Twice in a Lifetime. Marta Perry

      “Lindsay, darlin’, how nice. Come here and let me see.” Miz Callie held out her hand to the child as she would to coax a shy kitten closer.

      The little girl—seven or eight, maybe—shook her head, her blond ponytail flying, blue eyes guarded. “I’ll come back later.”

      “No, no, I want you to meet my granddaughter, Georgia Lee. Why, when she was your age, I believe she loved the beach just as much as you do. Georgia, this is Lindsay.”

      “Hi, Lindsay.” Some neighbor child, she supposed. “I’d love to see your shell, too.”

      “Come on, sugar.” Miz Callie’s tender words had the desired effect, and the child crossed the deck to put her treasure in Miz Callie’s cupped hands. “It is a whelk. What a nice one—there’s not a chip on it.”

      Georgia blinked, as if to clear her vision. For a moment she’d seen herself, her dark head bent close to Miz Callie’s white one, both of them enraptured at what her grandmother would have called one of God’s small treasures.

      Only when the shell had been admired thoroughly did Miz Callie glance at Georgia again. “Georgia Lee, will you bring out a glass of lemonade for Lindsay?”

      She started to rise, but the child shook her head. “No, thank you, Miz Callie. I better go.”

      Miz Callie’s arm encircled the girl’s waist. “At least you can have a pecan tassie before you go. I know they’re your favorite.”

      So her grandmother hadn’t known she was coming after all. The tassies were for Lindsay.

      She smiled at the girl. “Do you live near here, Lindsay?”

      Lindsay, faced with a direct question from a stranger, turned mute. Face solemn, she pointed toward the next house down the beach, separated from Miz Callie’s by a stretch of sea oats and stunted palmettos.

      “We’ve been neighbors for a couple of months now,” Miz Callie said. “Didn’t I say? Lindsay is Matthew Harper’s daughter.”

      Georgia’s assumptions lifted, swirled around as if in a kaleidoscope and settled in a new pattern. Matt Harper wasn’t just a strange attorney picked at random from the phone directory. He was a next-door neighbor, and his daughter was welcomed as warmly as if she were a grandchild, with a plate of her favorite cookies. He was far more entrenched than anyone had seen fit to tell her.

      Matt welcomed the breeze off the ocean, even when it ruffled the papers he’d been working on at the table on the deck. He leaned back, frowning.

      After looking through her notes, he understood what Mrs. Bodine wanted, but it would be more complicated than she probably suspected. He’d have to deal with a tangle of county, federal and state regulations, many no doubt conflicting.

      And that wasn’t even counting the opposition of her family. How far were they willing to go to stop her?

      He put the folder on the glass table top and weighted it down with a piece of driftwood Lindsay had brought from the beach. He’d start work on the project, and he’d fight it through for Miz Callie. But he’d like to be sure she wouldn’t call it off after a talk with Georgia.

      Standing, he scanned the beach for Lindsay, not seeing her. She was responsible about staying within the boundaries they’d set up together, which meant that if she wasn’t on the beach, she’d gone over to the Bodine house.

      He trotted down the steps. He should have mentioned to Lindsay that Mrs. Bodine had a guest. Now he’d have to go over there and retrieve her under Georgia’s cool gaze.

      The woman had gotten under his skin, looking at him as if he were a con man out to steal a little old lady’s treasure. Couldn’t the Bodine clan understand that this was all Miz Callie’s idea? If he didn’t do the work for her, she’d find some other attorney who would.

      He couldn’t afford that. He didn’t intend to sponge off Rodney any longer, accepting the clients Rod managed to persuade to use his new colleague. He needed to bring in business of his own, and Miz Callie’s project was the first opportunity he’d had since he and Lindsay moved here.

      His steps quickened across the hard-packed sand. He’d taken the chance that this move would be good for Lindsay, a fresh start for both of them. Heaven knew they needed that.

      The expression caught him off guard. Once he’d have been praying about this. Once he’d thought the faith Jennifer had introduced him to was strong. But when she died, he’d recognized it for what it was. Secondhand. Nowhere near strong enough to handle a blow like that.

      He heard the voices as he reached the stairs to Miz Callie’s deck. Three of them: two soft with their Southern drawl, and then his daughter’s light, quick counterpoint.

      She was talking. It was a sign of how desperate he was about Lindsay’s unremitting grief that he didn’t care who she was talking to, as long as she talked. At first, after Jennifer’s death, the two of them had gone days without saying anything, until he’d realized that he had to rouse himself from the stupor of grief and make an effort for Lindsay’s sake.

      He went slowly up the steps, hearing the conversation interspersed with gentle female laughter.

      “So my brother and I both went under the waves after the shell he’d dropped, but I was the one who came up with it,” Georgia said as he reached the top. “Not that I’m suggesting you should do that.”

      “No, don’t, please,” he said.

      All three of them turned to look at him, but Miz Callie’s was the only face that relaxed into a smile. “Matthew, I thought you’d be coming along about now. Come and have some sweet tea.”

      He shook his head, crossing the deck to them. There was an empty basket in the center of the table, with shells arrayed around it. His daughter was bent over two shells she seemed to be comparing, ignoring him.

      “Lindsay and I need to start some dinner.”

      “At least take a minute to look at our shell collection. Georgia Lee and I were teachin’ Lindsay the names of the different shells.”

      “Not I,” Georgia protested, shoving back from the table. “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten most of what you taught me.”

      “You’ll have to take a refresher course, won’t you?” he said, planting his hands on the back of his daughter’s chair.

      “How are you at naming the shells of the Carolina coast?” Every time Georgia looked at him, she had a challenge in her eyes.

      “Worse than you,” he said promptly. “You may have forgotten, but I never knew.” He patted Lindsay’s shoulder. “Come on, Lindsay. It’s time we went home.”

      “Just a minute. I have to line all the shells up before I go.”

      He tensed, hating the habit Lindsay had developed, this need to have everything lined up just so. The child psychologist he’d consulted said to go along with it, that when Lindsay’s grief didn’t require her to seek control in that way, she’d lose interest. But sometimes he wanted to grab her hands and stop her.

      A desperation that was too familiar went through him. He’d never known family before Jennifer. Bouncing from one foster home to another hadn’t prepared him to be a good father. How could he do this without her?

      “How about taking some of these pecan tassies along home for your dessert?” Miz Callie got to her feet, grasping the plate of cookies. “I’ll wrap them up for you.” She’d headed into the house before he could refuse.

      “Don’t bother arguing,” Georgia said, apparently interpreting his expression. “You can never defeat my grandmother’s hospitality. Bodines are noted for being stubborn.”

      “I’ve noticed.” Something sparked between them on the exchange—maybe an understanding on both their parts that there was a double meaning to everything