers?”

Harper chuckled and shook her head. “No. I’m afraid not. No worries in that corner. It’s my mother . . .” She lifted the empty bottle of vodka and shook it, making a dismayed face because it was empty. “Now I’m sorry I poured it all out.”

“What about your mother?”

“Did you ever see the movie The Devil Wears Prada?”

Carson nodded.

“Remember the editor? The one played by Meryl Streep? That would be my mother.”

“So does that make you the secretary girl?”

“Not anymore. I quit my job.”

This was met by shocked silence. “Wait, wait, wait, I don’t understand,” Carson said at length. “You told Mamaw you were going home.”

“Yeah, well, that was before I quit. I’m staying here, if she’ll let me. I have to apologize first,” Harper said, ducking her head. “Big-time.”

“What about her ultimatum?”

“You mean her bribery?” Harper said with a short laugh.